Maybe I'm not supposed to talk about it. ;-) I wonder if you'd best not look at it directly, like a shy creature...but if you've got a story, I'd love to hear it.
Here's mine.
Almost 20 years ago we were in a pub in Killybegs. It was a small crowd in a small bar: a dozen or so locals, us (from Canada), and some more come-from-aways, a honeymooning couple from Ulster. We had asked the landlord when we sat down if there was a session. "No," he said sadly. "I might go grab my guitar," he added apologetically, as if it was inhospitable of him not to have music if someone had requested it.
Somehow as the evening matured, we all ended up around one long table, in a song session. Unaccompanied, each of the locals contributed a song. (We and the honeymooners were shy.) And somehow the drapes were pulled and the doors were locked, so there was time for everyone to have as many turns as they wanted. There were rebel songs, laments, and drinking songs, many we'd never heard before--or since.
We weren't terribly late to leave, though the landlord warned us that we had to be quiet or we might attract the guards.
Oh! I just remembered, we also got locked in in Slane the year before that. Another great session ended, and we were talking to the musicians who had finally stopped to drink their pints, when we noticed the crowd had thinned. That was when one of musicians started an hilarious story of his encounter with a boisterous tourist from Idaho, "big corn-fed boy!", who had been there earlier, but wasn't now part of the honoured few behind the locked door.
Good times. :)