Surly Early Saturday Hurly-Burly

I'm off to Sheffield today to watch the Mighty play (Blackpool FC in case you didn't guess), so I had to be up insanely early at the blogface to submit this piece about hurly-burly. It's raining and I'm feeling surly!

Hurly-burly sounds onomatopoeic, don't you think? To me, it's suggestive of  and synonymous with many of the following: argy-bargy, a bit-of-bother, fisticuffs, hue-and-cry, kerfuffle, pell-mell, rough-and-tumble, shenanigans, stuff-and-nonsense, sturm-und-drang, throwing weight around, all words or phrases resonant of matters getting a little lively, noisy, slightly out of control, maybe even combative. Its origins are archaic and not well-defined, but I'm supposing people know roughly what it means (which is nothing to do with the hurdy-gurdy).

in their cups

There's a good chance that alcohol often plays its part in the process of precipitating a spot of hurly-burly, of loosening conventions of decorum, genteel behaviour and self-control, as epitomised by the fine fellows in the woodcut illustration above. Clearly they are already deep in their cups, getting rowdier and more argumentative as the ale continues to flow. They'll soon be bashing each other round the head and brawling shamelessly over whether or not Catholics should all be burned alive, Marlowe is better than Shakespeare, the government is responsible for shit in the rivers, martial law is appropriate in a time of plague, footballers should be allowed to pick up the ball and run with it, or Greensleeves is a better song than The Merry Month Of May.

I imagine (writing as one who has never actually hurly-burlied) that such has been the trouble the world over for aeons, when a bunch of men go on the piss. There's always the chance that it can kick off and end in a right rumbustious tumult of some sort, a frank exchange of views, a trading of inebriated blows. If only they had something else to divert them, a civilizing female presence - for instance a Lady (Macbeth perhaps), or even better a whole troupe of them such as the "Hurly-Burly Extravaganza". I stumbled upon this unlikely bevy in my research and just had to bring them along...😏

the diversion

What could possibly go wrong? Especially if the vaudeville diversion were of the "refined" kind. Fat chance, I hear you say, and you'd probably be right. The presence of the fairer sex actually ups the testosterone levels. Just think of all those bar-room brawls over broads in classic American movies featuring cowboys of the wild west or sailors on shore leave.

My research also uncovered a phenomenon known as the Hurly-House. It seems to have been a term for an establishment of both ill-repair and ill-repute, a type of low-life drinking den combining elements of what we would nowadays find discretely in a pub, a prize-fight arena, a music-hall and a lap-dance club. (Blackpool Council has finally and sensibly decided to close all of the latter in the town.) 

Despite, or maybe even because of, the poor reputation such establishments had, I imagine the owners would have been obliged to be seen taking at least token steps towards preventing rampant lawlessness within their dilapidated domains. Even though it might not count for much in practice, there would surely have been a set of:

Hurly-House Rules

Rule number   1: No wives.

Rule number   2: No knives, dirks, daggers or blades.

Rule number   3: No knaves, thieves or scurvy reprobates.

Rule number   4: You cannot make one pint last all night, skinflints.

Rule number   5: No spitting or spewing on the floor or pissing up the wall.

                                  Use the pots provided or the trench outside.

Rule number   6: No deriding the name of the monarch.

Rule number   7: No bending the serving wenches over the benches.

Rule number   8: If you're unable to pay, no credit given - so don't dare ask!

Rule number   9: Masks to be worn on nominated plague days

                                   until you are seated at a table.

Rule number 10: No bringing in of literature (except bibles).

Rule number 11: Tipping of the entertainers is permitted.

                                   A coin or folded note tucked into a bodice or stocking top,

                                   otherwise keep your filthy hands off the merchandise.

Rule number 12: No ball games or bloodshed allowed.

Rule number 13: Unlucky for some. (Changes nightly - see landlord for details.)

Rule number 14: No singing after midnight, even of religious tunes.

Rule number 15: No sleeping on the premises. If you're too drunk to move

                                   you will be dumped out of the door at closing time.

Rule number 16: Enjoy yourself. We only live once.

The poem itself has been concocted in haste (almost hurly-burly you might say) in under twenty minutes and will probably get revised - that is to say refined - over time. 

Anyway, thanks for reading, and I wish you all as good a Saturday as I hope to have. S ;-)