Hairspray!

Tonight I am away from home, in Theatre-land, not Blogland...

I am off to see the UK tour of the musical, Hairspray, in Sunderland.

This requires me crossing the Tyne.

I may need to take my passport!

See you laters, Alligators...

Mwah! Gotcha, right on the left cheek - Mwah!

And there again!

Dance To Your Daddy...

When the Boat comes in...

Come here, ma' little Jacky,
Noo a've smoked mi baccy,
Let's hev a bit o' cracky,
Till the boat comes in.

Chorus:
Dance ti' thy daddy, sing ti' thy mammy,
Dance ti' thy daddy, ti' thy mammy sing;
Thou shall hev a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shall hev a fishy when the boat comes in.

Here's thy mother humming,
Like a canny woman;
Yonder comes thy father,
Drunk - he canna' stand.

Chorus:
Dance ti' thy daddy, sing ti' thy mammy,
Dance ti' thy daddy, ti' thy mammy sing;
Thou shall hev a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shall hev a haddock when the boat comes in.

Our Tommy's always fuddling,
He's so fond of ale,
But he's kind to me,
I hope he'll never fail.

Chorus:
Dance ti' thy daddy, sing ti' thy mammy,
Dance ti' thy daddy, ti' thy mammy sing;
Thou shall hev a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shall hev a bloater when the boat comes in.



I like a drop mysel',
When I can get it sly,
And thou, my bonny bairn,
Will lik't as well as I.

Chorus:
Dance ti' thy daddy, sing ti' thy mammy,
Dance ti' thy daddy, ti' thy mammy sing;
Thou shall hev a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shall hev a mackerel when the boat comes in.

May we get a drop,
Oft as we stand in need;
And weel may the keel row
That brings the bairns their bread.

Chorus:
Dance ti' thy daddy, sing ti' thy mammy,
Dance ti' thy daddy, ti' thy mammy sing;
Thou shall hev a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shall hev a salmon when the boat comes in.

We have sung this song to our children for generations, in the north... Where the fishing industry, and later mining, sustained and fed our large and growing families, when there was naught else...

We bounced our bairns on our knees, wondering when the fishing boats would ever come in to harbour with their catches, carrying our loved ones safely back into our longing arms...

...We timed meals by the pit's starting and closing horns -- Just long enough to put a whistling kettle on the stove, and get the singing hinnies out of the oven, clapping the bairns' hands in time to the gentle musical rhyme...

'Dance to your daddy, sing to your mammy, dance to your daddy, to your mammy sing...'