The luck of the Irish

Top of the mornin’ to ya. Isn’t that what the Irish say? It’s St. Patrick’s Day, or as it seems to have become, Paddy’s Day. As I’ve probably said somewhere else on this blog, I’m not Irish, so I’m not celebrating it. I don’t even celebrate St. Andrew’s Day on 30 November, but if I were to be given paid leave from work, I’d take it. The closest Monday to Paddy’s Day is a holiday in Ireland, which is probably a good idea. There will be a few sore heads tomorrow, and I’d not begrudge anyone in austerity-hit Ireland the chance of a party. We need a revolution, however, and a bloody one, at that.

In a few weeks time, the NHS in England will, effectively, cease to exist, changes will be made throughout the UK to benefits and the ignominious ‘bedroom tax’ will come into law. The Liberal Democrats maintain that they are a moderating influence on the Tories, so Christ knows what would be visited on the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed and the otherwise disadvantaged without them. Well, the United Kingdom, or what could be left of it, will find out in 2015. We in Scotland have an opportunity to make a better nation and I, for one, will never forgive anyone who doesn’t take that chance in 2014.

While I still have a job and some money I can indulge in some of my hobbies and on Sunday 10 March, I plucked up the courage to go along to Curlers’ Bar in Byres Road for the GFW Very Slow Session. My enthusiasm can be measured by the fact that it had been snowing heavily! My ability, however, didn’t match that enthusiasm, and I struggled through all of the sets. If practice makes perfect, I will have to do a lot of practicing.

On Monday, I went to Stow College for the Ukulele class and returned to my car to find a parking ticket on my windscreen. It was my fault. That street never used to have restrictions after 6pm, so I didn't think to look for a huge sign that I didn’t see in the street with no lights. What pissed me off was that those bloodsucking bastards were out putting tickets on cars at 9pm on a Monday in an obscure street that was far from busy. I will take more care in future, and will also never pay to park in this city again. This could mean that I may have to return home instead of attending an event. 

I’ve been at home in the evenings ever since. I was meant to be at concerts last night and tonight, but I’ve been sitting out in the cold at football matches and it’s too much effort to come home and change into more respectable clothing. I’ve obviously got so much money that I can throw away tickets worth £18.50.

Here, there and everywhere

Ok, so where the hell have I been? Well, I’m not going to tell you. What I will say is this; here are a few developments since I last addressed you, my dear readers:

Tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime

Some bastard robot deposited a load of shite on one of my posts. I’m afraid I will now have to verify all comments. The keen-eyed among you will know that this won’t be an onerous task. I have also added the dreaded Captcha, I hope. Sorry. The minority have always got to spoil it for the majority.

Chaos theory

 

It appears that I am out every night at the moment. Well, I’m obviously in tonight writing this rubbish. It’s been a fairly hectic ten weeks or so, starting with the Celtic Connections festival in the second half of January. That cost me over £200, and I had lots of other concerts to attend over that period, too. February seemed to fly in, but there was plenty to go to then too. Sorry if I’m being vague, but my phone crashed and I lost, among other things, my diary. I have no idea what I did before the 9^th of February.

Your life as you know it is over

I now have reading glasses. I am officially old. I am also letting myself in for sitting on spectacles, as I have more pairs than sense.

It’s fun to stay at the YMCA

During Celtic Connections, I attended two workshops: I saw The Big Slow Session, led by the wonderful Nigel Gatherer, as an opportunity to let my fiddle out of its case for the first time since June last year. I felt that I didn’t do too badly, as Nigel led us through two tunes I’d never played before (West Kilbride and Little Diamond) in the company of fiddles, mandolins, guitars, keyboards, bohdrans, whistles, and probably many, many more. It’s made me want to play again, and it’s my intention to sign up in the summer for the Glasgow Fiddle Workshop. I didn’t start back in January because I had already booked some events for Wednesdays, and unlike in the olden days of the GFW, I’d lose money by missing the classes.

Not content with an afternoon of playing, I also attended a workshop in the morning with the equally wonderful Finlay Allison, where I learned to strum along to YMCA on the ukulele. Classes are on a Monday, so I had no excuse for not going along, and since then, I’ve been to four classes, and I’m having a whale of a time. We’re stuck in C Major at the moment, learning lots of pop and country songs, but perhaps after Easter, we’ll move to D or A to play some Scottish traditional music. I find that it’s great therapy, and for two hours on a Monday, I can escape from all the troubles of the world, except sore fingers. I’ve already identified that I need a better instrument, as the action on this one could be lower, and geared machine heads would help it to stay in tune longer. Fun, eh? I’ll slap anyone who mentions G***** F*****, though. 

What's next?

As a result of this, I took my fiddle two weeks ago to one of Finlay’s classes to learn to play tunes in pub sessions. I hope to do that tomorrow night.

and finally

I’m still playing clarinet in an orchestra, but I don’t know for how much longer.

Right, that’s enough for now.