Ivor Biggun

Subject: Ivor Biggun
From: mick p r.m s.c
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:15 PM

Now heres a problem from the start. How do you start a thread on this person,comedian,songwriter entertainer,singer and musician?.   
Any ideas. OH by the way I am fan of his. I think my Mudcat membership maybe under threat now I have started this. HELP!.

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:19 PM

For the uninitiated

G.

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: Scrump
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:25 PM

Doc Cox (Ivor Biggun's alter ego) has been involved with folk music and folk clubs for a long time (notably with the Cabbage Patch at Twickenham), so I don't understand why mentioning him should cause any problems here.

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: mick p r.m s.c
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:52 PM

Only joking. I see him regularly at the EELS FOOT folk session. He is still writing and singing some brilliant stuff.

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: CharleyO'Neill
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 05:55 PM

Amusing stuff, if indeed in a v.childish way, though good music on the albums . From memory, havent heard him for years,

Has anybody seen my cock ?
My big rhode island red,
He's mostly pink with a little bit of blue and purple on his head,
He stands straight up in the morning and he gives my wife a shock,
Has anybody seen, anybody seen, anybody,
Anybody seen my cock ? !!

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: Andy Jackson
Date: 04 Mar 07 - 07:38 PM

Champion fella, made Eyelander and myself very welcome at the Eels Foot last year. Good cleanish fun had by all.

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: Scrump
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 07:43 AM

Here's one of my favourite Ivor Biggun monologues - the classic one about the Chara Trip:

On the map of north Notts you'll find Worksop
Where I lived when I was a lad
In a house with me Mam, two sisters and Gran
One brother, a budgie and Dad.

At the end of our street was a boozer
Black as stout, uninviting and glum
A den of depravity, it stank like a lavatory
Where me Dad went to hide from me Mum.

At the end of the bar, in a bottle
Every week, half a dollar he'd slip
For the annual treat, when the kids in our street
Went to coast on a charabanc trip.

We'd set off in morning from Worksop
On route for Sutton-on-Sea
With the holiday club, them as paid up their subs
Half the street and me brother and me.

There was old Mrs. Brough from the tripe shop
Big soft Doris and her two little lasses
And her sister, Ellen, with a bust like two melons
And a face like an ars'ole with glasses.

There was Perfumed Gordon the hairdresser
And nobody did make it clear
Why a rude boy, named Taylor, cried out, "Hello sailor!"
And something about ginger beer!

There was Desperate Derek, his brother Big Eric
And Basher and Gnasher and Butch
And Lil, who was willing for only a shilling
Which was still about tenpence too much.

There was Mavis who wouldn't, 'cos her mum said she shouldn't
There was Neville who wished that she could,
And then there was Heather who said that she'd never
But looked like she probably would.

Well my Dad took a crate of ale with him
Intending to travel in style,
The chara did 25 miles to the gallon
My Dad did a half pint to t' mile.

Rain were chucking it down leaving Worksop
Through north Notts it did not desist
There were cows with bronchitis and wet sheep to invite us
When Lincolnshire loomed through the mist.

Rain slacked off soon to a medium monsoon
And the day didn't look such a black 'un
When the driver, called Reg, pulled up at a hedge
And we all made a break for the bracken.

Dad rushed for a tree and he said, "Excuse me!"
And right there, one penny he spent it
He said, "Ain't it queer, one thing about beer,
You don't really buy it, you rent it!"

Well, this idyllic scene, 'mid the nettles and steam
Was soon torn by my brother's shrill cries,
The poor little nipper caught his dong in his zipper
And was dancing with tears in his eyes.

Then back on the coach, off to Sutton
We got there, well ee it were grand
And we gazed on the sea, cold, the colour of tea
And smelled candy floss, dodgems and sand.

There were shops full of rock and hats with rude slogans
There was music and cries of hilarity
There were games on the sand, there were jellied eel stands
And souvenir shops packed with vulgarity.

My brother ran down to the ocean
His intention, the water to reach
For his foot he'd just thrust in, something disgustin'
A donkey had left on the beach.

The sea was as cold as a polar bear's dick
We watched Punch kill the crocodile, dead
And after throwing some sand at the Sally Army band
We went off to the funfair, instead.

There was a ride called The Comet, made you scream, faint and vomit
Half deafened, you hung upside down
And the last bit, a spinner, it brought up your dinner
Not bad value, for just half o' crown.

There were cards with fat ladies, nudists and Scotsmen
Honeymooners and dirty weekenders
And in a machine, what the butler had seen
Dimly flickered about in suspenders.

We ate cockles and whelks and big winkles
Soggy chips, toffee apples like glue
The hot-dogs were funny 'uns, something rude wrapped in onions
But we ate them and pease pudding too.

Then we went on the dodgems and waltzer
And big dipper that rises and falls
It was on this machine that my brother turned green
And his eyes bulged like bulldogs balls.

The poor little chap, he was sick in his cap
It were his best 'un, he started to cry
So not wishing to spoil it, we swilled it in toilet
And he wore it until it was dry.

Then driver found us and said, "Back to the bus!"
Through the dark, we ran the whole way
Candy floss in our hair, but we didn't care
Ee! We'd had such a wonderful day.

And wi' chara firing on all cylinders
We set off for Worksop and home
Rattling along th' highway, singing songs of Max Bygraves
Accompanied on paper and comb.

In the dim orange glow of the coach-light, so low
Courting couples were billing and cooing
Hoping, perhaps, that the coats in their laps
Would conceal the rude things they were doing.

We pulled up in our street about half past eleven
There was Mum, there was Granny an' all
They gazed with admiration at the plastic alsation
We'd won for 'em at coconut stall.

I drank up my cocoa, I ate up my sandwich
And soon up in bed I was curled
I was dreaming a dream, I was leading the team
On first charabanc trip around world.

Ee! Those things that I did, when I were a kid
Although they were simple and small
Now I'm grown up I find, I look back in my mind
I'm sure they were best times of all.

'Cos I've been to Majorca and by 'eck that's a corker
I've been to Pompeii and Hericulameum
The French Riviera where the ladies are barer
I've even paddled in the Mediterranean.

I've drunk various vinos in Torremolinos
But of all these I'll tell you for free
There's none can compete with that charabanc treat
With me brother, to Sutton on sea.

© Ivor Biggun

Subject: RE: Ivor Biggun
From: autolycus
Date: 05 Mar 07 - 01:49 PM

Thanks for mentioning him. I'm maintaining a list of famous 'Ivor's',and I'd forgotten him.





      Ivor