Right, so. St. Patrick's Day is nine days away and I'm trying very hard not to panic.
Obviously I'll be at Cruise's for the session — where else would I be? It's Ennis, it's St. Patrick's Day, it's the Rattlin' Bog. That's written in law somewhere, I'm fairly sure. I've already arranged the day off work. Got my good shirt sorted. Mam's warned me about the drinking ("Seamus, you're not 25 anymore") which means I'll probably have exactly three pints.
But here's the thing that's got my nerves completely shot:
I got invited to SING at a festival. In Dublin. On an actual stage. On St. Patrick's Day.
Not in the corner of a pub. Not in a session with the lads. But on a STAGE. At the Dublin Folk & Culture Festival. They want me to do a set — probably around twenty minutes — of the Rattlin' Bog and some other traditional stuff.
I'm absolutely terrified.
I mean, I can sing! I've sung at a thousand sessions. But this is different. This is organized. This is — the word they used was "curated." This is a PUBLIC PERFORMANCE for actual paying customers who might actually EXPECT me to be good.
What if I forget the words? (I won't, I've known these verses since I was fourteen.) What if my voice cracks? (It might, I'm nervous.) What if nobody cares? (That would be both a relief and heartbreaking.)
Mam says I should do it. She says it's a great honor. Coming from her, that's basically a rousing endorsement.
Rattlin' the cat is unbothered, as always.
Nine days. I can do this. I can absolutely do this.
(I'm lying. I'm in bits.)
—Seamus