Bartholomew's Fare

This and Drinking constitute the breakaway pop-hits from the The Night of the Crabs. Which is odd because they are rather unconventional tunes; the former a music hall folly and this a folk ballad or shanty. That said it's
one hell of an ear-worm, with those shimmering weed fronds singing backing vocals and that shimmering African pop guitar on the chorus.

The title is a three fold pun: it riffs on the ancient London fair held on the 24th of August within the precincts of the Priory at West Smithfields. But also at this point in the stories narrative, and rather pointedly by the end of the song, Bartholomew becomes "fare" (in the sense of "fine fare") for the crabs. And lastly it's the price he pays for being deformed and disabled in Guy N Smith's peculiar world; where Pat thinks he's evil and Cliff genuinely considers shooting him because he's ugly. It's the ugliness that forces him to live on the beach and puts him in the front-line of the crustacean/human war. Lastly I hope he has his fare for Charon the ferryman to deliver him over the river Styx. Which as we know is just down the coast from Barmouth.

See, I don't just throw these things together. That's craft mate. You think puns just happen?


Oh my name is Bartholomew,
And don't let me collar you,
Cause I'm so very hard on the eyes,
My body is twisted, my palms often blistered,
From combing the beaches at night,
My teeth are ill-fitting,
My brows always knitting,
Though it looks like my stitches have dropped,
And the stench of putrescence,
Is my oily essence,
I stink like a squid gone to pot,

But I'm happy, I'm so happy,
Patrolling the beaches at night,
Flotsam and Jetsam; when I want some, I get some,
And who is to say I'm not right?

Oh my name is Bartholomew,
And don't let me follow you,
Cause I have an agenda concealed,
My secret passion is the splishing and splashing,
Of tanned lady tourists, un-peeled,
Their hot golden hides,
Hips narrow or wide,
Their bosoms that jiggle and bounce,
My ony goal when I go on a stroll,
Is tallying big nipple counts,

But I'm happy, I'm so happy,
Patrolling the beaches at night,
Flotsam and Jetsam; when I want some, I get some,
And who is to say I'm not right?


Oh my name is Bartholomew,
But don't ever holler "You!",
Cause on top of it all I'm quite deaf,
It's the thing that hurts most,
I'm as deaf as a post,
It'll probably contribute to my horrible death,
To give you an example, If I were to be trampled,
By a giant crustacean horde,
I'd not know a thing, till I'm sliced up real thin,
In fact it's just happened...Good LORD!