Having thought carefully, recently,

(I said that one reason why my Beloved and I don't go to folk clubs any more is that good manners . . .has gone to fuck . . . )

I decided to give a local folk club another try. I'm not for saying where.

There was a singer, an extremely accomplished instrumentalist, who sang self-composed material. I did not hear a single tradsitional song.

Out of courtesy I waited for the break, and went home, sadder but (I hope) wiser.

If that's folk song - and I went to my first folk club in the Old Moat Conservative Club in 1964 - it isn't what I call folk song, and you can keep it for me. It was bad enough, as far as I am concerned,

in the late 60s to early 70s, when the three chord wonders in the denim caps started infesting the clubs.

I wonder what the "all song is folk song" merchants who saw Harry H. Corbett as 'Steptoe' would make of him as a shantey man ?