Well, this really isn't 'Us' - it's the people who came after us. Or maybe it's the people who came after them.
You invite your mates around for a drink on a Friday night and you say, "oh yeah, and don't forget to tell Orla to bring the cello.
The fucking CELLO!! And she brings it and of course, if you've dragged that thing across town, you're gonna do more than play the intro to Eleanor Rigby.
You get that big fiddle on the number 7 bus and haul it all the way from Mountjoy Square to Ballsbridge - You're doing Bach. Two hours. Solid.
Of course, there is a possibility that this gal is not really a cellist (I'm basing this on the fact that the endpin is adjusted too long and her posture is a bit on the slouchy side).
Maybe one of the fifteen people you don't see in the shot just handed her the kit and said, "okay, let's see if this works."
Maybe they already tried a clarinet, a trombone and a Lambeg drum with King Billy painted on the side.
Twenty-five years ago, I owned a penthouse in Dublin 4 and I never had a musical evening that looked like this. It was all bottles of Cuban rum and the Clash on the stereo. Straight to hell, boys. Straight to hell.
"An antique mirror splashback, offset by the Pietra marble worktop and Macassar ebony cabinet doors of this dark palette choice, sets the tone in the luxuriously appointed, custom-built kitchens where it is the small but telling details such as dove-tailed drawers that make all the difference."
Jesus Christ, I remember when a splashback was something you got when you stood too close to the urinal and, if I may put on my carpenter's hat for a moment, a dovetail (no hyphen required) joint is not that big a deal.