It was about my third or fourth turn to play, and I decided I would play a song that the rest of the pub might know. Maybe they would get involved. As I began the intro to Wish You Were Here, I saw approving nods and smile from the circle of musos, but I was disappointed that no-one else in the pub seemed to have taken an interest. Oh well...I thought as I finished the intro...back to the drawing boards. As I began singing two or three of the other guitars joined in; playing either the main chords along with me, or playing improv accompanyments. It sounded wonderful, and I was so enjoying myself...the magic of the music...the company of these wonderful musicians...that I had failed to notice that the entire pub had gathered around us. I got a little nervous as I entered the middle part of the song. All faces were watching this young man who had started such a pretty song for their entertainment. DOBS was standing with his hand on my shoulder looking like a proud dad. The circle of musos were all watching me too, with warm smiles on their faces. As we began the chorus...the entire pub joined in. All guitars, all voices, shaking the walls of this dark little pub to their foundations. As we sang the last "wish you were here" a few shouts of joy erupted from the croud, from folk who were obviously unaware that there was still a little music to go.

We finished the song, and the pub erupted into irish-rebel-****-the-queen-and-yer-british-mum-too songs. Col and the others had turned up, having decided we were better fun after all.

We had been playing rather quiet songs in our dark little corner, so the magic part of the evening was over. But as those last notes of WYWH finished, and I looked around the circle, the warmth, friendship, and bond that emenated from their eyes made me feel like never before, or again. I wished I would be there forever. Probably a thought well suited to the song I had just finished.

Then again...maybe it was just the Guinness..

__________________
Only the very safe,
Can talk about wrong and right.
Of those that are forced to choose,
There's some who will choose to fight.