If you have been following Irish news, you may have recently heard the name "Patsy Dan." Patsy Dan was the King of Tory Island which lies off the coast just north of us. He died a few weeks ago, relatively suddenly, and I have not heard if he will be succeeded. The position is granted by acclaim rather than heredity. An artist and musician, he served as the island's ambassador and representative since the early 1990s. Our Patsy Dan's is not named after him, but prosatically commemorates two former owners, Patsy and Dan.
Dan's hosts a trad music jam Monday and Friday evenings.
Each week a core-group of musicians play songs from a short list of their standards. Sometimes a woman we know joins them to sing a song, but usually only men play and sing.
We bring Pippin with us. He eats exactly three treats, and settles in until we're done.
Just like a child would. One of the reasons why pubs are so much better than bars in the States is because there's no age restrictions. Sometimes they dance around to the music and are so cute I could cry.
As I said, the five of us don't stay long, just two rounds and a bag of crisps. Colin and I may debate something in the news, and we get the update on Helen's most recent painting. Sometimes we're joined by friends or friends of friends. We always have a good time and it's a nice bookend to the week.
A few weeks ago a friend was telling me about a business partner he had fallen out with. Among his many sins, the business guy was "shit craic at the pub." I know this man too, and when pointed out to me I realized this was a devastating assessment. At the pub the former-friend was always speaking in low volume in long monologues. I'll remember this insult, and only use it when earned, as it's an unredeemable reputation.
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