I sometimes get called upon, by friends who run my village club, to perform with guitar (amplified) and voice (mic-ed) outside the club for the passing public on high days and holidays. No cash - just as much Guinness and tots of malt as I can manage without actually falling off the bar stool into the gutter.

So, innocent passers-by, depending on when they stroll past the fumes of roasting pork, sizzling sausages and browning hamburgers and odd clouds of blue smoke, might hear a bit of Richard Thompson, Elvis, a song from the Tradition, Bill Broonzy, Gary Davis (Rev), Jelly Roll Morton, Eddie Cochran, Ruth Etting (I can and will), and anything else that I can find in the remote recesses I call my brain. I shall be doing this tomorrow in a late and unruly celebration of St. George's Day.

Is this feral? It's certainly fairly undomesticated... Or, as Thurber might have said in this context: "It's only a naive domestic song, but I think you'll be amused by its presumptuousness..."