God, what a night. Christ, what a hangover. I feel as if my insides have been hoovered out and replaced with crêpe paper. Every time I move my whole body seems to rustle, which makes my head throb. Never again.

What a night. Possibly the strangest night I've ever known. I can't think where to begin.

She was there. Fiddlenose, as Don calls her, though her name is Margaret. She came up to me after the gig, when I was at the bar. (I'll have to tell you about the gig later, my brain can't focus on that far back right now.) I was about to have another go when she apologised. She gave such a fulsome apology I couldn't help but accept it. I still couldn't figure out (and still can't) what her game was, though, so I asked her why she had continually stared at me that time.

"Because you're the most beautiful thing in the world."

What the hell does that mean??? I had absolutely no idea how to respond, I was totally gobsmacked. I muttered something about her buying the drinks and joining us and left as quickly as I could, to give myself time to get composed, figure out how I was going to deal with this. I didn't really expect her to do it, but she did.

I was so nervous I started laying into her big time. Gave her a hard time, which I felt sorry about afterwards. I couldn't make up my mind about her. Don didn't take to her, I don't think, and Marie was even quieter than usual. Padraig was pleased to have someone new to show off to, particularly when she praised his playing, and Jim, well Jim was Jim, I guess... *G*

So is she trying to make a fool of me? What is she up to? Don asked her what she thought of the gig, and she gave a really impressive summary of it. Spot on. She knows what she's talking about. Even Don was impressed, bless him. I know what he was trying to do: trying to trip her up, expose her as a music fraud, but she put him in his place pretty smartish. He likes to think he knows more about music than anyone else, and doesn't like it when he meets his match.

She said something really interesting at one point, when she was talking about my playing: "You sort of disappear into yourself, into a kind of cocoon." Well, of course I do, of course I do, but nobody ever notices. Except her. Curious. I changed the conversation smartish at that point.

She's pretty cool. Quiet, but very confident in herself. She can knock back the drink as well, and I suspect she is out for a good time. Doesn't look the sort to commit to relationships. Very detached, I would say.. She'd get on brilliantly with John: no commitment, just fun. I'd introduce them if John ever spoke to me again...

We had a session after closing time which was just wonderful. Awesome. Sometimes you hit the Wall, and just fly through it. You don't get it every time, but when it does you know the exact moment it happens. It happened last night during "Across the Hill". It's a weird sensation, and I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like the rhythm of the music takes on an extra dimension, so that you're not just hearing it, you're feeling it, breathing it, living it. It kicks in like an adrenalin surge and you feel like you're levitating; the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and it's like the ghosts of all the musicians of the past are flowing through you, urging you on, helping you, improving your playing. Then time stops. Only music exists, only your music exists, and it feels like all your other senses diminish to allow your hearing to become accentuated. It gets darker, you don't smell anything, or taste anything. You hear differently. You hear notes, nuances, phrases no-one has ever heard before, or will ever hear again: it's yours and yours alone. A personal joy in the middle of a public celebration. Only musicians can hit the Wall, and even then, they only do it when they're perfectly attuned. I've sat in, just listening on loads of sessions, brilliant ones, thrilling, exciting ones, and it hasn't happened. You can only feel it when you play it.

But when it happens it's the most intense feeling in the world. Like a thousand orgasms all at once. Or so I imagine...

The final surprise of the evening was when Margaret sang. It was lovely. A beautiful song I think I've heard before somewhere, very sad. She has a lovely voice, a bit thin from lack of practice, but she could be really good. She let on she didn't want to do it, but she carried it off with such ease I'm sure she's sung in folk clubs loads of times before.

So anyway, we've another gig in a couple of weeks and she said she might come along to that. I'd quite like it if she did actually. Still don't understand her, don't know what her game is, but I quite liked her.

Now, I have an appointment with an aspirin and my bed.

Bye bye

On to next story: I Wonder what is keeping my true love this night