#DADGAD #Anglophilia #surrealadelica

An experiment in absurdist storytelling.

It was a rainy day in Little Chattersley, but I was warm and snug in my favorite pub, the Rod & Cone (it was founded by two optometrists, Rod Goldsmith and Myron Cohn). I sat before the roaring fireplace, a pint of bitter in one hand and a piece of battered cod in the other, when Little Bobbie Battersby approached and asked, "Excuse me, Mr Pennyfeather. I'm doing a book report on our town and was wondering where it got its name. Do you know?"

"I do, Little Bobby, so grab a pint and take a seat, cos herein lies a tale ... (just let me grab this guitar)"

My great great great great grandfather Percival Pennyfeather was jailed for insurrection and sentenced to execution they chopped his head off that night and buried his body right outside the prison gates

In a few hours hundreds of stalks sprouted up all with Percival Pennyfeather's head on them (little two-inch versions) and they chattered incessantly proclaiming their innocence, naturally but also gossiping about everyone and everything

It so annoyed the guards and prisoners that they sent a servant with a scythe to deadhead the stalks but a few hours later, guess what? their little heads sprouted up again

And chattered even more loudly and endlessly and this cycle played out for a few days until someone figured out a solution

They unspiked his head and buried it with his body even granted him clemency and so the little Percival heads all shut up and sunk back into the soil and that's how Little Chattersley got its name

Take it, Little Bobby! (Little Bobby plays a solo on the melodica)