A place where Paddy shares his thoughts, rambles, and other artistic endeavors

Presidential Dream
We were all sort of hangin’ round this old Irish country style fireplace, Bill, Arty and Johnny a few other musicians, Just hangin’, shootin’ the breeze eaten food cocktails drinkin’, beer good whiskey, mature wine and Champagne.

All this beside some old stone fireplace! I was about to sit down with the lads and have a tune when Bill turned round to his case, pulled out a bag bellows and chanter, strapping them on with the ease of someone who’d been handling those things for some time, he sat down on the hob and started to play, after playing a few reels jigs waltzes and stuff he took me and my pipes accompanied by the lads on guitars, some dude friend of his on the old upright piano to the highest notes from the lowest growls, a music I can only describe as wild! A mixture of trad jazz, blues and our imagination taking full advantage of the evenings crazy setting, swinging 'round unstrapping the pipes and hangin’ the sax he began to swing like no one I’d ever seen.

On the way home pushing the peddles, something strange glittering in the light of the moon, across the green fields I try to follow the gay flying object, disappearing now and then from the reflection of night light in my glazed and tired eyes. After some time trying to figure out what this crazy pilot was up to, playing with aerobatics at these small hours of the morn? Suddenly in sight, X-rayed through light on full moon I could see the shape of a person enveloped in a silvery membrane, stretching out past wide open fingers like loose feathers on the tips of a vultures wing, spreading all the way down to his feet and beyond like a huge silver kite and the skeletal figure of a man swooping and gliding with graceful art as if checking out his huge domain “planet earth”. I turned to Bill and Hillary who nearly fell off a their tandem. O my god! He shouts, It’s George!

Ding Dang! Ding Dong!

My cell phone alarm goes off.

pbk.
House on the hill
Loudon
May 18th 2005
 

​

Dave Williams
November 1999 & 2000

Never forget the smile on your face, as you unwrapped the regs in the room I spent time admiring the shine of silver, set neat in the black of the wood Unaware of Brian's sweating and swearing, with an audience and no piper to play. We completely lost track of time.

Rods and reeds fit snug in daul stock, we looked and nodded the same. The look the action, the sound from each key pressed Playing as if they’d been forever yea, they passed the most crucial test

Long days spent in the workshop, measuring scraping, sanding
and later down at the local, we’d wash down a chestfull of dust The work sweat and time seemed distant, on the day you opened the case

For the shine of the silver the smell of the leather and I had the rest of my pipes.

You said I should maybe play them awhile, before taking them out on the stage
Surprise! For along with a room full of people and pipers you sat through my set with a smile, happy and proud as,

Do you remember Dave?

Celebrating, You I and Tommy went on a pub-crawl, to the oldest pubs in Stamford we played with ideas of perfection, a reed for each note on the regs
To complete my set with a yellow box chanter? The black one I have in my case

The pipe talk came to an abrupt ending, as the barmaid came out with the pints.

Dave, we’ll miss you
paddy