Well, thats me just about to leave Glasgow, which hasmore or less thawed out now after a week or so of freezing cold conditions & snowfall lying everywher. Glasgow’s not that bad, & I’ve really enjoyed reviewing these past couple of nights – muisc journalism is quite good fun actually! Thursday was a couple of classic retro-rock outfits, Andy Fairweather & Band of Friends, while last night I witnessed a classic performance of Pizzica, an Italian folk dance I encountered in the Salento penisular three years ago!
Inbetween, I found myself an adopted son of the Tollcross Writers group, who had been invited by Shettleston Tesco to read poetry in the front foyer to passing punters in honour of RabbieBurns (its his birthday on sunday). Talk about out of mi comfort zone, but i do like a bit of Burns & read a few out, & also got involved in the Haggis Eating competition. Asked who I was I replied I was the Lancashire haggis-eating champion sent to take on the scots, which went like a lead balloon.
Anyway, I definitely took my time over the haggis, & never got out of second gear, allowing this other guy to win in the spirit of survival. To tell you the truth, though, eating haggis quickly is bloody hard – you definitely need the turnip. Talking of which, we poets got paid in kind & were given a burns supper to take home. Colin kindly donated me his & so Im just about to take 4 haggis over to Edinburgh for an impromptu supper tomorrow.
Im just back from a three round trip hike to Baillieston & back, giving one of the Tollcross poets – Gayle – a couple of review tickets for Celtic Connections. For me, Im now heading east after 4 evenings worth of top notch culture – y’know, im quite enjoying this Mumbling malarkey.
Nine Inch Will Please a Lady
Come rede me dame, come tell me dame,
My dame come tell me truly,
What length o’ graith when weel ca’d hame
Will sair a woman duly?”
The carlin clew her wanton tail,
Her wanton tail sae ready,
“l learn’d a sang in Annandale,
Nine inch will please a lady.”
“But for a koontrie cunt like mine,
In sooth we’re not sae gentle;
We’ll tak tway thumb-bread to the nine,
And that is a sonsy pintle.
Oh, Leeze me on, my Charlie lad,
I’ll ne’er forget my Charlie,
Tway roaring handfuls and a daud
He nidged it in fu’ rarely.”
But wear fa’ the laithron doup
And may it ne’er be thriving,
It’s not the length that makes me loup
But it’s the double drivin.
Come nidge me Tom, come nidge me Tom
Come nidge me, o’er the nyvel
Come lowse an lug your battering ram
And thrash him at my gyvel!
graith=gear, equipment; clew=scratched, fondled;
tway thum-bread=two thumb-breadths; sonsy=healthy;
daud=a lump, a bit; laithron=lazy; doup=rump;