Scott’s Selkirk
Mons Meg in Action
Mons Meg went down to Selkirk yesterday for the annual Scott’s Selkirk celebrations. We danced in the Market Square -twice, on the stage up the County Hotel Pend, in the Town Inn Bar and in the Cross Keys. We had as good a time as last year – possibly slightly better because it was a little warmer this year (though not much)
Although there are obvious problems with dancing on a sloping tarmac surface in the rain (as in the Market Square) we were particularly pleased to succesfully run out both of our dances, thus allowing us to do a longer spot.
The Winlaton Dance (our “second” dance) is now a firm favourite for me. It is shorter and less complex than our number one dance but very satisfying when you get it right for its speed and economy of movement. Judging by the video clip we have of one of our performances of Winlaton we still have work to do to get it absolutely slotting into place like greased gears. It’s getting there though and the audiences were appreciative which is good.
The Bar of the Town Arms, Selkirk
Although that was our second visit to Selkirk, I do not feel that we’ve actually got to know the town at all. It seems like a standard Borders market town and it probably is, but we’ve only seen it (and inside most of its pubs) on a town gala day which isn’t really representative. Like many small towns, though, it seems to have quite a bustling and thriving amateur arts scene going on (they provided our musicians for us yesterday) and I have to say that were I to live in Selkirk I would probably spend time in the Town Arms (pictured) which is a nice traditional pub with Stewart’s Ale on tap.
Another Sunday, another train to London Kings Cross, this time because I have a meeting to attend in London at 09.00 tomorrow. I can’t say that I am hugely impressed by having to be in London at 09.00 on a Monday morning, especially given that Monday 30th is a public holiday in Scotland for St. Andrew’s Day, but I suppose that I can console myself with the thought of some overtime for Sunday travel and working on a holiday.
It is a wonderful novel – like M. R. James with an uplifting ending. It is odd, mind, and to some extent plays in the same field as Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker, and while reading it the vague memory of a short story which I read many years ago but can’t quite place was scratching at my memory.
So, then, an evening alone in London on a cold and very wet Sunday night. What joy! Having satisfied my refined metropolitan epicurean tastes with a plate of cod and chips with a side salad and a pint of good bitter, I went out for a walk in the rain. I crossed the Golden Jubilee Bridge to the just in front of the Festival Hall where there was a forlorn German Market being wind-lashed I am happy to report that my new shoes are waterproof and that I took quite a lot of handheld shots, some of which are used here. A further pint helped me make a start on Haruki Murakami’s “Kafka on the Shore” and then to bed for an early night.
Sparking unwanted memories of dreadful presentations at the European Commission in Brussels, it is as well that this meeting is not being held on the upper floors of a building with open windows or I might be compelled to launch myself from them to avoid this maelstrom of acronyms and bad PowerPoint. The presenters are uniformly grey men in grey suits uttering grey words in a grey tone. The only splash of colour is in their ties which are no doubt meant to be signifiers of the boiling churning of humour and creativity trapped within their unprepossessing exteriors. To no avail. They are inherently and irredeemably grey: you can tell them by the way they walk you know.
ve a pleasant tea and then down to the Village Inn where not only was the Caledonian Double Dark pouring superbly well, but we also had a really, really good Mons Meg practice night with our version of the Winlaton Dance flying.
Recent Comments