An entire artform derailed by boring little assholes trying to work gigs up for themselves when they couldn't fill a bloody phonebox with people who want to see them and their dubious work.

You should have been at Chorlton the other night, Al. 21 acts, a packed room and hardly a traditional number in sight. (To be more precise, it was a three-way split between traditional, original and cover versions.) Whatever the folk scene in south Manchester is suffering from, purism isn't it.