This one's called "P.S.N.I., I Love You"
In a future comment, I'll discuss that versatile and thunderous Irish handheld drum, the bodhrán. For now, I'll say that the traditional Irish music I've heard the last few evening is what country music was or could have been before it turned shite: simple, direct, rowdy, wistful and beautiful.
The crowd at Fibber Magee also included a prodigiously endowed and well-balanced woman confident enough of her serving skills to carry open bottles of beer in her pockets without spilling a drop. Last I heard, the National Trust had purchased her cleavage, slung a rope bridge across it, and shipped it up the North Antrim coast, where visitors were paying £2 each to walk the precipitous divide.
© Peter Rozovsky 2008