I’m not making this up, I have a half-step-cousin. That is my half-sister’s step-sister’s cousin. I know this because I went to her wedding in Scotland some years ago where I ran into a lonely bottle of Canadian Club, all on its own in the heart of kilt-country.
Being from Canada I wasn’t invited to the ceremony (I watched Beverly Hills Cop on VHS instead) but I did get to go to the party afterwards. I’d been hanging out with a lad named Brian, who was also possibly related to me and let me take a ride on his motorcycle. He didn’t mention it had no brakes until I got back. “I joos roob me foot an the whe-ul”. He had a collection of British porn magazines under his bed that he was very proud of. Over-white, saggy women with hair like bleached Brillo™. But hey, you take what you get in Scotland, it’s a harsh land of rugged beauty - which also makes it difficult to get around when you’re pissed.
About an hour into the party, I went up for a beer and spied that sad, dusty bottle way up on the top shelf, far right. Poor thing had been there years and never even opened. Canadians over-seas should stick together I just now say, so I asked the surly Scots barman if he would take down that bottle right then and there, open it and pour some in a glass for me. After a bit of grunting and pointing I helped him locate the bottle which he brought down carefully, as though it might morph into a snake at any moment. He read the label with cock'd brow, and asked was I sure about this, laddie? Well when I asked him to mix it with Coca-Cola™ he looked like he thought this was some sort of put-on. I finally got two double shots of rye which I took over to Brian, placing one in front of him. Have a bit of this I said, and we did. He didn’t like it much, so I had to shame him into having a few more…
Promptly at 10pm the party was over. That was it, everyone just quietly got up and headed for home. What had been a raucous gathering of drunken Scots, turned into people leaving after a movie on a work night. Young Brian, bless him, was still playing his little gag where he pretends to fall asleep under a table in his own vomit (should have told me about those brakes, big guy). But me, I was not going quietly, no me and Mr. Club, my bestest buddy decided we wanted to explore the village…
It fades out after that, though I remember being involved in some sort of running street battle where I was hit with a rock and, later, finding myself inexplicably out on the moors with not a house or light in sight. There was a strange bird calling, with the full moon low on the horizon, glowing green behind thin cloud. Finally I stumbled (literally) across a river that I knew ran through the village and followed that back. I eventually found Brian’s house, though I wasn’t completely sure until morning when I woke to see him still asleep, dried puke in his hair. Later that day the neighbor's chimney caught fire and we all went for a look. My shoes were wrecked, but all in all it was a very nice time.
Being from Canada I wasn’t invited to the ceremony (I watched Beverly Hills Cop on VHS instead) but I did get to go to the party afterwards. I’d been hanging out with a lad named Brian, who was also possibly related to me and let me take a ride on his motorcycle. He didn’t mention it had no brakes until I got back. “I joos roob me foot an the whe-ul”. He had a collection of British porn magazines under his bed that he was very proud of. Over-white, saggy women with hair like bleached Brillo™. But hey, you take what you get in Scotland, it’s a harsh land of rugged beauty - which also makes it difficult to get around when you’re pissed.
About an hour into the party, I went up for a beer and spied that sad, dusty bottle way up on the top shelf, far right. Poor thing had been there years and never even opened. Canadians over-seas should stick together I just now say, so I asked the surly Scots barman if he would take down that bottle right then and there, open it and pour some in a glass for me. After a bit of grunting and pointing I helped him locate the bottle which he brought down carefully, as though it might morph into a snake at any moment. He read the label with cock'd brow, and asked was I sure about this, laddie? Well when I asked him to mix it with Coca-Cola™ he looked like he thought this was some sort of put-on. I finally got two double shots of rye which I took over to Brian, placing one in front of him. Have a bit of this I said, and we did. He didn’t like it much, so I had to shame him into having a few more…
Promptly at 10pm the party was over. That was it, everyone just quietly got up and headed for home. What had been a raucous gathering of drunken Scots, turned into people leaving after a movie on a work night. Young Brian, bless him, was still playing his little gag where he pretends to fall asleep under a table in his own vomit (should have told me about those brakes, big guy). But me, I was not going quietly, no me and Mr. Club, my bestest buddy decided we wanted to explore the village…
It fades out after that, though I remember being involved in some sort of running street battle where I was hit with a rock and, later, finding myself inexplicably out on the moors with not a house or light in sight. There was a strange bird calling, with the full moon low on the horizon, glowing green behind thin cloud. Finally I stumbled (literally) across a river that I knew ran through the village and followed that back. I eventually found Brian’s house, though I wasn’t completely sure until morning when I woke to see him still asleep, dried puke in his hair. Later that day the neighbor's chimney caught fire and we all went for a look. My shoes were wrecked, but all in all it was a very nice time.
1 comment:
thank you Mr. Test, you are very kind.
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