From the 1966 thread:-
1966 - after the 'cup' a certain family moved into my village and I became baby sitter to two lovely children and official dog walker to a black and white mongrel dog called Pickles. Dreadful day when some young hooligans strung him up on a fence and left him to die a few years later.

You see in England - we have our traditions to uphold, and our culture. but we don't sing about them. We sing about the battle of Waterloo, or the green fields of wherever - which is violence of a more picturesque and acceptable kind. We sing as we all dance away to jigs and reels.

And that's why our folk culture is up shit creek, the paddle misplaced, the currents not in our favour. A disocciated sensibility.

Can't believe Ireland is as bad as England. they seem a bit more together than us culturally - more sure of themselves.