Ring Meetings have a Sunday parade to church. This may seem a little unusual for an activity vaguely reckoned to be pagan. The teams mustered in their Sunday-best. Unfortunately at the last moment my pants ripped from bow to stern. In my rush to effect a quick fix, I neglected to notice one of those jolly japes that teams do : putting one's hand in warm Silurian doo-doo is something that cannot be described, only experienced. Still, it cured me immediately of biting my nails. My sides are still aching from laughing at this witty prank.

Before the parade was fully started, Silurian marched off in the lead, at speed, towards the church and into the pub. For the remaining teams, Winster Processional seemed favourite. I cannot report what happened in the Church as I stayed outside with other ne'er-do-wells. When I was at school, one of my classmates was excommunicated by the Pope. For a 14 year old, this gets maximum respect in a Jesuit School. Just thought you'd like to know.

To intensify the boredom I sat outside the pub with a guy from Bristol Morris Men who had brought his office paperwork to mark, and another dancer (Boar's Head?) who spent the whole time throwing up into his top hat. Although this is by no means a unique sight at a Ring event, it was certainly the first time that I had ever seen a top hat filled to the brim.

After Church, it was show dances, punctuated by massed dances such as William and Nancy, Beaux of London and Bonny Green. There were no North West, Sword or Rapper teams present.. Silurian danced Much Wenlock Stick Dance, Bromsberrow Heath Stick Dance and another dance that I did not recognise. All other teams danced Cotswold.

For a large Market Square, the crowd was quite small. It was rumoured that this well-ordered town Silkeborg, was the Danish word for Stepford, and that most of the 'droids are recharged on Sundays.

It was time to board busses for coach tours.

I seemed to be washing my hands a lot today.

For some reason we had the pre-war Bus, which was the transport for "Yellow Tour". This, coincidentally was also the skin colour of many of the tired and dazed dancers. Mersey, Exeter and Bristol were on this tour.

Our first stop was Gammel Rye Kro, where we were immediately led into a hotel for feeding by our Silkeborg minder. It takes time to adjust to the Danish custom of serving the main course twice. Some at the far table stood on their chairs and were thrown fish by the staff. After the customary belching contest, we filled out wincing into the bright outdoors. There was no-one about, but as were started our Cotswold dances, Stepford Wife units and Stepford Children units were activated, and started to appear. With concerted fooling, we left that village with children wailing and dogs whimpering.

Next stop was the Hotel Jurso, where we had to walk down the steep hill to this wooded waterfront Hotel. A good crowd awaited. This was a welcome stop for beer, ice cream and beer. The dancing was well received. It seemed to be custom for local children to repeatedly stab us with small sticks, and no matter how hard we would clip them behind the ear, they would persist. We crawled back up to the bus.

We now headed for Ejer Baunehoj, which was the highest spot in Denmark, or maybe that was somewhere else. The driver was lost. Some did not care where we went now. Some did not care if we danced any more. Some did not care whether they lived any more. Dancers were getting tetchy. No-one wanted to sit next to H since his tummy trouble started again. We introduced him to John Maher of Bristol and the MDDL, but John ignored him and pretended that he wasn't there. Neville announced that although he had slept with the now greatly deflated Big Mr.Blobby last night, he would not be able to sleep if he did not have him again tonight. Some of Mersey disagreed. I kept quiet as I had Little Mr.Blobby all weekend.

We were dropped off at a pub in Ry. It would have been nice if the driver had stopped. There we met the other teams and were again subjected to the excellent Silkeborg hospitatility machine, where we were fed and beered. Not many had the will to dance, let alone be coherent. All of Mersey went to the front of the pub and played "Killer" on the pool table. Our much loved elder member, Old Bill (he is about 120), had to be given a ten-minute crash course in Pool. After an hour-long exciting and aggressive game, Old Bill won. We broke his thumbs.

The bus trip back to the colony was subdued. Dirty songs were sung. Why is it always the same three? Each one is a right rib-tickler when first heard. We not only need evolving Morris but different dirty songs. Unless these were the songs that Cecil Sharp and Mary Neal used to sing on the way back from an Esperance gig.

That night the pubs of Silkeborg were full of Morris Men in mufti, proving that, once you stop dancing and get your kit off, you have nothing in common with these guys. Back in the gym, if anyone staggered back drunk and shouting, no-one heard, or no-one cared.

Everyone is going back home tomorrow. The guy that nicked the bike has decided to cycle back to England, in kit. Many mobile phones are beaming across the English Channel to their loved ones, to ensure that they have recorded the latest episode of "Coronation Street".

Introduction