Tweedy good time
(L-R, top-btm: DJ dancing, pizza time, dancing phase one, dancing phase two: Glasgow, Scotland)
Well, the people I met on the Harris Tweed Ride and all the images and photographs that keep cropping up of us all online have defined my entire week. It was a triumph. I hope that many of the people I met will become more than acquaintances in due time – though I already feel I made a couple of firm friends, even after such a short time. To bring you up to speed with events after the official closing of the Tweed Ride, there were a hardcore group of say, eight of us that decided to move on from the swing and jive of it all for some dinner. I interrogated the DJ who you can see in the top left, (and can you believe he was born with a DJ name; Teami Thompson?) and he pointed us towards a bar he usually gigs at, right in the town. Before that, we were desperate for food, and by this stage, time was already against us and it had turned 10pm. Even in Glasgow, finding somewhere to serve food so late was going to be a trail. We opted to follow Sven who had a vague air of authority.
We trundled away from the plush interiors of the Blytheswood Hotel and on to the drizzle near Central Station. After trying one restaurant, we were directed to a similar establishment nearby that offered dry interiors, hot pizza and a thrash metal band onstage. They were unbelievably loud and awful. I can take a certain amount of rock, metal and screeching – after all, it characterised my adolescence – but this was another level of angst altogether. They apologised for their rustiness as they hasn’t played live for months – an admission that was wholly justified. After the gentility of the day with its teacups, swing sounds, chatter and chummery, this was a rude and arresting awakening. However, it appeared to aid the pizza digestion since the whole tableful of pizza was inhaled in less than four minutes. As you can see from the top right image, we were all still chewing when it was decided we would leave. Discussion was kept at a minimum since we could hear nothing above the din – the receipt had to be passed around and studied so each person could read the totals without becoming hoarse from shouting.
After a swift exit, we were back on our trusty bicycles, towards this recommended bar. It was here, in our third venue of the extended evening that an impromptu limbo competition occurred using a bamboo pole tweed flag that one girl (Lisa) had brought along. It was a massive error on my part not to photograph the occasion but I was trying very hard not to fall over backwards under the flexing flagpole or hurt myself. I am not very good at limbo and neither, it transpired, was anybody else. It was in this rather handsome pub called McSorley’s (pictured bottom left) that we livened up with the limbo game and some expressive and ridiculous dancing. At our request for some good music (as we name-dropped the DJ), the barmaid played one (not so great) LCD Soundsystem album from start to finish. However, it served its purpose. It was also in this venue that we met two Austrian girls, possibly impressed by our attire and effervescent dance skills. They stayed with our group for the remainder of the festivities. They were very amusing and added to the general spontaneity of the night.
At closing time, we were tipped out of this spot and forced to consider what to do next. Luckily, though it was now becoming very late, only a few of our party had decided to peel off to return home. That left four original tweed clad miscreants and then the Austrians. As we wound our way back uphill to our next stop, I discovered that whilst trying to give one of them a lift on the back of my bicycle, I had burst my back tyre. This requires some care tomorrow when I have time to fix it. Aside from a chain graze on my right leg and a bruised hand from a pothole early in the day, I remained miraculously unscathed, despite the terrible weather conditions. We finally reached our next destination, still ultimately intact and if possible, merrier and more excitable than before. You can see our posed hilarity in the bottom right image. Only the shot is posed, however – this is only one of many grinning, silly images of people taken that day. In fact, you might be able to see even more here, on the HTR Facebook page. Essentially, what I enjoyed most about the whole crazy shindig was the fact that I felt like someone completely different for a day, yet at precisely the same time, I managed to remain entirely myself. It’s an odd sensation, but I hope that if you were there, you might have felt the same. Keep a lookout for next year. I’ll certainly be signing up as soon as tickets become available.
– Today Rosie is working on next year’s calendar and putting on another jumper in Glasgow, Scotland)
