Way out West (incorporating Way up North)

big feller bockus, you squeeze him, he cry...

The Arts correspondent and I were invited to an evening of entertainment at our local school hall, as I am still more than a little confined to barracks, we thought this would be a diversion (and there was to be a raffle).

The principle entertainer was a gentleman of a certain age who sang songs in a powerful and occasionally tuneful baritone, and also told off-colour jokes. The songs were either sentimental, or comic (much shoogling aboot in auchtermuchty, you know the kind of thing), his jokes were so bad that they were funny, and his presentation was so bare faced that you couldn't help liking him, even when he emerged dressed as a policewoman. Rather strangely, his material was all about the central belt, he plainly came from, or lives in Pitlochry, and I did find it a little odd that he made no effort to give his jokes more local content. Still, I seemed to be the only one who found this a bit peculiar, so who am I to judge.

His stalwart accompanist battled manfully with a large accordion, occasionally emerging from the twilight at the rear of the stage to indulge us with solo items from the Jimmy Shand book of tunes. Completing the line up was a singer from Falkirk, who sang Burns songs very nicely (despite the rumpty-tumpty accompaniment), and performed less well with the more sentimental stuff. Finally, there was a fearsome and solid lady Pipe Major and her solemn and equally solid daughter who did scottish country dancing. Said Pipe Major also performed solo, although the accordionist managed to produce an extra-ordinary sound to accompany her, not unlike plucking a live chicken.

In the second half, she performed her 'novelty' numbers; every time I hear the Remembrance day service, I am reminded that the pipes, fearsome and special though they undoubtedly are, have a strictly limited set of notes, and as they butcher the Skye Boat song yet again, I wonder why they bother. A similar caveat might equally well be applied to 'How much is that doggy in the window?', which, when rendered by the pipes is more readily distinguishable by the rhythm than the tune.

No matter, the audience had a lovely time, much money was raised for good causes, and we won a picture frame of unspeakable hideousness in the raffle. That, I suspect, is our duty done for the time being.

Labels: pidgin english

posted by Lampy @ 11/16/2008 12:21:00 pm