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This is the podcast for April 3rd, 2020.

It's not safe for work.

Coming to you live from the Cornfield Resistance, which has been pants-free since 2010,

it's the professional left with Drift Glass and Blue Gal.

Hey, Drirt Glass.

Hey, and now a little culture. The Canterbury Tales by Jeffrey Chaucer.

When in April the sweet showers fall that pierce marches drought to the root and all,

and bathed every vein in liquor that has power to generate therein

and sire the flower.

When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath filled again,

in every holt and heath the tender shoots and leaves,

and the young son, his half-course, in the sign of the ram, has run,

and many little birds make melody that sleep through all the night with open eye. So nature pricks

them on to ramp and rage, then folk do go on pilgrimage, and palmers to go seeking out strange strands to distant shrines, well known in distant lands.

Especially from every shire's end of England, they to Canterbury went, the holy blessed martyr there to seek, who helped them when they lay so ill and weak.

And that is the prologue to Canterbury Tales, which we noticed last night, as we were talking, that it takes place right at this time of year.

Right at the end of March, beginning of April.

It does. It does. People leaving the city to go to Canterbury to be saved from the plague, right?

And this was after the plague has sort of swept through London many times already. Like over the course of Chaucer's life, it had hit three or four times, four or five times.

And yet, as grim as it was.

...