They're out there, Cap, lurking in the shadows, nursing their bile, stroking their greying beards, and biding their time... ;-) They gather in tight little cliques in the back rooms of pubs on acoustic nights and try to one-up each other by playing vigorously on bohdrans and Irish pipes whilst sneering down their noses at all the young "snigger-snogwriters". They bellow their way through interminable Scottish sea shanties which have 149 verses and then criticize Bob Dylan for writing "such long songs". A pox on these varlets! May they all be set upon by nameless cutpurses and roving highwaymen and left naked, battered, and senseless in the gutter, there to be gazed upon scornfully by passing hogs and street urchins until the watch finally arrives and carts them all off to the assizes to be charged with public nudity and gross indecency. ;-)