It was the kind of night where lights shone bright like sunlamps and young men swapped hats with their elders.
It was the kind of night where the girl finally shed her thick woollen cardigan, to frolic and carouse by the stage.
It was the kind of night where even the one with burnt chops stood up, intrigued by the sound of the dulcimer.
It was the kind of night where the guy swaying down the front, bottle in hand, flicked friendly v signs to the guy at the back of the room.
It was the kind of night where the barmaid glittered and shone in purple sequins.
It was the kind of night where people joined in even if they didn’t know the words.
It was the kind of night where good friends gathered to laugh and have fun.
The kind of night where the drinks flowed and faces glowed in the dark.
A night where the eyes smiled and the embraces were warm.
A night for turning and twirling and stamping of feet, bouncing and cheering and kicking of heels.
A night for the players on the stage, be it fiddle or brass, guitar or bass, beat or banjo, whistle or washboard sound.
A night for the music lovers, the folk lovers.
A night to escape, for arms raised aloft to rejoice in one last rip-roaring refrain.
A night for raising the roof, a night to treasure, another magical night at the home of live music.
Tip of the hat to Beggars Bridge, Shiznitz and Hillbilly Troupe. Tug of the cap to Lloyd and Martin, Awayke and the Adelphi family for bringing us A Fist Full of Folk.