Chantey Sings and Toothless Things

Chantey Sings and Toothless Things

As aforementioned, the damsel and I will be making our way up to San Francisco this weekend to visit the good Mister Thor and see the Shane MacGowan fronted Pogues! That’s not ’til Monday night, though.

On Saturday evening (when we get into town), the plan is to make our way to The Balclutha, a late 19th century ship where a chantey sing will be hosted (as it is on the first Saturday of every month). Anyone else up in that there misty old seaport ever make it to this event? It’d be splendid to meet up with you! It’s at 8:00 pm, lasts ’til midnight, and it’s free! It’s recommended that you “bring a mug for hot cider,” though I suspect it’s of the unfortified variety.

Hah, hey! That’s why flasks were invented, eh?

Make sure to call ahead (415-556-6435) and get your name on the list just to be assured a spot, because I guess they can get pretty crowded. Hargh!

I’m not sure what other mischief-making might be involved in this trip northward, but we’ll be in San Francisco from Saturday night to Tuesday afternoon. If you want to meet up during that time, drop me a line! We’ll exchange numbers and perhaps duel in some back alley or get in a proper barfight! I don’t get to see my San Francisco friends often enough.

In closing, here’s an old favorite that wraps up the occasion-to-come quite well, methinks. Cheers!

The Pogues: Sea Shanty

Dear dirty London in the pouring rain
I wish to God I was back on the sea again
Though that belongs to the world of never will be
There was never a wilder bastard than me on the sea.

I could fuck all the whores in damnation, me boys
Though they wriggled and hollered and made a great noise
Then I’d drink ’til I stank and then drink plenty more
And I won’t go down to the sea any more.

But if I had ten pounds then I’d raise a loud cheer
And I’d toast all me neighbours both distant and dear
And I’d shoot back great belly-crippling buckets of beer
And a pox and a curse on the people round here
Wouldn’t give you me the price of a half pint of beer
Wouldn’t give you me the price of a cup of good cheer
A pox and a curse on the people round here!

A man’s ambition must indeed be small
To write his name upon a shithouse wall
But before I die I’ll add my regal scrawl
To show the world I’m left with sweet fuck all…

And when all of us bold shithouse poets do die
A monument grand they will raise to the sky
A monument made just to mark our great wit
A monument of solid shit now, me boys
I met with Bill James we fought over crusts
I called him a whore and he booted me crotch
Then we shared out the jack and we thought it a treat
The compliments pass when the quality meet
The compliments pass when the quality meet
The compliments pass when the quality meet
The compliments pass when the quality meet…

[Photo by William A. Baker, shared by Cushing Library, Texas A&M University]

About Robert Glen Fogarty

Sometimes I'll take the wrong bus just to get out of the cold for a little while.

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