For every rasped-out call to arms such as Love, Ire & Song …, there's a nostalgic Wessex Boy, whose Mumfordian jauntiness is heightened by female backing singers.

Give me the cupcakes, he said under his breath. ¶ The girl's eyes dug into him. Her pink mouth hung open. Red velvet's the favorite. ¶ Give me those. The red velvets.

His white-locked head shaking from side to side, the man was moaning: “They ploughed up the common and me wennel Bu′′ercup died. An so me chile died and then me ′ooman died. They all on ′em died cos they ploughed up the common... ”

He set off in search of better opportunities.