Sunday June 29th:

Day of the Liam Clancy concert in Greenwich Village. Venue is The Bitter End on Bleecker Street (between Thompson and LaGuardia, as they say). I manage to get Shane down to the Waldorf lobby in time for the scheduled lift to the venue, only to find Shane’s not the last one for once – Gemma Hayes emerges slightly later. So it’s official – Gemma Hayes is  more rock and roll than Shane MacGowan. By about two and a half minutes. We’re also accompanied by fellow guest singers Eric Bibb and Fionn Regan, whose song ‘Be Good Or Be Gone’ I’m rather a fan of. Immaculately dressed in black (velvet jacket, I think) and tousled of hair, he has the air of a young Donovan.

As it turns out, our group is the first one to arrive – the van with Liam Clancy and others is caught up in today’s Gay Pride March, while our driver manages to avoid it altogether. So not only do I fulfill my duty in getting Mr MacG to the soundcheck on time, but he’s actually one of the first performers to turn up.

Shane spends a lot of time backstage going over the lyrics to the songs he’s doing: ‘Red Is The Rose’ and ‘The Parting Glass’. At one point in the tiny dressing room (soundtracked by the clattering of the bar’s ice machine) some of Liam C’s band are working out the finer points of ‘The Broad Majestic Shannon’. Shane leans over and says, ‘Why don’t you ask ME?’. He wrote it.

While the film crew set up, I gaze around at the posters of ancient shows and photos of the many legendary names who’ve played the venue. Stevie Wonder, Woody Allen, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell etc. It’s New York’s longest running rock club. At the soundcheck I meet Tom Paxton, who is avuncular and funny and points up to one particular vintage poster on the wall. ‘This Week At The Bitter End: Joan Baez. Next Week: Tom Paxton’. It’s clearly from the early 60s. He first played here forty-eight years ago.

I’m also introduced to the club’s owner Paul Colby, who’s been running the Bitter End since 1968. He must be one of the oldest people there – I later find out he was born in 1917. Mr Colby looks at my suit and says ‘Ah, don’t forget you mustn’t wear white after Labour Day’. Liam Clancy himself is in his 70s but going on so much younger. His energy and spirit during the concert are really rather astounding. The filming goes on for some time, taking in three full sets, yet Mr C doesn’t seem to flag for a moment, very much possessed by his music. His band and all the guest singers are on top form, particularly Odetta – who was an influence on Dylan. And to think CBGB’s has come and gone since. New Wave? Lightweights.

Even though it’s a TV recording first and a concert second, the audience sing along freely and warmly, in the proper Irish folk tradition. The crowd range from Mr Clancy’s generation – in their 60s and 70s – down to young NY socialites and party girls, like the model Friday Chamberlain. The placed is packed, and Ms Chamberlain tells me she was offered $100 for relinquishing her seat at the bar. Shane comes on at the end, and sings ‘Dirty Old Town’ and ‘The Irish Rover’ alongside the Clancy numbers. When Shane steps up to the mic, the lady TV producer comes over to me, kisses me on the cheek, and tells me ‘you rock!’. I’ve done my bit: Shane’s made it here after all. Then all the guests unite for a finale of ‘Will Ye Go Lassie, Go’.

Afterwards, Shane hangs around to meet a few fans, including Tony O’Neill, who’s from an Irish family and recognises far more of the set list than I do. He was brought up on songs like ‘The Wild Rover’.

I end up with Shane, Mr Keane and many of the crew in an all-night Irish bar called Swift’s, on East 4th Street between Broadway and Bowery (you can tell I keep notes). There’s a table in the corner where various musicians sit down and improvise together in the Irish folk style – some are from Liam C’s band, some are regulars at the bar. Shane even gets up to dance. Close to 6am, I’m visibly falling asleep mid conversation and am grateful when we all emerge blinking into the dawn.

Monday 30th June.

I get an unexpected extra afternoon in New York, as Shane can’t face travelling back so soon after the show. It’s not nearly as hot as it was on the Saturday, so I decide to walk into town as far as my feet will take me. I start at the Waldorf and eventually end up outside the enormous ‘Met’ museum of art. Which turns out to be closed on Mondays. Oops. Still, it looks nice from the outside. Story of my life.

En route I take a look at Madison Avenue, Columbus Circle, Central Park (with its maze-like ‘Ramble’ in the middle, The Lake, the huge rocks that students perch on like seabirds, the Belvedere Castle (I do love the word ‘Belvedere’), the Dakota Building, Strawberry Fields and the Lennon memorial, and the Natural History museum, with its muted lighting, merciful air conditioning, and stunning array of animal dioramas. Something of a contrast to the London NHM, which much as I love it, could use a bit more darkness. I think having windowless, darkened halls with lit-up displays definitely improves the museum experience. Perhaps it’s to do with the way senses are heightened at night, or the association with going to the cinema, or even storytelling around a campfire. It’s easier to pay attention in the dark.