I remember a while ago, well two whiles ago actually, because I heard it twice. A play on the radio, where a group of people including Bob Dylan’s manager were sat around a table in a restaurant. There was an empty seat and conjecture spread as to who was going to fill that empty seat. Eventually Dylan’s manager announced that Bob himself was to attend. However as time pasted, no sign of Mr Dylan, and the seat was never filled. So basically although I’m a huge fan of Dylan’s work, he wouldn’t get an invite, even though the editor of the prompt guarantee’s attendance. I don’t believe Dylan is good socially, his feelings come out in his music, but when it comes down to small talk, just like me he’s not good. Indeed, if I had had the choice, I wouldn’t even attend my own dinner party.
The Tea Party.
I’ve been told I’ve got to organise a party. Well I’m not going to invite anyone arty farty.
I’m not going to invite Bobby Dylan, I’m not going to invite any famous villain.
No celebrities to come and dine, But I may invite some good friends of mine.
My friend Andy, I miss him so much, many others that have slipped away, once more I’d like to touch.
To raise the mood, someone good with chatter, I think I’ll invite the famous Mad Hatter.
Alice she can come along too, and that giant caterpillar, magic mushrooms he could bring a few.
I may invite Ronald Phart, that clown, state of the art, he could wear his orange mask, we could all in his lunacy bask.
The Queen of Hearts she must attend, “Off with Pharts head” we’ll all pretend!
Meadowhead Bard.
Meadowhead Bard 
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