Great Scots
Hmm it seems all I post about these days is travelling and being pissed, we here's another one for you. I've just got back (and I literally mean just) from a wedding in Scotland, absolutely fabulous location in the middle of nowhere right next to a Loch.
I have to say being a virgin to Scotland I had a pretty negative image of what the people were going to be like, I'm pleased to say I was proven wrong (unlike the bloody Austrians) very wrong, they're friendly, warm, welcoming and actually quite tasty, it's no wonder the Brits hated them, miserable bunch that we are.
We arrive at our hotel in the wee small hours of Saturday morning, after careful guidance from 'Jane' the Sat Nav in our hire car. The wedding, it turns out, is not the only big event in the area this weekend, to my delight the hotel we're staying in is full of rugged, young, muscly sheep-shearers from around the globe, this weekend is the world champions, fancy that.
I know you'll want to know, big Scottish breakfast, 2 sausages the works. The wedding isn't until 3 so we take a quick driving tour of the surrounding area. We discover a small town with some wonderful falls passing right through the centre of it, we stop for Whiskey, but settle for coffee, when we're told they're not fully licensed.
A quick return to the hotel to get ready and I discover my suit isn't clean, oh well too late to do anything about it now, so much like life I iron out the creases and we're on our way. I have to say I was quite privileged to be asked to be one of the ushers and driving the groom and the best man to the Church, a 700 year old building, possibly dating back further to some time in the Iron age.
The groom being half Italian and the large Scottish family have opted for a full Catholic service including communion, you know the routine, this is my body, eat it, this is my blood, drink it, it's filth. The whole service is performed by an Italian monk who speaks incredibly slowly and clearly loves the sound of his own voice. It's a very dull service and lasts for 2 hours, I'm not good in situations where you have to behave yourself so you can imagine how hard it was not to snigger when he says 'blessed are the meek', it's a line also performed by the Monty Python crew in Life of Brian.
Thankfully the service does conclude and we're all in convoy back to Theresa's parents house, where a marquee has been set up for the breakfast and evenings entertainments. I'm put on a table with no one I know, I'm not happy, fortunately a few glasses of wine later and I don't care. I'm chatting to an incredibly posh lady who introduces herself as 'Helen Holland', I'm chatting away to her about photography (she's clocked my huge lens) and how no one prints pictures these days 'I do' I tell her and then we both regale at my witty wedding pun. We go on to talk about dumbing down of the news on the BBC and standards in broadcasting in general, I'm in way over my head.
After an exquisite meal she drags me onto the dance floor, well when I say drag she's barely finished inviting me and I'm up, and teaches me the Highland Reel, after a few turns by Jove I think I've got it! The highland band finishes a few too many songs late in my opinion and I'm delighted to be able to bust a few moves when the DJ starts, that's not all I bust. Despite how empty AND large the dance floor is, I manage to fall right into the DJ's speaker stand tucked into the corner, crash goes the speaker and the lights on top, for a moment I refuse to believe it's me that's done it, then I'm told otherwise. As a DJ myself I know the guy won't be happy, despite how nice he's being, I give him all the money I have as an offer of good will (£30), I think to myself 'shall I take a picture for the blog? No too soon', the DJ announces there will now be fireworks outside, through one speaker.
Thankfully the rest of the night is fun and no more damage is incurred, we head back to the hotel and the sheep shearers are plastered, the hotel won't give us any more booze, so we nick a bottle of wine from the store and retire to our rooms.
The following day, after a brief 'casual' lunch (I'll be the judge), we head back to the airport, I'm not allowed to drive I've drunk too much at lunch, it doesn't stop me getting into an argument with Jane though (Sat Nav). We get back to the airport to find our flight is cancelled, bloody easyJet, I have to be at work tomorrow, no question, so we make a mad dash in a cab to the train station, we have 55 minutes to catch the last London train. The tickets are £100 each, we'll be sending those into easyJet thank you very much.
Oh god I'm bored of this post now, but the train journey is beautiful and with some fine Scottish single malt even better!
I have to say being a virgin to Scotland I had a pretty negative image of what the people were going to be like, I'm pleased to say I was proven wrong (unlike the bloody Austrians) very wrong, they're friendly, warm, welcoming and actually quite tasty, it's no wonder the Brits hated them, miserable bunch that we are.
We arrive at our hotel in the wee small hours of Saturday morning, after careful guidance from 'Jane' the Sat Nav in our hire car. The wedding, it turns out, is not the only big event in the area this weekend, to my delight the hotel we're staying in is full of rugged, young, muscly sheep-shearers from around the globe, this weekend is the world champions, fancy that.
I know you'll want to know, big Scottish breakfast, 2 sausages the works. The wedding isn't until 3 so we take a quick driving tour of the surrounding area. We discover a small town with some wonderful falls passing right through the centre of it, we stop for Whiskey, but settle for coffee, when we're told they're not fully licensed.
A quick return to the hotel to get ready and I discover my suit isn't clean, oh well too late to do anything about it now, so much like life I iron out the creases and we're on our way. I have to say I was quite privileged to be asked to be one of the ushers and driving the groom and the best man to the Church, a 700 year old building, possibly dating back further to some time in the Iron age.
The groom being half Italian and the large Scottish family have opted for a full Catholic service including communion, you know the routine, this is my body, eat it, this is my blood, drink it, it's filth. The whole service is performed by an Italian monk who speaks incredibly slowly and clearly loves the sound of his own voice. It's a very dull service and lasts for 2 hours, I'm not good in situations where you have to behave yourself so you can imagine how hard it was not to snigger when he says 'blessed are the meek', it's a line also performed by the Monty Python crew in Life of Brian.
Thankfully the service does conclude and we're all in convoy back to Theresa's parents house, where a marquee has been set up for the breakfast and evenings entertainments. I'm put on a table with no one I know, I'm not happy, fortunately a few glasses of wine later and I don't care. I'm chatting to an incredibly posh lady who introduces herself as 'Helen Holland', I'm chatting away to her about photography (she's clocked my huge lens) and how no one prints pictures these days 'I do' I tell her and then we both regale at my witty wedding pun. We go on to talk about dumbing down of the news on the BBC and standards in broadcasting in general, I'm in way over my head.
After an exquisite meal she drags me onto the dance floor, well when I say drag she's barely finished inviting me and I'm up, and teaches me the Highland Reel, after a few turns by Jove I think I've got it! The highland band finishes a few too many songs late in my opinion and I'm delighted to be able to bust a few moves when the DJ starts, that's not all I bust. Despite how empty AND large the dance floor is, I manage to fall right into the DJ's speaker stand tucked into the corner, crash goes the speaker and the lights on top, for a moment I refuse to believe it's me that's done it, then I'm told otherwise. As a DJ myself I know the guy won't be happy, despite how nice he's being, I give him all the money I have as an offer of good will (£30), I think to myself 'shall I take a picture for the blog? No too soon', the DJ announces there will now be fireworks outside, through one speaker.
Thankfully the rest of the night is fun and no more damage is incurred, we head back to the hotel and the sheep shearers are plastered, the hotel won't give us any more booze, so we nick a bottle of wine from the store and retire to our rooms.
The following day, after a brief 'casual' lunch (I'll be the judge), we head back to the airport, I'm not allowed to drive I've drunk too much at lunch, it doesn't stop me getting into an argument with Jane though (Sat Nav). We get back to the airport to find our flight is cancelled, bloody easyJet, I have to be at work tomorrow, no question, so we make a mad dash in a cab to the train station, we have 55 minutes to catch the last London train. The tickets are £100 each, we'll be sending those into easyJet thank you very much.
Oh god I'm bored of this post now, but the train journey is beautiful and with some fine Scottish single malt even better!
posted by searleyeditor @ 8:15 am
1 Comments:
Idiot. It's true though Theresa's house and the church DO date from the Iron age.
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