Not many friends would lend you their man while yours was busy playing the banjo at the Omagh Bluegrass Festival. And for the whole day too. And then when you, your children and your friend's man got back from the Bluegrass Festival would then permit, nay encourage, you to go to the Portglenone Fleadh as well, with a handsome Vancouver nephew thrown in for good measure. And then your friend drives you there and goes on to babysit your kids and your neighbour's kid. You're a lucky woman Gnasher, I mean Jazzer.
There cannot be very many women who would let their man spend the whole day with a bosomy blonde, then on his return with said blonde would allow, nay insist, that he squires her to the Portglenone Fleadh with only one Vancouver nephew to chaperone. You're a lucky, lucky man Bert Clematis-Grower.
And not many friends would leave their door unlocked for you when you stagger in, in the early hours, exhausted, possibly rat-arsed, from a long day's bluegrassing in the park in Omagh. Not many friends would laugh lightly as the dogs go completely mental barking fit to raise the roof and waking up the whole house. You're a pair of very fortunate musicians Banjo Man and Mandolin Man.
And me? I'm definitely a star.
Pictured above. The Charges