Scat-at-a-dah-doo-de-day-chi-poo.

Much as I hate jazz (maybe I'm destined to meet a guy called Johnny, and why does that make me think of fish?), I think I'll wiggle along to the Jazz festival this afternoon, on the lawns opposite Churchill's, for a mingle with all the other jazz haters, enjoying a garden party in the Sun.
And I'm led to understand that, at some point, they'll be holding a scat workshop.
I do hope they don't mean that awful German version of scat, where people poo all over eachother!
Of course, it could be the Somerset College of Arts and Technology, teaching people to paint with a soldering iron?

Who can say. Guess I'll just have to go and find out for myself!