Folked up
(Team Trad; me, Joy and Rachel, a pipe band onstage at the Trad Music Awards: Perth, Scotland)
I felt under a great deal of pressure in the week before the Trads as my ‘chaperones’ were having their hair ‘done’ on the morning of the ceremony – I have very little hair to ‘do’. Therefore I felt burdened with the fear that I might not be chic and smart enough to keep up appearances (despite, yes, only being the extra on the ticket) I opted for a pre-emptive haircut last week. I also wore subtle fake eyelashes as I have to maximise the hair I do have, and bought the first foundation of my life. Thus groomed and made up, I could enjoy the evening without the concern that I was more androgynous than pretty. Shallow? Yes. Unnecessary? Oh, yes. But it was an awards ceremony and I was constantly standing beside a six-foot tall, gorgeous blonde singer. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same? Dressing up is one of my favourite activities, but usually I am sporting a leotard or a moustache. Or both. Aside from weddings, I rarely require such heavy handed makeup and intensive concern about my appearance. As if to compound my nerves as we entered the fray, within six minutes of arriving at the packed venue, I had managed to create my first wardrobe malfunction. Considering the sartorial effort I had made, the huge ladder I made in the leg of my tights was a major blow to my confidence. They had to be surreptitiously removed in the toilets, exposing the translucently pale legs beneath. Luckily, light was low and to be honest, aside from the probable fact no one was looking, I’m sure the ladder would have been much more of a faux pas than my pasty skin.
Regardless of my personal trials, the awards were resoundingly and pleasantly exciting. Throughout the awards, there was a whole lot of drinking, laughing, singing, humming, loud chatter, whooping during applause, some mild heckling and much toe tapping by the nine hundred strong audience. The bar staff were busy waiting on all the tables, delivering colossal amounts of alcohol to one and all. By the time the awards themselves drew to a close, they were running even later than last year – a point that was discussed at the beginning of the evening as I schmoozed* a music critic. After establishing that I had no idea the night would entail, he proceeded to regale me with tales of last year’s snow, and the awards not being over until almost midnight. Scandalous. It was well after midnight this year. Further scandal. There was an after party with live music and I managed to get in a very brief shot at dancing before the security team were herding the (now mainly drunken) throngs outside. This was at 3am and the night was evidently by no means over, despite my assumption – foolishly, I might add – that it was bedtime.
Up went the cry from several people, “To the Salutation!” This was a hotel a short walk away, complete with a bar that was still serving, and was fully carpeted, much to my relief. By around 3:30am, we had sustained over eight hours of solid socialising in heels, in a posh frock and being (moderately) well behaved. I think eight hours is my official formal event threshold. I reached a point around this time that is commonly known as ‘hitting the wall’, this is when no amount of food, drink or animated chatter can replace the body’s need for sleep. It happens to me very rarely and usually I quietly excuse myself and run home. As I was the plus-one, with absolutely no idea of my location, nor that of our hotel, I would have to stay. My previously effervescent conversation by 4am was being barely revived with a glass of cool water and I had mercifully removed my shoes. By this point, most people were inebriated to such a degree that my lack of shoes (and tights) would be the least of their concerns. By the time we excused ourselves, I was running on empty at 5am.
Saying that, being a plus-one has its definite advantages. Joy and Rachel were either spotted by or noticing people they wanted to (or should) talk to. I knew nobody. Rather than finding that daunting, I saw it as an opportunity to release my schmooze technique on all sorts of potentially important people. In fact, so many that I don’t remember more than a couple of names, I could also take photographs at will, move around without being stopped and generally make the best of being thrust into a world I am almost altogether ignorant of. It was enormous fun and I could pretend for brief moments that I was an honoured guest, rubbing shoulders with my equally talented celebrity pals. Better than that is the pretending with the knowledge that the following day I would be a happy nobody again, writing about my exploits for the sheer fun of it. Big thanks to Joy for including me – it was unmissable – and to Rachel who was our driver and companion for the weekend.
Breaking news just in: Rachel, Joy and I all made it onto the final cut of the BBC Na Trads show! I’m sure it’s brief, but it’s fame at last. As the cameras were set on Joy at her nomination, instead of acting naturally, to further amuse myself I deliberately made as many different expressions as possible so the cameraman and editing guys would have enough to choose from. I know my mum will be ever so proud. I can add it to my television repertoire along with ‘audience member of the BBC Culture Show’. Here is the link to the show itself, but better still, have a look at some screen shots I took at the end of this album.
*To schmooze: make casual conversation, usually to gain an advantage or make a social connection. In this instance, I mean to casually chat and gain the advantage of some amusement or gossip.
– Today Rosie is fighting through snow, having a hand x-ray and drawing designs for Rachel’s (see above) new album cover in Glasgow, Scotland –
