I’ve spent a day at the Globe today: Shakespeare’s Globe.
Did you know, their toilets used to be buckets in front of the stage, and the audience used to eat onions and shout at the performers? But try telling that to the Royal Shakesperian Company when you’re chucked out of the National for slagging off the geezer in tights and pissing on the stage.
Anyway, after this, I popeth into yon Euston Cider Tap, which I findeth is now just Ye Tap: now only three ciders, two of which were off, and a load of people and music and modernity and life. Hideous, methinks.
And so, homeward bound I go to ponder upon the delights of ye Bristol Ciders Box and plucketh a bottle from thine cardboard bosom.
Taunton First Press catcheth my eye
Slightly sparkling, thus with a sip I try.
Dry, fresh, oaky; just like I’d wish
Like a fine leather codpiece, I don’t mean the fish
Or an old wooden theatre, touched by the kiss
Of a hundred raw onions and buckets of piss.