I saw an acoustic guitarist busking away at the top of Grafton Street this evening.  A small crowd – maybe a half-dozen people – gathered to listen to his musical prose.  He played some hippy-style seventies tune (probably Wings or something) and received a smattering of applause from the handful of passers-by.

As he started his next track they drifted away to meet loved ones (or in the case of one guy, drink himself to death in a Parnell Street hostel).

Realising that his next track (“Wish You Were Here”) would be greeted with a humiliating silence – and allowing his rampant ego to reign over any creative considerations – the musician extended it in to a 51 minute jam, hoping to blend in to the background before packing up his guitar and edging away unnoticed.

But I waited because I wanted to taste his humiliation.

In the end I missed an appointment that cost me €50 so really it wasn’t worth it.