Welcome to Scotland
Welcome to Scotland
In the span of a month I have another friend from Canada come and visit me. It’s obvious. Scotland is the place to be. She arrived on the Friday completely jet lagged, which was fine, since I had to still go into work. In the evening though I came back, woke her up, told her sleep could come later and kicked her out the door to show her what Edinburgh was like on a Friday night. I took her to a place called Banshee a horror theme pub that I knew she would love and we discovered a concert was happening in the basement. After unsuccessfully trying to look over some guys shoulder, he turned around an allowed us to enter the small room. Which had a very strong feel and look to a house party’s basement filled with guys high on testosterone listening to a band that sounded very similar to Rage Against the Machine, in the sense of being unable to understand what most of the lyrics were until it came them shouting F@ck You! My friend and I exchanged glances but decided so long as the lead singer did not ask us to sing along with him (which he was doing to the guy in front of us) then it was worth sticking around cause to be honest…it was a lot of fun.
When the band decided their show was at an end, my friend and I grabbed a drink chose a seat, and got to enjoy a second free show of the evening. When a group of old French punks starting singing what I can only guess was a drinking song. For despite being Canadian and knowing that we should speak French as a second language ( I am also from the point of Canada that is the farthest point from Quebec and my French is about as good as a TV program aimed for babies.) Beer glasses were raised, then drunk, then repeated the same chorus again. My friend sat wide eye, with a smile on her face as she watched the old punks slur each chorus more and more after every drink.
When we left the bar, I explained the task that was about to come to pass. We had to get through Grassmarket without being talked too, touched or asked out for a drink in 5 minutes or less, or all hope was lost and we would end up in a second bar and not asleep in our comfortable beds. Before departing, I told her these words, “Oh and beware the singing Scotsman.”
We did well. It was a few near hits but I told her to keep her head down, avoid eye contact, and to avoid whatever that was on the cement in front of us. Home was just around the corner the door in sight, but then it started, slow and quite, but you could tell it was a tune to a song… then the Scotsman singing said song saw us, and that quite little tune became a full pledge ballad of 90 boy band greatness! He knew every lyric, rise and fall of the tempo, and there was also a little dance move thrown in to add polish. He had found an audience and he was going to finish his song, since really all his life he wanted to be a singer! And as the last few words flowed out of him. I looked to my friend, shook my head and said, “Welcome to Scotland.”