Hymn: Something sentimental set to the theme tune.
Archdruid: We gather to celebrate the Nativity of Peter Sallis - or, to 8 generations of Last of the Summer Wine fans, Cleggy.
Clegg: Has it ever occurred to you that if ears were square they'd cut the pillows?
Archdruid: But, this being Summer Wine country, we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.
Wesley Pegden: 'Ow do, lads!
Compo: I don't know why I wash me feet. They only go black again.
Nora: Oooh! Put some clothes on!
Sid: I never even touched that bus conductress...
Foggy: When I was out East, there were insects as big as the natives. Only little fellows, they were.
Mr Wainwright: Miss Partridge! We may be dead but we are still modern people - liberated from bourgeois oppression and religion. Hang on.... How am I here then?
Ritually Pushing the Wicker Man Downhill in a Wheelbarrow
Cleggy: Let us make amends to the Old Yorkshire God, Earnshaw.
All may cross their fingers, turn around and spit.
Foggy: There's no such thing as the Old Yorkshire Gods.
All flee the collapsing Moot House.