Join me for a pint, hopefully not so far in the future, as you step in from the night air, past the smokers at the door, and the sound of music greets you as you cross the threshold, and a great singer goes to town.

“Hot chilli peppers in the blistering sun / Dust on my face and my cape / Me and Magdalena on the run / I think this time we shall escape.”

Inside, as your eyes adjust to the candlelight, there’s a good crowd standing about with pints in their hands, and to your right a guitarist is laying into a spirited version of Bob Dylan’s Romance in Durango, while another man accompanies him on mandolin.

“Sold my guitar to the baker’s son / For a few crumbs and a place to hide / But I can get another one / And I’ll play for Magdalena as we ride.”

Helloing the familiar faces, and excusing your way to the bar, you call a drink. The woman behind the counter already has the glass in her hand, ready to fill. It’s not quite standing room only, but it’s busy tonight, as it always is when the lads are playing. As you pay for your pint, you spot – there, by the empty fireplace – a free stool, and beside it, a place to rest your drink.

You sit down, and you smile, exactly as the singer really hits his stride, telling Dylan’s fable of a doomed man who attempts to escape justice, fleeing the scene of a murder with his beloved, and dreaming of the day they will be wed.

“No llores, mi querida / Dios nos vigila / Soon the horse will take us to Durango / Agarrame, mi vida / Soon the desert will be gone / Soon you will be dancing the fandango.”

The bar, in this imaginary future hopefully only a few months away, is Charlie’s on........

© The Avondhu