"Not like the old days when they'd risk being met by blokes like my uncle
if they snooped on pub singalongs..."

A few years ago a PRS goon with a clipboard suddenly appeared at our pub session. The landlord was able to give us about five minutes' notice. The chap interrogated us for the best part of an hour, listing all the tunes/songs we admitted to playing/singing. We behaved perfectly. We had no written lists to damn us and we didn't mention anything we knew had been composed by a person with a name. It didn't take us long to fathom that he didn't have a bloody clue about our kind of music, even though he was portentously scribbling down titles. We went from being a bit concerned to having a bit of fun with him. Neither the landlord nor we heard any more.

We managed to not mention Ashokan bloody Farewell...