I wish I could claim authorship of the gorgeous quip that gives this post its title, but I heard it from one of the musicians last night at Fibber Magee in Belfast, which offers traditional Irish music live every evening. P.S.N.I. stands for Police Service of Northern Ireland, so you'll well understand why the joke would go over well with a celebrating crowd.
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.
Slainte!
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
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.
Slainte!
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
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