In support of the esteemed Senor El Gnomo, can I add my tuppence in that when Pip Radish and I visited his folk club on the night that Captain Birdseye was strutting his enjoyable stuff, both Pip and I (at least one of whom was sporting a most unseemly tank top), despite being untried, untested outsiders on a guest night, were offered the opportunity to cough our way through a tune. Pip rose to the challenge admirably, whilst I declined, recognising that whilst I might get away with my harmonically-challenged qwarbling for one short song at a singaround, I wouldn't wish to abuse my hosts' generosity by inflicting my shortcomings on their paying public.

As a result of many factors, but not least my timely self-censorship, a grand night was had by all. As a member of the listening public and an avid self-censor, I welcome such reciprocal self-restraint in others of my bruisingly limited ability. I don't particularly think it's the job of the club to impose a musical omerta on the impoverished of tunefulness but I do believe a little bit of insight into one's own strengths and deficits goes a long way.

In essense, had I sung in response to Dave's kind invitiation, I would have been the one with the bad manners.