The Armagh Rhymers's spokesman strode forward, drew on 3000 years of history and tradition and with all due gravitas intoned: "Who else would like to step up and make a proper eejit of themselves?" And thus a further three victims volunteered to be drilled in the art of – oh – some kind of dance or other.

The Rhymers don't actually stand on ceremony; it's more that they shuffle around it. And while their heads are covered for most of the time with elaborate basketry, you just know that they're not being po-faced under their masks.

Theirs is a way of keeping the ancient art of mumming alive, of re-enacting historical occasions and rites that have passed into folklore by entertainment, the madder the better. Characters from St Patrick through Oliver Cromwell and forward into more recent times turn up, say their piece and if need be, defend themselves against the Turkish champion. With a lightsabre. The vanquished are then brought back to life with, but of course, a set of jump leads while another victim/volunteer holds the doctor's minuscule umbrella and black bag.

The music, including The Wild Rover and an extended-and-then-some If You're Happy And You Know It, Clap Your Hands, is chosen to encourage audience involvement (it works) rather than admiration for the players' ability, although a mandolin and a concertina are played with more than decent panache and items such as Hunting The Wren issue reminders of mumming's ceremonial aspect. All in all great fun as well as, in its own way, an educational journey back in time that deserves repeating in front of a bigger audience.

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