Scottish Championships Blues

The bus was leaving at 8:30am. Mikey was first there and decided he had time to pop into Bobbins, our favourite breakfast roll shop, for a bacon roll but by the time he got out the clock had passed the half hour and he was fined for lateness. Pipey is getting quite militant in his old age.

We are off to beautiful Levengrove Park in Dumbarton for the Scottish Championships and we are expecting rain. A few years ago it rained so heavy that my glengarry is still damp. However the sun is shining and it’s warm which is good news, the bad news is that the fine tin is out again for missing kit and it’s only the fact that James the Wardrobe is there to provide the missing bits and pieces from his own uniform that sees a fully dressed pipe band take to the circle.  Mags has inadvertently revealed the first tune in the new MAP set and is fined for espionage as Mikey saw the drum score in her bag. She turns to him, demands a fiver and the fool pays; he’s £10 down today. In the park the bus parked so so very close to a wall that we had to actually climb over it to get out, which is okay if you’re a wean or have a gym membership but poor Hazel Tenor had to rely on her inherent tallness to save her dignity. Climbing in kilts should be off the curriculum.

The picture in Big Gordy’s attic grew another wrinkle or two as the big lad celebrated another year of eternal youth. Happy birthday laddie.

We have to put the appalling jitters from Paisley behind us and get on with the job. As it’s a ‘major’ you only get one chance and you have to nail it. A strong start and clean finish; a middle without errors helps but isn’t essential. The Pipe Major and Pipe Sergeant have a new strategy for this campaign, we shall see if it pays off. We are on at 11:17am and use every minute getting it right.

The Paisley hoodoo has been banished and Pipey is well pleased with the performance. It’s just a matter of waiting about drinking coffee and eating burgers until the qualifiers are announced. No alcohol is permitted so some resort to eating sweeties to calm their nerves before the big reveal. There are cheers from the qualifiers but Kilbarchan isn’t on the board; gutted.

The idea of celebrating Gordy’s eternal youth in the beer tent is grasped upon to lift the despondency and the big lad is so overwhelmed by the fellow feeling from his bandmates he forgets his children are playing in Grade 2 and rapidly goes from Birthday Boy to Worst Dad in the World. Well done Johnstone, Scottish Champions. There will be no march past for us so we pack away the kids who turned up to play in it along with our instruments and slip away to the Park Bar for a few sherberts.

I’m not at the Park Bar, in fact for every time you read ‘us’ or ‘we’ think ‘them’ or ‘they’ coz I wasnae there. Again! Some of us have to work for a living. I had invited James the Hat over to sample my homebrew wine that night. That was never going to end well.

Arran on Saturday. See you in the golf club.

Cannae wait..


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