Cecil Sharp, a malign grin on his face, strutted into the Conservatoire. He twirled his moustache, doffed his cape and flung his top hat at the hat stand - it missed but was soon picked up by the servile, 'hat-flunky'.

He lowered himself into an armchair and snapped his fingers for another white-jacketed flunky to bring him his favourite tipple - scotch and pauper's blood on the rocks.

Algernon Beastly-Smythe, who was seated in another armchair and reading the Times, looked over his newspaper and said, "What ho, Cecil, you're looking pleased with y'self - what's afoot?"

Cecil said, "Morning, Algie! Y'know how we're always looking for new ways to be beastly to the poor?"

"Oh gosh, rath-err!", said Algie.

"Well I've just come up with a jolly spiffing new scheme", said Cecil.

"Oh do tell!", said Algie.

"Well", said Cecil, "have you ever been to Somerset?"

"Hmmm, Let me think" said Algie, "I might once have shot a peasant in Huish Episcopi ... not sure ...?"

"Well, anyway", said Cecil "I hear that the yokels down there habitually sing lots of old songs ... and I'm going to steal 'em!!"

"What an absolutely marvellous wheeze", said Algie, "why it'll be cultural plunder & imperialistic paternalism at its very worst!"

"Just what I thought!", said Cecil.

"Do it, Cecil!", said Algie "my, you're a cad and no mistake!!"

Their loud, braying laughter echoed through the Conservatoire - punctuated only by the screams of the hat-flunky who they tormented by way of celebration.