The Writer's Life: Film & Book Reviews, Observations, and Stories
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Same Tune, Second Verse

Last night we tried a different pub and found basically the same group of musicians as the night before. It was an intimate space, but the people inside were more interested in talking than listening to the music. We sat between a randy old dentist, who seemed to think I was a rival and heaped insults on me (which I mostly ignored), and a tiny Englishman with a fringe of hair, who informed us, as best he could because he was so drunk, that the musicians were mostly Welsh, some Irish, and a few Cumbrians. He said they went from town to town for the music festivals (which, I assumed, was sort of like the players in renaissance fairs in the States). Very quickly the level of noise drowned out the music, so I left, a bit disgusted. On the way back to the cottage, I was already smiling. Two generations ago, many of the Irish played instruments, and it was traditional to hear music in the villages on weekends. Now they have to import the Welsh to do it.