Back in the 70's the Morris Side had a booking at the Mechelen Folklore Festival. We were billeted with a family, the son of which was the lead singer of a folk-rock band specialising in electric versins of long ballads in Flemish. His stage name, and the name of the band, was, and I kid you not, Joe Prik (I still have his card if you want a scan, apprently Prik was a brand of lemonade that he drank).
The band started up the backing and he arrived on a pushbike smoking a fag in a long holder. He launched into this interminable ballad with a pretentius air to an audience devoid of Flemish speakers in a manner which inspired much grumbling in the audience. The stage manageer said something presumably in Flemish and the two actually started fighting, with JP pushing the manager around as the PA was turned off and JP was dragged off. I was sitting next to his sister who asked "apart from that, what did you think of them?". I still haven't thought of an answer (Apart from that, Mrs Kennedy, how did you enjoy Dallas?)

Another nomination would be someone at a Manchester Club who advised that "on the way here, it started raining so I waited in a doorway, so while I was there I wrote this song". You know the ilk.

A lot of nominations are victims of their own success, good songs being sung to death. Here in Perth I can sing Farmer's Boy to a folk club full of people who don't know it.