Rosy and Grey
The proprietor at the time's name was Pa. Short for Patrick. And pronounced like the first couple of letters of Patrick. Loved a cup of tea. Loved a pint. Loved a hand-rolled cigarette. I think what he loved more than all of them together, though, was playing music together with hostel guests.
I was 18 or 19 (I'd have to check specific dates, but it's not important). I was in Killarney, Country Kerry, in the most magnificent hostel I've ever stayed in. Welcoming. Warm - the coke fire was always roasting. Always a cup of tea available. Hundreds of cups in the cramped hostel kitchen. The chairs were initially very uncomfortable, but once you figured out how to sit in them, they were great. I've was assured they were local to the area, but no amount of searching the web is returning a picture of the type I sat in. There were pints of Guinness brought in from the pub next door. Idyll.
The proprietor at the time's name was Pa. Short for Patrick. And pronounced like the first couple of letters of Patrick. Not Pah/Paw. Loved a cup of tea. Loved a pint. Loved a hand-rolled cigarette. I think what he loved more than all of them together, though, was playing music together with hostel guests. He's learn songs from one lot of guests, then share them with the next. It was a magnificent place to stay in. (I think I made a mistake leaving when I did, but maybe it was also the perfect time to leave. But that's for another blog, I think.)
The song that stuck with me the most from the hostel was Rosy and Grey by The Lowest of the Low. A Canadian rock band. Straight up pub rock. A great song. Some innuendo-laden lyrics. Perhaps that can still happen - they've started releasing new material, so maybe...just maybe.
This was 1998. So it was before Spotify. It was before Audiogalaxy. Limewire. Napster. The internet as we know it was, really, in its infancy. There was no way for me to easily get hold of a CD of a small Canadian band's album. I had the lyrics in my head and the chords in my hands, and it stuck with me. Every Canadian I would meet, I would ask them if they knew of the Lowest of the Low. Mentioning The Lowest of the Low replaced mentioning The Tragically Hip as my go-to method of endearing myself to a Canadian.
It would have been about 2006, I reckon. I talked to a Canadian in a pub in the city, and it turns out they not only knew of The Lowest of the Low, but they also had a copy of the album on their MP3 player. And I could get a copy! My hunt was over. We went wine tasting. There was talk of Tiny Dancer. We drank Pinot Noir at Ashton Hills.
Music. A most magical thing.
Oh. The innuendo-laden lyrics?
I've kissed you in France, I've kissed you in Spain.
I've kissed you in places I better not name.
I've seen the sun go down on Sacre-Coeur,
But I liked it much better going down on you.