Spirit of the West and a Grand Picnic

I think one of the definitions of a good morning is sitting in the dappled shade of a tree, closing your eyes and swaying slightly as you listen to Celtic folk-punk band Spirit of the West play If Venice is Sinking.

It's one of my favourite songs and there is nothing quite like the energy of an outdoor concert.





Jeff and Kim and Zoe and me went back to the Filberg Festival for a second time two days after our first visit, this time bringing Shawn along.

Paying the ten dollar entrance fee twice is absolutely justified to hear live music like this. They are quite simply great.

And their musicians hail from Vancouver and Victoria, making them locals, which is even better!

I'd never heard them live before, although Kim has drunk apple-juice with the band before at some point in her life. Yes, apple-juice.

I love their version of Home for a Rest,that ultimate binge-beer-drinking ballad, and the crowd roared along to the chorus of that ex-pat favourite Old Sod , the old sod being Scotland,and not some elderly drunk as the lead singer pointed out:



There's none more Scots than the Scots abroad
There's a place in our hearts for the Old Sod!

"Och, that was magic!", one of the musicians declared as the audience led one chorus on our own.



Ah, and let's hear it for penny-whistle and accordion soloists!


After the concert, the four of us and baby Zoe wandered the Festival grounds for a while. We were mostly shopped out (ie. we are poor), so we didn't make the local artisans much richer today, but we did find a great spot for a picnic on a shady hill where we could eat our spanakopita and Greek salads and donairs while looking down on the white tents of the Festival and the water and mountains beyond.



Shawn and I wandered along the edge of the herb garden there, taking photos of bees and butterflies.

Oh, and there was gelato involved somewhere along the way.

Och, a grand day!