True folk exists in the murky substratas of societal dysfunction; hidden away from the glare of the spotlights it provides a haven for the terminally unfashionable and unrepentantly content; if it serves any agenda at all it is one of absolute egalitarianism whereby what is served up will always be an acquired taste. It is hard won, cranky, curmudgeonly, and at times downright autistic.

True folk does not serve Mammon, put passion sweet & pure; it is served by erudite enthusiasts hell bent on the authentic; there are no egos, no rewards, no kudos. True folk is like true football - a grey game, played on grey days, watched by grey people. True folk is neglected, and dirty; it is a vault, an archive, a cultural oubliette; true folk is superstition and detritus; true folk is everything people say it is - balding heads, grey beards, pewter tankards, shaky-eggs, badly played bodhrans, and all; true folk is rust and grime; true folk is the beggar in ditch by the motorway verge.

True folk is all these things and more, but, God Forbid, it will never be entertainment!