A Day at the Racecourse

The British Championships is a local event for us and as such it’s a morning of lazy baths and leisurely gardening the only small cloud on the horizon was how we were getting there. Big Mick had provisionally offered us a lift but events conspired against him and Hazel Tenor and I tootled into Paisley, pausing only to avoid the profiteering car parks,

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Glorious Start to the Season

The week before Gourock games and the first outdoor competition saw us playing at Clydeport and fretting about the weather for Saturday, Pipey got a wee bit older and we hope wiser. Gourock is historically a wet and muddy affair but since the move to Battery Park the rain has been unable to find us and sunscreen and bush hats have been the order of the day.

Reel around Coatbridge

After Sanquhar there is a wee four week competition hiatus that lets players iron out inconsistencies, Pipe Majors unknit their brows and James the Hat and myself get some fishing in. And maybe a beer.

The Road to Sanquhar

A fairly bland and uninspiring February  pushed the NOx button and vanished into the distance leaving swirling snow, travel chaos and chilblains. So bad indeed that Thursday practice was cancelled.

Hello 2018

2017 was put to bed with the bands usual joie de vie; high octane fun coupled to poor taste jumpers and a Santa Mankini. It all looked like a jolly time from my hotel room in Lisburn.

The Lights Fantastic

The Season of Lights is on us, while other pipe bands stay indoors and coory up to the fire we of Kilbarchan Pipe Band are out and about welcoming Santa, spreading joy and illuminating trees, architecture and street furniture all over the place.

Cross Dressing Night

In every society there is a festival where the societal norms are put away for the day;  Hadaka Matsuri in Japan, La Tomatina in Spain, the Wicker Man etc. We in Kilbarchan Pipe Band have for the last few years had to endure the antics of James the Hat at the Fancy Dress Cèilidh.

Changing Seasons

The season ended for us on the 19th of August in Rothesay and we embarked on the dark  ‘closed season’ when souls are searched and decisions are taken that will shape the following year. Since then we have been busy on the rudiments of piping, drumming and partying.

Atmospheric Bute

I’d like to offer my sincere apologies to the Chieftain: a can of lager hastily hidden to preserve decorum, treacherously upended itself as I marched past making it look as though I was urinating on my right foot. Sorry! However I’m getting ahead of myself.

Worlds Apart

Firstly I have to apologise for there being no record of the Arran trip, this was due to lack of time. I can however announce that there were no casualties, nobody fell off the boat and the 400m dash while pushing a trolley full of beer was won by our own Wee Eck, well done!

In other news: