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Firstly – Happy New Year to everyone!!

Now, Viv  follows a website called Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, which sets poetry topics for its members. A few days ago it set the topic “The Dubstep Goat”. Viv didn’t know what that was and wrote this brilliant poem saying so (no more links in this post, I promise, it already has more than Jacob Marley’s chain). I don’t know what a Dubstep Goat is either, but lack of knowledge has rarely stopped me before…

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High on a hill lived a lonely goatherd.

There were reasons why he was lonely. The fact that he lived high on a hill was a factor, of course. No-one wants to live with in a house where you need crampons to get yourself home from the weekly shop. His tendency to yodel at unexpected times didn’t help either. Sleeping wives dreaming of rugged downhill skiers do not like to be startled awake by a high pitched “LAY EE ODL LAY EE ODL LAY HEE HO”, it would be like being in the room with Tarzan when he got caught in the zip of his loincloth.

His biggest problem, though, was the goat that he herded. Billy the Goat (a lack of imagination was another of the goatherd’s flaws) had a peculiar walk, like a cross between Bambi on ice and a girl running. His legs would shoot out to the side and back in again as he gambolled about the hill, worrying sheep (they were afraid he might hurt hinself running like that) and head-butting snowmen.

Folks in a town that was quite remote, where the goatherd somtimes went to the pub to drink beer with the foam afloat, used to poke fun at his pet, calling it the Penguinstep Goat. The goatherd used to get his own back on them when he had climbed home later by yodelling loudly, causing a pile of snow to slide cartoon-like down onto the pub.

And so life might have continued, the goatherd living like a hermit, the goat walking like a hermit-crab, had it not been for a skiing holiday taken by Michael Flatley. On his second morning there he was woken by the ear-piercing (I’m not sure that’s the phrase I’m looking for) yodel, and since he was labouring under a massive apres-ski hangover he stormed up the hill to tell the goatherd to shut the feck up. It was then that he saw the goat running across the hill and stood entranced.

Flatley had been looking for ideas for a new dance, and now he had found it. He quickly built a show around the Penguinstep, was talked out of his original idea for the title (“Flatulence”) and the show swept the world. And since Flatley was from Dublin the step became known as the Dubstep.

So Billy became known as the Dubstep Goat, and was mocked in the town no longer, since its tourist industry boomed as people flocked to see the inspiration for Riverdance, and to post videos of themselves dancing beside him on YouTube. Meanwhile royalties flowed into the bank account of the goatherd and he was able to afford a house further down the hill.

He met a girl in a pale pink coat (she was an ex-nun from the local convent, apparently they used to regularly leave the order and then marry the first man they met) and the lonely goatherd was lonely no longer.