I was told that there was no open mic as such at the Dukes Head tonight because some foreign folk were staying at the Inn and were providing the evening's entertainment. Not able to deny my love for the place I went with a notebook in my pocket and a pencil in my hair and left my guitar in the corner of my room. On my way around the bend I received a promising message telling me the music was really good. The sender and I caught eyes as I walked by the window and into the sea of strangers. I sat in the corner by the bar and let my imagination run wild on the pages of a moleskine notebook. For a time I listened to the band of jolly Swedish men and watched the even jollier elderly dance to their tunes. I almost felt like I was in a dance hall of the 1950's and I liked that feeling a lot.
When the lively music stopped I was ushered to the microphone by an old man with a white goatee who has become a friend of mine over the past weeks. He told me I must sing, though I hadn't expected to be doing so. My ability to silence every soul in the building became evident once again as I sang. I really don't know what it is about me that brings about such a change in atmosphere. You wouldn't believe it was the same group of people that had been there only minutes before. The bar tender told me that even he was scared to disturb the silence as he poured drinks and took money from the till. He also used the word "beautiful".
I was most touched though by one of the Swedish folk who told me humbly that he was brought to tears by me; by my voice. And when I looked at him I really thought he would cry again in my presence as he took my hand and thanked me graciously.
I waited once more for those two extra feet to follow me out the door and walk me home.
