With World Music Day coming up last Friday, the organisers suggested we should explore YouTube for music from different cultures. You could can explore all cultures and then start digging into the folk music, they said. I hadn’t heard many when I came across Last Train To Clarkesville. A masterpiece? Maybe. Then A Little Bit Me And A Little Bit You. I was hooked once I got into the groove.
The banging tunes by Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz, Mike Nesmith and Davy Jones were in my head for the rest of the day. I was whistling them and, yes I know, even singing them. Mrs X announced she was going away to Inverness to get away from me and my obsession with The Monkees. At first I didn’t believe her. Then I saw her face.
After some hard negotiation, I was allowed to join her on the trip to the Highland capital on condition I didn’t even hum. Okay, I’ll take the deodorant then.
There is so much preparation to do when you have to go off this island at short notice. The worry began as we were tucking into a magnificent plate of CalMac fish and chips. Had she switched everything off? “Yes.” Had she locked the back door? “Yes.” Had she put the cat out? “We haven’t got a cat.” Oh.
At the hotel, it seemed they were getting ready for World Music Day. There were rhythms everywhere you went. It sounded like a full jazz orchestra was playing in the foyer and I think Dizzy Gillespie and his trumpet were on top of our lift as we ascended. That piped muzak was also playing in the toilets. It was great, though. Trumpy-blowing everywhere. I think I have jazz in my blood. You could say I’ve got deep vein trombonses.
No excursion to Inverness, if you haven’t been for some time, would be complete without the Buying Of The Pants. Underwear is like old age. It creeps up on you. The regular biennial festival of undergarment acquisition happens the next time we go to the mainland after someone says it is important to have nice underwear on in case you’re run over by a bus. Someone said it, so it was time to head for the Y-front emporium at Messrs Marks and Messrs Spencer Dot Com.
Some pants were not available in-store. The larger sizes, it seems, are only available online. Buy S and M here. For L, XL and upwards, go to www … How ridiculous is that? When I buy undercrackers, I want to see them close up, feel the quality and scrutinise them to decide if they are up to the job. I bought loads so I will squeeze into them somehow. The other reason for urgency is that we have no idea how the price of pants will be affected by Brexit and Boris. Will they go up or will they come down? Stock up now. Panic pants purchasing permitted, people.
Don’t panic was Corporal Jones’s catchphrase in Dad’s Army which has been repeated regularly for years, because it’s funny. Some silly person has blamed it for pro-Brexit sentiment. Her rant has nothing to do with the fact that Daisy Goodwin herself is a writer herself of some really boring royal drama called Victoria. It’s obviously not being repeated often enough and is driving Miss Daisy crazy. She thinks those arrows, devised in the 1960s, symbolising how Brits repelled the enemy should be banned. They stoke up pro-Brexit feelings in the multitude, says bad Goodwin.
Listen, flower: it’s staying. Corporal Fraser makes it. If the Beeb caves in to bonkers people like you, I will be with my placard at Broadcasting House. You can’t always get what you want. And neither can I. On the plane home, the stewardess announced there would be no tea or coffee as there was no in-flight service on our Loganair route that day. However, she added: “If there is anything you require, just ask.” Anything? So I told her I would love a large dram and a Caramel Log, like you get on the London flights. My love for in-flight treats is still unrequited.
Still, I’m glad it was last week we went to Inversneckie. It’s been pouring this week. It is some rain for Scotland when you have to sit on top of your car and wait to be rescued. Those poor folk in Stirling and Edinburgh are having it tough. Listen, if it makes you feel better, we get far more rain than you – just not on the same day.
A car pulled up in the rain close to the wind turbines on the Pentland Road the other evening. Through the open car window, you could Jamie Cullum on Radio 2 playing jazz music by Nat King Cole. The closest turbine to the road says: “Oh yeah. I really like jazz.” Then the turbine asked the next turbine along about their musical preferences, saying “Do you like jazz?” The second turbine answers: “Actually, I am a big heavy metal fan.”
