This time I went beyond Knock to the tiny town of Westport where everyone acts like you’re a long lost relative and they are thrilled to welcome you giving you a “Top of the morning” greeting even when it’s not morning. They talk about having a crack which I didn’t get until I left. (I thought they were on the stuff). And just when I was thinking the town is so provincial and I was getting snotty, they take me to a pub: and there is the reason why we should all live in Ireland.
In the corner of the dark smoky, wooden-floored pub are several fiddlers, three flautists, a singer and someone banging a drum. They’re playing that Irish music that makes your heart bleed, it all sounds the same but it’s fantastic. One guy from The Chieftans (a brilliant Irish band) was playing along with them and I was told this happens most every night. Everyone in there was dancing; old, young, totally plastered but everyone totally happy. I was thinking how much we’re missing in London. Here the whole community get together and have these evenings like they’re one big family. I was told when someone dies in the town everyone piles into the house of the bereaved and they take care of the cooking and cleaning and there’s music and crying and drinking. How much would I love to live there in my next life. I probably would fake that someone in my house died just to have people come over and cook and clean for me. Then I’d get caught and then they’d probably throw me out of town. Better I’m in London.