The festival season is upon us, ladies and gentlefolk. Exciting times to be alive, particularly considering that these are my last few precious months of regular gainful employment before I return to being a studenting bum again. So I intend to rip through every festival I can find this summer, unapologetic about my many excesses, because, God knows, it'll be two long hungry years before I can afford this sort of carry on again.
My first foray into the fray shall be out foreign - well out to the Aran Islands. Craiceann is a bodhrán summer school out on Inis Oirr. I've heard nothing but great things from this festival and to be honest, I'm expecting EXCELLENT things. Apparently melody players are thin on the ground out there, and frequently there are perhaps ten melody instruments accompanied by roughly four thousand bodhráns. To me, this situation either sounds like the craic or hell on earth, it's a very fine line these days.
I've leave booked in work. My sleeping bag is looking expectant. My tongue is swollen from the want of a daycent pint. Bring on the badness!
Vague ramblings of a fiddle playing, pint drinking, not-quite-a-student-anymore-but-acts-like-one-regardless girl from Limerick, Ireland. Intended to be full of countless witty insights, but more than likely will be left to rot in the internet doldrums one post in. Apologies for all the names I get wrong.
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