Why all the fuss about the first day of May?
It’s the 122nd day of 366, and is steeped in the history of labour relations. But of course, that doesn’t interest you lot a bit, now does it?
Oh no, you airheads want the ‘Obby ‘Oss, the Morris Dancers, children whose mothers have confiscated their phones clomping gracelessly around the Maypole, some prim child all tricked out as The May Queen, and strange songs with incomprehensible lyrics, and so on. You really do worry me…
Before you abuse me as a miserable old bag with no sense of tradition, perhaps you might consider taking a closer look at the May Day traditions that charm you so.
The ‘Obby ‘Oss is probably a leftover from the Beltane Sacrifices of pre Christian faiths, thus symbolising the poor animal (or human) being led to the slaughter.
Morris Dancing is a generally harmless excuse for men to go from pub to pub in the hope of free beer. Though I would dispute any suggestion it’s entertainment.
The Maypole Dance, on the other side of the coin, is a fertility ritual and, as such, extremely unsuitable for children.
Ditto the May Queen who is either a fertility symbol or, even more worryingly, The Maiden who would be sacrificed to ensure a good harvest. (Think on this very carefully before you engage in a fistfight with twenty other yummy mummies in order that little Susquehanna can wear the diadem.)
Need I continue?
In conclusion, get your heads out of whatever orifices you currently have them in and think about International Labour Day and how much all you miserable little so and so’s owe to the trade union movement.
Now buzz off. You are making my brandy curdle.
*throws dog ends and dried cow turds at departing readership*