I got this story off some web site and thought it was brillant its about frankie Gavin. A fiddle player called Pat died and went up to heaven. He was delighted to get there, as lots of his favourite musicians he’d always wanted to play music with (Michael Coleman …. etc) had got there before him. So off he went, sessions all day and night and the Guinness was flowing ….
One night late Pat was walking home after the session with St Peter (a mean harp player himself, as you’d expect), when he heard a lone fiddler playing. The sound seemed to be coming from a darkened room, and peering inside he saw a lonely figure in the shadows in the far corner, who obviously by his body language wanted to be left alone. The fiddle playing was unmistakeable - this could only be Fankie Gavin.
Pat turned to St Peter and said ‘I didn’t know that Frankie Gavin was dead! When did he get here?’
St Peter shrugged and said ‘No he’s not dead. That’s not Frankie Gavin’
Pat was incredulous. The playing was unmistakeable. ‘You’re pulling my leg’ He said. ‘I’d know that playing anywhere. And apart from that who else would want to play all alone up here? That’s Frankie Gavin all right’
‘No it’s not’ replied Pete.
‘All right then, who is it?’ asked Pat, unconvinced.
‘It’s God’ replied St Peter. ‘He just thinks he’s Frankie Gavin’