The Hours Creep on Apace

Don't think I haven't been working on a parody of When the Foeman Bares His Steel, because I have, and I've made progress, too, though it's taken more mental energy than I've devoted to anything in years. It came in bits and pieces, and for the longest time seemed to have no wit, direction or even point, when one day I awoke to find that everything was done, right up to the Major General's first interjection, Away, away. It was not so much written, as sculpted.

And the results aren't half bad, if I say so myself. Several problems to solve, like what to do about those pesky Tarantaras, and how to fit anything but the original lyric to Go, ye heroes, etc. The solution to the latter was to eschew melisma as far as I could, so the result doesn't scan on paper. All that's needed now is an ending, and while I have the idea for one, turning it into a lyric to fit the moment when Sullivan has dissolved Gilbert's into the granular We go, we go is going to take some doing. Nothing comes to mind so far.

I'll present the final version, if it ever comes, to the comedy club mistress, and I daresay she'll dismiss it out of hand. Then I might post a message on Savoynet, offering to send it to members privately (it wouldn't do to post the lyric itself; while the stuff is not smutty for its own sake, as was my ribald G&S song cycle, If They Ever Decide to Re-Release "The Naughty Victorians," it probably speaks too matter-of-factly for some folk).