The dance seemed to last forever, or so my tiring legs were telling me, but eventually the music stopped and the musicians took a break. Not all the musicians required a break, though. One of the fiddlers, a dashingly handsome young man, seemed oblivious to everything going on around him, and he carried on playing. It was a jig, one I didn't recognise: possibly more Breton than Irish or Scottish, perhaps. He seemed indefatigable and his fingers played on whilst the energetic danced and those needing a rest, like myself, tapped their feet or their hands to its infectious rhythm.