IJUST wish I had the co-ordination to be a Morris dancer. How I’d strut my stuff!

Every year I gaze in admiration as these cheerful extroverts parade through Wimborne on the Saturday afternoon of the Folk Festival.

What a wonderful spectacle it all is.

And what an exhilarating atmosphere the performers create as they stamp and stomp along, jingling their bells and bashing their sticks.

My favourites are the more flamboyant dancers, both male and female.

These are the ones who paint their faces, wear tunics made of fluttering shreds of brightly coloured fabric and howl like demons as they leap out into the crowds when least expected.

But the most heart-warming sight of all on Saturday was that of Brian Bisp, the “father” of the festival.

There he was, in his wheelchair, at the head of the procession, where he belonged.

It was good to see that Brian, who suffered a stroke some years ago, is looking a whole lot better these days.

That seemed to make the sun shine all the brighter on the festivities.