The autumn fancy dress ceilidh has drifted further towards the back of the year and morphed into the Christmas ceilidh. Dress kilts and posh frocks is just another form of fancy dress after all. Although the Unelected Social Committee are constantly beavering away at the fund raising this is a ‘Social’, dancing taking precedence over raffling.
The evening started slowly, when you’re used to shoehorning people into the room for events a half empty hall is a bleak and daunting sight. Clamjamfrie (West Coast Ceilidh Band) were consulted and the decision was taken to start now or we’d end up playing Daniel O’Donnell in the lounge. The accordion played the big chord and the Caller announced the Gay Gordons and everyone got on the floor a-skipping and a-twirling. Just as I sat down Abbey caught my attention and I was dragged up for the Dashing White Sergeant. Still out of breath I pranced and spun and forced my leaden legs to pas-de-basque and at the end collapsed into my chair exhilarated and with a heart rate of 180bpm.
I had announced that I was out for a dance and a small drink, vainly as it happens as I got into bad company and got mugged by a large Bunnahabhain and a Navy Rum. Hazel Tenor was disappointed but hardly surprised.
I mentioned last time that we have suddenly become a young band and as the night progressed and more and more youths arrived the dance floor got busier and busier. Where in ceilidhs past the Caller had to cajole, embarrass and sometimes threaten people into dancing whatever mad dance was next, here he said, “Flying Scotsman”, weans said, “what’s that?” Instructions were given and they trooped onto the floor and gave it yeeha. The Strictly judges would have been scathing but where’s the fun in everyone dancing “Strip the Willow” in the right direction.
A traditional ceilidh requires a traditional buffet and a varied selection of pies were produced, beans for the knowledgeable and peas for the unhinged. A number of vegetarian options were available for the zero vegetarians attending and these were stashed away for the Medic. James the Hat and I had a coffee which caused no end of elbow nudging and gawping until we upgraded it to Bunnahabhain Coffee. The only thing missing was shortbread but Wee Rubber had given this a body swerve and Isy was too busy hanging about in gastro-pubs and going abroad to make any.
After I won the luxury hamper and asked for a redraw the dancing got into high gear and I watched apprehensively as James the Hat, still injured after his Islay trip, danced the Limping White Sergeant, The Circassian Hirple, Trip the Willow and the Military One Step. I don’t think the floor was empty until after Auld Lang Syne when we retired to the lounge for drinkypoos and The Venga Boys.
Our thanks to The Mighty Clam for hosting a fantastic evening, to Derek for organising and collating the annual quiz, MacCallum bagpipes for their fantastic prize which James the Kilt won, the Unelected Social Committee for making it happen and to the Boolin Club for putting up with us
Foxes passing the Boolin Club about 4am reported hearing the sounds of glasses clinking, revelry and dancing but who believes a word foxes say.
Merry Christmas when it comes and I’ll see you in the New Year