You're gonna find me out in the country
Just returned from a house party at the tower for my friend’s 18th birthday celebration.
Headed down Friday afternoon and arrived just before the ceilidh that was happening in the laigh hall so said my hellos and then changed into number three suit (soft collar, moleskins and tweed jacket) and spent the evening listening to good music and meeting other folks that the laird and his wife know that don’t do dressing up and playing with olden days toys.
Finally got to meet Andy Deane (Head of Interpretation at the RA) in a non-work context so spent a lot of time chatting to him and his family but he is mightily disappointed to be missing SWASH yet again.
Saturday was casual day before the main event that evening so some folk wandered over the hills for a long walk while I ended up going on a two hour long ride/hack with Jeff (the laird) and Andy. Heading out over the braes on the horses while Jeff and Andy tried to outdo each other (being the best and second best riders I have ever seen) and I tried to get anything other than a walk out of my mount, basically an overgrown donkey in all but breed, was simply stunning. There was even a point where I hit the right pace with the horse, the weather was perfect and it all came together into a genuine “moment” of pure existential bliss.
Finally, with the appropriate use of a crop, managed to find second gear and even third at one point but my bottle collapsed and so I need to do more stuff at speed to get that back again, basically my vita rises as soon as the horse changes gait so I need to work to keep it down and sit “through” the motion rather than try to go “over” it which is when I start pitching over, lose my poise and then get flustered. Of course none of this has done any wonders for my back (I know exactly where my sciatic nerve is on my right side), my guts (trotting stirs up the stomach acid somewhat I have discovered) and knees (both a bit stiff today) but well worth it.
Headed back into the tower grounds and had a little rest, after sorting the mounts, before the evening’s festivities.
Best bib and tucker (literally- suit number one- dinner suit with wing collar) for champers and nibbles then down into the vault for the evening meal with all the invited guests where much more champers was drunk, many claret downed and good conversation all round before heading back up the sitting room for a lot more claret. So much in fact that I vaguely remember being the last to be conscious, along with the laird, and listening to The Buzzcocks while discussing the merits of the English Hunting Seat as a riding position and then nothing ‘til waking up at 10 o’clock this morning and dashing down to breakfast.
Breakfast in the vault again- full hunt breakfast of champers, kedgeree and bacon and yet more conversation, including chatting with John of the Oyster Band while comparing tattoos (his are by Lal Hardy the lucky git) before heading back to Reekie where I am now aching, grinning and nursing a sore head.
A rather pleasing weekend methinks :-)