A wee deoch an doris
We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
sin' auld lang syne.
IT'S Hogmanay, and for a few hours much of the world goes Scottish. In Edinburgh
and elsewhere, they go first-footin' from midnight, crossing people's thesholds with
gifts of salt, coal, shortbread, whisky and black bun.
The first-foot is supposed to bring good luck to the household for the rest of the year,
and if the first-footer is a tall, dark man the luck is believed to be especially good..
A Hogmanay custom in Stonehaven, Aberdeenshire, is the fireball swinging. People
make balls of chicken wire filled with old newspapers, sticks, rags and other dry,
flammable material. These are attached to lengths of wire or chain.
As the old Town House bell sounds to ring in the New Year, the balls are set alight
and people surge along the high street swinging them about their heads. Then they
throw them into the harbour.
This very much parallels the way Hogmanay is celebrated at the Street Shelter for the
Over-Forties, here in Durban. Instead of fireballs we have flaming tassles being tossed
by exotic dancers on the bar counter. Then at midnight the punters seize the dancers
and extinguish the flames by throwing the gals into the frog pond.
This is the signal for the feu de joie. Catapults are fashioned from the ladies' knicker
elastic and the streetlights are shot out. Aye, Scots culture reaches across the seas.
Happy New Year!
And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie's a hand o' thine!
And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
Take care
YES, it's the time of the gude-willie waught. But it's also a time to tread carefully,
take a taxi. As they always say in Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein:
"Hou kop!"
There's the US senator who was asked about his attitude toward whisky. "If you mean
the demon drink that poisons the mind, pollutes the body, desecrates family life and
inflames sinners, then I'm against it. But if you mean the elixir of a New Year toast,
the shield against winter chill, the taxable potion that puts needed funds into public
coffers to comfort little crippled children, then I'm for it. This is my position, and I
will not compromise."
Quite so. Slante!
Scoff not
THE fellows at the end of the bar are on the march, make no mistake. We've
discussed them here before. They're the fellows who are pundits on every topic under
the sun. They declaim with authority on whatever the government/cricket selectors/
arts council/conservation agencies should be doing about whatever is at issue.
It becomes more strident as the evening wears on. Often it involves sending in the
special forces.
Then they go home, have a good night's sleep and don't think about it again until they
meet again next evening.
The fellows at the end of the bar – they're a phenomenon that's beginning to
snowball. Epicentre is the UK. A political grouping called UKIP (United Kingdom
Independence Party) has as its logo the "£" symbol in gold, to a backdrop of
episcopalian purple. It wants "independence" for Britain from the EU.
All this fully captures the sentiments of most fellows at the end of the bar. UKIP's
leader, Nigel Farrage, is regularly photographed and filmed standing in a bar, hoisting
a pint.
And now Farrage has been named "Briton of the Year" by none less than The Times,
of London. By-elections and surveys show support haemorraghing to UKIP from both
the Tories and Labour. Farrage could hold the balance of power in parliament after
next year's elections.
The Times by no means approves of Farrage and what he stands for, but they call him
Briton of the Year and have his photo on the front page – holding a pint of beer, of
course.
Scoff not at the fellows at the end of the bar. They're on the move. Today London –
tomorrow Nkandla.
Tailpiece
IT'S New Year's Eve and the Loch Ness Monster squeezes into a packed Soho bar. He's
charged £8 (R136) for a scotch.
Barman: "We don't get many of your type in here."
Monster: "Aye, and at your prices I'm no surprised."
Last word
Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one.
― Brad Paisley
No comments:
Post a Comment