Hymn: On Ilkley Moor Baht 'At
Archdruid: 'Ow do.
All: 'Ow do to you too.
Archdruid: It'll be dark by nightfall.
All: Can we push the old bloke down a hill in a bath tub now?
Archdruid: We've got to have some whimsical musings on life first.
All: What's that we hear on the wind?
Archdruid: The sound of little creatures eating other creatures.
All: That's not whimsical.
Archdruid: OK - can we have the incompetent driver to do his incompetent driving display?
All: He drove into the gate.
Archdruid: What about the bloke sitting in a giant wheel, driven on lots of little wheels?
All: Landed in the river.
Archdruid: The three old blokes on bikes joined together for no obvious reason?
All: Flew over the wall.
Archdruid: The old bloke in a boat?
All: Sank.
Archdruid: The shifty-looking bloke with a nervous twitch?
All: Cycled off with the peroxide blonde.
Archdruid: OK. Push the old bloke down the hill in a bathtub.
Old Bloke: Noraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Archdruid: And so let us commend Norman Clegg, I mean Peter Sallis, to the Old Yorkshire gods: Sam and Earnshaw.
All: 'Ow do, Sam! 'Ow do, Earnshaw!
Archdruid: It'll be dark by nightfall.
All: And also with you.
Hymn: Compo has Gone and Lost His Wellies
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