The Teddy Bears' Picnic

If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise 

If you go down in the woods today, you'd better go in disguise 

For every bear that ever there was 

Will gather there for certain because 

Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic 

Every teddy bear who's been good is sure of a treat today 

There's lots of marvelous things to eat and wonderful games to play 

Beneath the trees where nobody sees 

They'll hide and seek as long as they please 

That's the way the teddy bears have their picnic 

Picnic time for teddy bears 

The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today 

Watch them, catch them unawares 

And see them picnic on their holiday 

See them gaily gad about 

They love to play and shout 

They never have any cares 

At six o'clock their mummies and daddies 

Will take them back home to bed 

'Cause they're tired little teddy bears

If you go down in the woods today, you'd better not go alone

It's lovely down in the woods today, but safer to stay at home 

For every bear that ever there was 

Will gather there for certain because 

Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

You'd better go in disguise

Back when I had That Other Blog, in that other lifetime, I tried and tried to find this version of Teddy Bears' Picnic, an excerpt from the superb 1986 British miniseries The Singing Detective. (I've ordered a DVD copy and will probably be commenting on it later.)

But the thing is. . . I wasn't looking for this one at all, not this time. I was looking for the one I stumbled on when looking for this one before.  It was a chorus of what sounded like English people, old hippies with long grey hair and floral crowns and jerkins and that sort of thing (whatever a jerkin is). They sang it delightfully, buoyantly, but I didn't keep the link, or if I did, I'll be damned if I know where it is.

There's a movie version of The Singing Detective, but don't bother with it. The '86 series is pure surrealism. Its hero is a tortured writer of crime novels,  his skin rotting away from psoriatic arthritis (the same soul-rot afflicting my afflicted sister). It has almost been forgotten, but not by me. This little taste will give you. . . a little taste. Now 'scuse me while I hunt for that other one.