I must be about 8.2 on the Teucheter-scale today. I would have been about 8.9 on friday night but I’ve managed to bring it down a notch or two to a less catastrophic state.
Celtic Connection festivities lived up to expectations. After checking into our 12th floor, ahem, “penthouse” room the evening got underway with that most traditional of Scottish beverages, and one of my all time favourites- The Daiquiri. Well, washed down with a side of chilli and parmesan chips and it’s a definite Celt-Cuban classic! This was followed by…another Daiquiri but this one was in the grand surroundings of the Blythswood Hotel- not a deep fried tatty in sight. After a bit of eavesdropping on some lovies who swore blind they new best friend was the manager of the Black Eyed Peas (really?…but really though?) we moved on to line our stomaches before doing some serious damage. Anyway, we weren’t friends with anyones manager so clearly were not going to fit in. Not with the kind of night we had in mind.
After some tasty steak frites, cheese board and prosecco, it was indeed time to crank up the Scottish factor. Whisky time! Ah yes, that did the trick. Before I knew it Sailor Jerry and I were rocking out all over the dancefloor of the ABC to the Treacherous Orchestra. For some strange reason it seemed to be over in a flash….Not satisfied with the direction our alcohol levels were taking we trotted off up to the Festival Club at the Art School. I’d love to report back exactly what we saw but it’s a wee bit hazy. There were some brilliant acts who’s names now escape me, and some very eager and entertaining dancing. I do, however, remember being force fed macaroni cheese and chips by a man who swore blind he had far too much food for just him. Before I knew it this led to a chicken curry that strangely seemed to consist mostly of potato, at least, it was the texture of potato. I’m sure if the lights had been brighter I may not have devoured it with such gusto. All washed down with more Sailor Jerry. I’m actually giving myself the boak just thinking about this now. It was almost 2 am before I had my fill of Sailor Jerry, rice, pasta, chips, chicken/potato, music and dance, so we rolled off down the hill to our hotel where I had every intention of sleeping until we got turfed out at noon the next day, right?
…..Wrong! 8am. BEEEP, BEEEP…BEEEP, BEEEP, BEP,BEP, BEP, BEP, BEP, BEP, BEP….. Fire. Alarm. Not only did I feel like death, I looked, smelled and sounded like it and I had 12 floor (24 flights!!) of spiralling stair to ‘escape’ down. There are no words for how I felt when I reached the bottom to be turfed outside into the most rank Scottish rain we’ve had in quite some time. After half an hour in the howling wind and rain we were allowed back in. I was determined to get back to sleep but the guests in the other rooms had other ideas about how I would spend the next few hours- i.e. clenching a pillow over my head and pleading with the Gods of hangover to just give me 1 hour, just 1 tiny hour of mercy.
The Gods were not merciful. Admitting defeat I did my best to cleanse myself of any remaining evidence of the previous evening and made the 12 story journey, conveniently by lift this time, back to waiting world outside. My good friends coffee, Irn Bru and Walkers ready salted crisps looked after me for a while, then I was fit to take on Saturday! OK, I was not fit at all but had no choice but to get fit for dinner with my mother-in-law. We made a quick pit stop home where I stared longing at my bed and lovely new fluffy pillows then onwards for another evening of food and drink.
Actually, I did feel remarkably better after my first cocktail- a raspberry Bellini- at Scotts in Troon. There is something really nice about sitting in a cosy seaside bar, cocktail in hand, when the weather outside is wild, the waves are crashing and the yachts in the marina are bobbing from side to side like awkward dancers with no rhythm. Just to be sure I was feeling better, I had another daiquiri while I ogled the food floating past from the kitchen. The deep fried stuff looked amazing.
Once back on track I took to the kitchen and ‘assembled’ starters for dinner. Having decided to keep it simple, given the high chance I may not be at my finest, I made the wise choice to make tapas. Crusty baguette with goats cheese and honey, marinated olives, cubed goats cheese in olive oil and pepper, halved cherry tomatoes, cooked beetroot is balsamic vinegar and basil, and diced chorizo cooked in garlic, honey and red wine vinegar. Nyum yum yum, if I do say so myself. My work was done. Now all had to do was drink some more, and find space for another two delicious courses. I managed, of course.
Today I feel, mostly, fat. Fat, dozy, but happy. A good weekend.