The children busking with the helicopter mother's hovering about during the Willie week is a contemination that spread from the fleadhanna. I don't particularly like it, you reach the stage where you want to scream when you hear another wooden version of the breeches full of stitches or the bog down in the valley. Occasionally though, there's one or a bunch that radiate music and brighten the day.

As the Cliffs go, I have busked there in the distant past and good money was to be made. At some point it became madly overcrowded and some form of regulation was necessary.