A cartoon of a bagpipe full of red wine with bottles for drones and chanter

The End of Season Takeaway

It would be too easy to say that the end of season party always gets out of hand. We honestly try every year to add a bit of gravitas and decorum, even going to the extent of inviting church elders, Session Clerks, youth leaders, teachers, wives, Scouts and even a Basset hound to keep it ‘grown up’ but still, as predictable as winter, it gets messy.

This year we ditched the barbecue in favour of a takeaway meal of American breakfast proportions. I let the Scouts know a few weeks in advance that we wouldn’t be needing their meat scorching skills or gargantuan grills. This was somehow construed as a cancellation of the long standing arrangement where they give us the use of their hall, BBQs, projector and disco lights and we enable them to bring one bottle of beer and need to be helped home.

It began as it often does about 5pm with men standing about waiting to be told what to do. Once the instructions were issued by the Unelected Social Committee and the bouncy castle was in position it was all the usual hands to the pumps and the hall was transformed into Party Central just as the first revellers arrived.

Pipey had produced a rudimentary agenda for the night; eat til you burst, watch a short film, give out awards and dance til you drop. The first part was a munchy box that filled the room. Imagine all the pizzas, it’s easy if you try. No grill below us, above us only pie. You get the idea. Someone, possibly me, had suggested getting two boxes of chips and filling all other spaces with pizza, donner meat and pakora. Anyone looking for salad was pointed at and mocked.

The annual Season Review is a short film that tries to capture a flavour of the past year, it gets my stress levels through the roof in the weeks and days up to the party. There is always the worry that I’ve misjudged someone and they totally take the huff. This year we had the added eating time created by a tech malfunction and even more stress. The Review is usually appended to this report but there is one picture that caused offence so  I won’t share it until that has been removed, these things are okay among ourselves but you don’t want to be broadcasting somebody’s embarrassment on t’internet. Unless their name is Scooby.

I was well pleased with the response, I know it’s not Cannes but the judges can be ruthless. The Awards were next on the agenda, the Unelected Coven decide these I just make the certificates and powerpoint. This year we had awards for Band Philosopher (Duke), Most Dedicated Tenor (Mad Alison), Delinquent (Emily), Best Endowed (James the Hat), Peelywally (Wee Rubber), Hughie Blair Award (Scooby and Eden), Toilet Inspection Award (The McGeachys) and this year’s Donkey was Mickey Blue Eyes for forgetting Jean and Scooby at the Scottish. All richly deserved. The prizes were awesome

James the Hat and the Duke modelling prizes

With the organised (I use the word advisedly) part of the evening over DJ Andrew the Mighty cranked up the volume and the party moved into dancing mode but next door among the wreckage of the meal Wee Mel was trying to get a folk band together, there were pipes and whistles and a squeeze box. Next year I will practice playing the mandolin drunk so I can join in. I had a wee go on the Small Pipes but Scooby had to work the bellows for me as the coordination had gone and I gave up in disgrace.

In the big hall James the Hat was on the bouncy castle with the tassels on his bra flying and in the discoteque Scout leaders were getting down to some melodic hardcore. A proper party. Later two young ladies were poured into taxis and Scooby made good use of his prize (Sick bowl).

I drank an incredible amount of whisky, talked the most astonishing amount of mince and prowled round the buffet table like a fox round a chicken coup. I noticed that it was getting a bit less crowded and that I was sitting drinking whisky with my mate who wasn’t there earlier but had appeared as if by magic, I checked my watch. It took a while.  So after a wee deoch n dorus the doors were pulled over on the Seasons End Party about 3ish and Hazel Tenor and I walked home arm in arm through a biblical deluge. Thanks to everyone who arrived next morning to begin the thankless task of clearing up. Next year there’s going to be a rota.

Next up is the Remembrance Parade, 100 years since the end of the War to end all wars.

Cannae wait..

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