Another Gilbertsville tour come and gone. Guests of the Binghamton Morris Men this year were the Toronto Morris Men, of course, and the Bouwerie Boys.
The whole weekend was grey and rainy (this is not England, dammit) and aside from a few attempts to wedge a dance or two between downpours in Cooperstown, all our dancing was indoors — in the dining hall of the Major’s Inn in G’ville both days; in the gymnasium at Pathfinder Village, a community for people with Down syndrome (and it would have been in the gym there regardless of weather); and one dance in the pub at the Tunnicliff Inn in Cooperstown. Only one. Not much dancing space there, especially vertically; Peter Klosky split his head open on a ceiling beam there a couple years ago.
But if the weather was uncooperative, the rest fell pretty well into place. The food was the usual unremarkably outstanding excercise in delicious excess. The keg was the usual Fuller’s ESB, supplemented with bottles of various things. I myself had gone to the Party Source and found they had exactly six bottles of Adnams, at $3 each — the large bottles Adnams uses, granted, but with an estimated 45 dancers and hangers-on in attendance, I felt six bottles of Adnams would be worse than none, at least for those who moved insufficiently quickly to snag one, and hence not worth an $18 outlay. So instead I brought a case of Whitbread, which on close post-purchase examination turned out to have been brewed in Cincinnati, though under the strict supervision of some dudes from England, so that’s OK, right? Anyway, someone else did score a rather larger quantity of Adnams (Broadside and SSB), and that and the Bass and the quasi-Whitbread and the Cooperstown-brewed Old Slugger did the job.
Singing, ah, singing. Mostly from the TFMM, many individuals of which probably sang more over the weekend than the BMM and BBMM put together. At the Saturday feast, Michael Gorin led us in a Hebrew round in honor of St George’s day. The singing and informal dancing in the hall Friday night made me reluctant to go to bed at only 2:45 am, but I did need to get up early to put out breakfast. Saturday night was characterized more by alcohol-induced feats of something or other, present company excluded; nor was I able to stay awake long enough to participate in the traditional 3:00 am marching band which, I am given to understand, incorporated three local residents who’d stopped by for a visit, and who evidently were capable of beating on pots and pans while processing through the halls with the best of them.
Next year in Gilbertsville!