Harmony Vs. Chaos

I'm having a very low day today. Flat. I've the day off. Nobody home but me so I don't have to impersonate a functional husband and father. No moon last night and I got the call from The Great Spirit Of All Intestines to do a liver cleanse.
Out with the old. And before in with the new, nothing. Just flat. Light smiles a couple of tears. No burst of enthusiasm. Flat. Calm. Sore. Regrets. I start having memories from years ago.
I'm starting out playing music. Living over Heinz' chipper because I fell out with the auld lad. I have gigs but no transport. I had been using the shop van. Fuck him anyway.
Anyway Seamus Cahill used to listen to me in the Royal Hotel on a Thursdays and he twigged what was going on. From the generosity of his heart he decided he was going to bring me and my gear to gigs. Nothing dodgy. Just generosity. Pure.
He drove a big Volvo 240 wagon. Maroon. Every gig he'd park outside Heinz' and we'd head off out the country to some pub. He'd have advise. The big one was a three pointer "1. Get the gig. 2. Play the gig. 3. Get paid.” He'd always say you can't have either one without the other two.
One telly. Please turn off the telly I'm ready to start. Nobody had mobile phones to distract them. No computers. Just me, music and the crowd. I was the entertainment and they were an active part of the show. Shouting, singing, dancing, roaring abuse. "Sing something we all know!" Or "Sing something you know well!". Or " Sing 'By The Window' and we'll all help you out!" Just humans on the piss looking to make it all go away for a few hours.

Harmony vs chaos is the reason we make music. Now I reckon a few of ye might have other opinions on that but I don't care what ye think it's my blog.
I remember my Granny was in our little country shop buying the few groceries for the week and she always dressed well a woollen two piece suit skirt jackety thing. Lovely shoes too, hair done nice and a hat. I took her by the hand out the back door of the shop across the yard into the shed where we kept cattle feed and I sat up on a bag of Clarinda and played her a tune I had written on my harmonica. I had it written in crayon in a copybook. I was six.
Fair play to the woman she listened. In the dark and the cold and said it was lovely. Ah sure it must have been if my Granny says it was. We all want to be heard. Harmony vs chaos.