Most heartfelt thanks to Andy and Jilly and the rest of your crew for an absolutely stunning working weekend.

Depending where you were, you probably think that the bar song session on Sunday evening was an inspired episode of communal lunacy or just a load of drunks singing mostly non-folk songs none too well and making a lot of noise.

Certainly at the same time there was singing elsewhere that was technically far superior, with more meaningful and challenging lyrics, better harmonies, people paying more attention and not talking during songs, and all the other things that make the difference between a folk club or concert and a pub. But out of this drunken musical mediocrity came something that was absolutely magic - a re-creation of the way that countless generations of our forebears experienced the music that became "folk".

The selection of songs may not have been "folk", but it was surely traditional. We were singing songs that we knew because we were folks, not because we were folkies; songs we had known for years, since childhood or youth. People have always absorbed songs from many sources: it matters not whether the song is two years, two generations or two centuries old; whether it has been handed down orally, or written for money by a known author; whether its lyrics will inspire you to change the world or your underpants. Some songs have that certain "something" and people will take them to their heart. If you were there in the 60s "The Times They Are A Changing" and "Lily The Pink" are both part of a tradition you have lived.

In the "olden days" you could go to the music hall or opera house and hear excellent performers, or you could go round to the pub and entertain yourselves. People of all abilities and temperaments came together to do whatever they could to make sure everyone enjoyed themselves. Some couldn't carry a tune in a proverbial bucket, some had weak voices, some could never remember the words, but everyone was involved. There was no "performer" and no "audience": just equal participants. "Everybody join in with all the bits you think you know" has a long and honourable heritage.

But more important than the quality of either songs or singers was the communality of the experience: gradually new things were introduced and adopted into a tradition that grew in an organic and unplanned way from what had gone before.

On Sunday the ladies and gentlemen in the bar experienced exactly that. Much that happened was unplanned but was inextricably related to what had gone before - there were no pre-defined set lists or running orders in this experience. "Fine Girl You Are" started here at Miskin a year ago, and returned home after a year-long national tour. "The Music Man" and "Young Bongker" and all the other bong stuff could not have been done if the "Three Bells" had not got the night off with a bong. But Steve had already done that song the day before, and would probably not have done it again had it not been requested. You can change the whole complexion of an evening for many people by making a simple request.

It was a real old-time pub evening: weak singers sang songs that got undivided attention because people wanted to listen or join in; highly-rated performers sang songs that people were happy to have as wallpaper while they chatted with their neighbour. New "traditions" were made up on the spot and flogged to death within minutes and for hours. It was absolutely magic. It is the reason I go to festivals - to get the buzz of a whole crowd of folkies supporting each other and feeding off each other to create something much bigger than the sum of its parts.

Let every man so pitch his song
To help his neighbor sing along
To each and all contentment bring
When all men sing.

That is what really rings my bell. BONNNNNNNGGGGGGG