Aye but thats not the half of it, I was giving my fenian* companion the usual (deserved) gip as we wandered a couple of pints the worse for wear towards back King Street in Manc. and I reminded him of the silliness he'd fielded because someone had decided he was a Loyal Orange Apprentice Boy on this website - and at that moment I thought I heard a marching band approaching and aye, I heard the welcome homely, protestant wailing of fifes and drum.
The rest is disputed history, well it wouldn't be history if it weren't - Despite my entreaties, our West Briton INSISTED on watching the Salford Tangerine Dream Lads and the Cheetham Hill Paisley Kazoo Band as they stamped by, every footstep tapping down a nail in the coffin of a united Irish dreamscape. And yet I swear I saw a tear of pride running down the cheek of our bhoy from Kounty Cerry or Kork or Donny Gaul (wherever the 'eck he's from, Derbyshire?) as the consumate airs of the accomplished flautists wafted through the smoky, satanic Lancashire atmosphere and filled us all with pride in Henry the Eighth and what he started with Lex Luther those centurians ago.
Its when he started crying with joy that I took the picture.
*or is it feignian ?????