Ok, the image isn't brilliant - grown men with bells on their legs, flower and feather trimmed hats, leaping about waving handkerchiefs.

But since when have Morris Men been interested in cynical perceptions? Nancy boys they are not.

These are the lads who like their beer and women warm, their main intentions nurturing a tradition older and, to many, far more compelling than cricket.

By weekday they are business analysts, academics, accountants.

Come weekend, play a few bars on the old concertina, attach some pretty weird attire and hey, watch these guys dance.

South Lakeland has been awash with them.

Crook Morris has just celebrated its 20th birthday and, to help them party, along came 250 dancers, men and women from across the country.

The fair sex has been allowed to dance in more enlighted groups for some time.

There are even some all female line-ups, like The Loose Women from Kent.

Businessman Martyn Harvey set Crook Morris on the road after being introduced to folk dancing at university.

"I was originally attracted by sex.

We were new students.

It was an easy way to get to the girls.

There was a lot of heat and sweat and eyeing each other up.

It was a chance to get closer," he grinned.

Crook's foreman, or trainer, admitted the traditions had him hooked.

"It is an import part of English rural life.

The music and dance are our heritage.

" Despite Radio 4 - which is always having a dig and has never attempted to understand Morris Dancing - wherever we go, we attract crowds and smiles."

His hat is a couple of feet tall, stuffed full of vivid blooms and floating plumage.

Apparently, it represents harvest and growth.

The white shirt is about new life and the neckerchief purity (of crops and not the wearer).

Shin bells scare the devil and brandishing sticks ward off evil spirits.

Each area has its own idiosyncrasies.

Some men black out their faces, while rapper dancers, named after the tool used to scrape sweat off pit ponies, have a tendency to dress up as women.

Martyn has his own little sideline, a false vibrating arm, which can be impregnated with fake blood, and tossed around to entertain the crowds.

"In our over-worked stressed lives, going out for a night's dancing leaves you feeling totally relaxed," says Martyn.

"There is a fantastic feel-good factor.

No vandalism, no violence, just a warm, family feel."

Financial analyst Brian McGarvey is squire to the Ironmen and Severn Gilders, a Shropshire team, which blacks its faces and wears black and red to represent fire and flames of the forges.

"When busking was against the law on Sundays, Morris Men covered their faces so they wouldn't be recognised," explains Brian.

He clutches a pint and says it is unusual in these circles not to be a drinker.

He laments the fact there are not more younger dancers.

"People drop out in their 20s and don't come back until their 40s, then dance until they drop.

Dancing in clogs kills the knees and ankles.

Maybe someone should set up a Zimmer team."

Loose Women have been going 18 years, a band of around a dozen, who say they have to prove themselves in a man's world.

"We were dancing at a posh gathering in Royal Tunbridge Wells and the announcer couldn't bring himself to say our name and just called us 'the clog dancers'," laughed Elaine Newton.

She said the whole Morris dance tradition and the camaraderie it brought made it the best of pastimes.

Sally Edmondson agreed.

She is with Mucky Mountains Morris, named after a waste tip in hometown St Helens.

She is a university lecturer and founded the group about 12 years ago.

Some have moved to Australia since, taking the dances Down Under.

"We are the butt of many a joke, but I have never seen a negative reaction.

Go out there and dance and all you see are happy faces," said Sally.

Newby Bridge Hotel was a mass of Morris.

Sides dodge the showers to show some fancy footwork and melodious renditions from the accompanying musicians.

Bruce Johnstone-Lowe is doing a PhD in environmental philosophy but in Crook Morris finds all that is important in life.

"I used to be with a Somerset side, but they were misogynists, intent on keeping women out.

Crook has lovely people and, as a musician, I was welcomed in."

Richard Hannah, from Worcestershire, is so addicted he belongs to four different groups and organises a grail of a gathering each year at Upton-on-Severn.

"I got drunk at a party and agreed to do a May Day dance.

We practised in a new house extension and, because we had no band, got people to sing for us.

"The crowd loved it and we got booked for fetes.

There is tremendous fellowship among us, you know," he added.

Sarah Myers agrees.

The dancer from Shropshire has been at it since she was 12, but has had to look away from Morris Men to find a man.

"To be honest, this lot are getting on a bit," she giggled.

But as there is many a good tune played on an old fiddle, these boys say they'll die dancing.