Skip to content

The HOBBLEDEHOY

I use the best, I use the rest

Movies
TV
Music
Scots
Wales
Ale
Geezers
Travel
- Rick Steves
- Pubs
Pols
- monarchy
- Donald Trump’s Coronavirus Timeline
Birds
Wit
Lit
Contact

Say no more

January 22, 2020 ~ Michael Stevenson

Rest in Peace, Terry Jones (1 February 1942 – 21 January 2020)

Share this:

Facebook
Twitter

Like this:

Like Loading...

Posted in Uncategorized Eric Idle Monty Python Nudge Nudge skit Terry Jones Wit

Post navigation

< Previous GasLit Nation podcast 1/22/20 : The Republican Party is on Trial

Next > Burns Night in Scotland in 2020

Leave a ReplyCancel reply

HOBBLEDEHOY FAVS

• Trump Virus

• Changing Guards ♫

• Johnny Foreigner's 20

• Netflix Codes

Oi! Subscribe to The HOBBLEDEHOY

Your Email Address

Search The HOBBLEDEHOY

Search for:

Folk Radio UK Latest Mixes

Good Craic

	Christal Bailey on British Writer Pens The Best D…
	kenneturner on The threat of Trump returning…
	Michael Stevenson on The Mysterious Disappearance O…
	Magic on The Mysterious Disappearance O…
	Michael Stevenson on Carol White: The Battersea Bar…

THE HOBBLEDEHOY Recommends

RECORDS:
Lankum "False Lankum"

"The album’s 12 tracks, composed of 10 traditional songs and two originals, show the four-piece using a new palate to colour their sound in an increasingly experimental way"

Purchase Fall Lankum LP presed on limited orange vinyl with print or black vinyl at Bear Tree Records website

“Annika Stranded” S1-S5

The Hobbledehoy’s French Sister

Recent Posts

Sandie Shaw in Portugal 1967
Flickers of Passion: Celia Johnson in “Brief Encounter”
‘All of Us Strangers’ Triumphs at British Independent Film Awards With Seven Wins
Kae Tempest at Other Voices in Dingle: The audience leave St James’ Church speechless and stunned
The Terence Davies Trilogy

Tops with The Hobbledehoy

British Writer Pens The Best Description Of Trump I've Read
Review: “Georgy Girl” Is No Feminist Statement
"Annika Stranded" Season 1-5
Christmas Classic: "I Saw Three Ships A Sailing" The Chieftains with Marianne Faithfull

Paisley Snail

Michael Stevenson

Follow Blog via Email

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Email Address

Join 900 other subscribers

Community

Tags

Andrea Chalupa Anne Briggs Autocracy banjo BBC Bert Jansch Bill Forsyth Birding birds Boris Johnson Brexit Brit Folk British British Folk Celtic Connections Christmas congress Coronavirus coup Covid-19 cult death Democracy Derry Girls DOJ Edinburgh Election Eliza Carthy England Fairport Convention Fascism FBI film films Folk Fox News Gaslit Nation GASLIT NATION WITH ANDREA CHALUPA AND SARAH KENDZIOR Glasgow GOP HCR Heather Cox Richardson Impeach Donald Trump Impeach Trump insurrection interview Ireland Irish Ivor Cutler January 6 Joe Biden Johnny Flynn John Oliver Karine Polwart Kate Stables Ken Loach Kevin McCarthy Lankum Laura Marling Linda Thompson Local Hero London Martin Carthy Merrick Garland Mike Leigh monarchy Monty Python Movies Music Netflix Nick Drake Nora Brown NPR obit Olivia Chaney podcast poetry Politics President Biden President Joe Biden Pubs Putin racism Radie Peat religion Republican Republican Party review Richard Thompson Rob Brydon Robert Burns Russia Sandy Denny Sarah Kendzior Scotland season 2 Senate Shirley Collins Shit Trumps Says Steve Coogan Supreme Court television The Big Lie The Crown The Goon Show The Unthanks This is the Kit trad traditional Trembling Bells Trump Trump Crime Family TV Twitter UK Ukraine USA Voting Rights Wales Withnail and I

“The true hobbledehoy is much alone, not being greatly given to social intercourse even with other hobbledehoys — a trait in his character which I think has hardly been sufficiently observed by the world at large. He has probably become a hobbledehoy instead of an Apollo, because circumstances have not afforded him much social intercourse; and, therefore, he wanders about in solitude, taking long walks, in which he dreams of those successes which are so far removed from his powers of achievement. Out in the fields, with his stick in his hand, he is very eloquent, cutting off the heads of the springing summer weeds, as he practises his oratory with energy. And thus he feeds an imagination for which those who know him give him but scanty credit, and unconsciously prepares himself for that latter ripening, if only the ungenial shade will some day cease to interpose itself.”
― Anthony Trollope

Powered by WordPress.com.

Facebook
Twitter
Dribbble

%d