FESTIVAL DIARY: Last weekend marked Dublin's first ukulele festival. As Rosemary Mac Cabefound, it's the perfect party instrument

‘LOOK AT that, Mam – a tiny guitar!” You could be forgiven for this mistake – especially if you’re five years old. After all, the ukulele is hardly a ubiquitous presence on the Dublin music scene, or, indeed, on any of Dublin’s “scenes”. But last weekend marked the “first” Irish ukulele festival (high hopes, then), a combination of busking, workshops and performances played out on Dublin’s streets.

The organisers, Uke Ireland (ukeireland.com) hope that the ukulele will begin to gain prominence on a scene more comfortable with traditional instruments and good old-fashioned rock‘n’roll.

But the uke is, after all, the perfect portable party instrument: four strings, three chords, smaller than a violin and, arguably, more fun than a symphony orchestra. Saturday’s busk charted a course from the Stag’s Head pub on Dame Lane through Temple Bar, across the Liffey to Yamamori on the north quays, before snaking back up to Grafton Street and finally, to Kildare Street.

The crowd was eclectic, to say the least; ukulele enthusiasts of all ages and from all over (Holland, Sweden, the US) were gathered together to play, in the most informal of ways, the most informal of songs. You are my Sunshinewas belted out with gusto in the main square of Temple Bar, Blur's Song IIin the tea gardens in Yamamori, Folsom Prison Bluesaccompanied our walk across the bridge once more and on to Grafton Street.

Uke Ireland began planning the event while at a similar festival in Belgium in March; only five months later and their brainchild is all grown up. The group meets twice a month – “but after this”, says Tony Boland, ukulele enthusiast and a member of the organising committee, “I’d imagine we might meet up more often.”

Saturday was topped off by an evening seisiún in Shebeen Chic on South Great George’s Street – fast becoming the artsy evening venue of choice – and the players wrapped up for the night in the anticipation of yesterday’s main event: the festival itself, in Temple Bar’s Meeting House Square.

Uke Ireland assembled a programme of ukulele players (of whom there are more than one might initially imagine) to create a music festival with a difference. Based around one little instrument, the festival seeks to bring enthusiasts together and, says Garret Sexton, another member of the organising committee, they owe a lot to the internet for that increased connectivity.

Besides which, he says, the ukulele is an attractive prospect for the beginner: "It's compact and it's easy to learn." Well, how easy is easy? Having attempted, for six agonising months, to learn the guitar – something about a disconnect between fingers and brain, I'm told – I leave the playing to the experts, but there are players at the Saturday busk who have owned their ukes for less than six months. In fact, it's often the words of the songs, rather than the music, that catches people out. Several visiting players look slightly perplexed at the Blur choice; an ad hoc version of Rihanna's Umbrellagets a mixed reaction, and Radiohead's Creep– well, the less said . . .

Despite the “busk” moniker, the group wasn’t in it for the money. For the duration, not one hat was passed around; not one uke case was left open for the filling (which, surely, wouldn’t take long). The group waved at tour buses, encouraged passersby to join in. At one point, I was “crooned” to in a not altogether unpleasant moment – it’s all about the interaction, it would seem, and as I was sans uke, I was fair game.

Sunday brings as much festival as ukulele: alongside the main concert there were food, workshops and a raffle where the prizes are – you guessed it – ukuleles. The players’ enthusiasm was infectious and, while the temptation is there to dismiss the uke as a toy of sorts, a “fun” instrument, the passion and talent was undeniable. It’s an instrument that manages to tread a fine line between novelty and serious music. If you’ve got talent, you could learn to make a uke sing in a few short months; if you ain’t, well, there’ll be enough people singing along with you that nobody will notice anyway.