A long, long time ago there was a far away land. A magical place of clocks, and cheese and really useful little pocket knives. It was a warm and pleasant land and whilst its people tried to keep themselves neutral in all matters also still insisted on their confectionary being triangular. And as a result quite difficult to wrap if given as a gift.
One fine day a man of music arrived from across the water. He wasn't really sure why he had been called to this strange land, but he travelled at the behest of a friend. And what nobler cause could there be than that.
It soon became clear that a special performance was to take place, our traveller was to sing and a group of local minstrels, who had been summoned for the purpose, would provide the accompaniment. There would be words and music and unexpected shifts in key and time signature and it would be a night to remember.
And then, as the hour approached something unusual and unexpected happened and a silence fell upon that place. Another man of music appeared at the side of the stage in a plume of smoke from a little machine. A mountain of a man from an earlier time, he had the whiff of tartan and he was clutching a flagon of mead. And for a second all was still, and if a pin had dropped you would have surely heard it.
But not for long, because these two men of music shared a common bond, and soon fell into the deepest of conversation. And they drank, and they laughed and they sang. And although few people bore witness, you must believe me that all of this did truly happen. Just once. In that far off land.