I was mistaken for Stan by many pub patrons on a number of nights at the pubs I played. I was fatter but, at a bit of a distance, I looked like him and, when I could sing, I sounded somewhat like him. My mate Chris used to call me Stan. I thought it was a wonderful compliment.

I often think of Chris these many years later. I think he is now a commercial jet pilot flying out of Iqaluit, Nunavut. His spoons were great and he could play a mean geetar. A bit of fiddle too. And when he would play the tin whistle to my Rhan, I was in heaven. His rendition of THE BAND PLAYED WALTZING MATILDA (sorry for the caps lock) was always the last song at our, well, MY, kitchen sessions, by my request. Never failed to make me cry. The lad is good. I miss having sessions. I truly miss the music. God giveth and God pisses you off. Ya got no say eh.