Perthshire Amber 6

Bit of a tough day today. Dougie is holed up at the theatre with an old incarnation of his band rehearsing for the Indigenous Concert this evening. It’s an interesting idea, following on from last year’s complete recital of The Search. Basically, it’s the Indigenous album in its entirety. What’s hard is that I gather Dougie hasn’t seen some of the musos for years, let alone play with them (his bands are always changing, based on the needs of the albums).


Rehearsals for Indigenous

But… before the album concert we have Eliza Lynn (who is also a volunteer like us) and Ross Ainslie & Jarleth Henderson. Eliza is a very cool cat, and she’s accompanied by Sorren and Gordon MacLean on guitar and double bass, so it’s a very laid-back show.

Ross and Jarleth lift off the roof. Twin sets of pipes, flutes and a guitarist backing them. Some of the stuff is just mind blowing. These two guys are, to quote the Glasgow Herald, ‘ridiculously talented’.

I wasn’t feeling too great during the second, Indigenous half, and I spent a lot of time outside getting some air, but what I did hear was really good, especially the very dramatic entrance with the smoke and drums. I’m not sure if the concept of playing a whole album will be back next year, as I gather it was quite stressful and hard to put together, but personally, I think it's a grand idea.

It’s here that I should probably digress a bit and talk about Mannie. He seems to have appropriated the two Canadians, Mike and Larry and formed a special crack volunteer squad called Team DeManic. Never in my life have I seen programs sold with such gusto. Occasionally they’ll rope in Finn (who is an old friend of Dougie’s from the isle of Lewis, in the Hebrides. When we were introduced at Butterstone, something clicked and I said, “So you're *that* Finn?”. Turns out he’s the Finn from Dougie’s song, ‘Feel So Near’ and we’ve been singing about him for years. He’s just the loveliest man, with a very funny sense of humour and possibly one of the gentlest souls we’ve met). So anyway, Mannie is well on the way to corrupting the Two Canadians. It’ll be interesting to see how they are after a week or so...


Team DeManic, from L to R: Mike, Mannie, Finn and Larry

Perthshire Amber 5

Short day today, just a small gig over at the Edradour Distillery, in the hills behind Pitlochry. Dougie playing fiddle with John Morran, a wonderful DADGAD guitarist. I’ve actually been looking forward to this gig, as I love a lot of the tunes Dougie has written, and I got to meet John on our first night at Butterstone and he’s a lovely lovely guitar player. And of course it’s at Edradour, the smallest distillery in Scotland (possibly the world), and maker of possibly the best whisky I’ve ever tasted -but more about that later.



It’s a great show, subtle, beautiful, made all the nicer for being in a beautiful stone-floored room with an attentive audience. John and Dougie even played a fair bit from the actual Perthshire Amber album (and one of my favourite tunes, Mr and Mrs MacLean from Snaigow which he wrote about his parents), and I could see Sarah’s fingers itching to play the Perthshire Amber flute parts!



Edradour have just released a special 12-year old single malt that they’re calling Caledonia, in association with Dougie, and it’s a very special drop, but not as special as the dram I had later that day. Andrew, the distillery owner sidled up to me that evening and asked if I’d like a try of ‘something interesting’. He produced a very shifty-looking flask from his pocket and poured me a shot of what was quite easily the greatest thing I have ever tasted. It was a 45 year old single he’d just decasked (not sure if that’s the right word, I was far too away with the whisky faeries to remember). I doubt anything will ever come close to that.

Perthshire Amber 4

Blair Castle.

Big gig this one. Very posh castle. We’re warned not to take photos of the pictures as they’re worth over £5 million. There are guys here that talk into their sleeves and are probably packing collapsable claymores that shoot killer bees. We have our walkie-talkies with ear pieces, so whenever we see them, we put our hands on our ears and whisper conspiratorially just to freak them out.


Neil Gow's portrait and fiddle -still playable!

The main hall is large, and covered from wall to wall with items ranging from Scottish legend Neil Gow’s fiddle to rifles, sabres, shields, the aforementioned paintings, and racks of antlers.



Lots of antlers.

In fact, there are so many antlers the room looks a little to me like the inside of one of Clive Barker’s better nightmares. There’s just so much pointness. Hundreds. I’m not kidding. Even the corridor to the green rooms is lined with them. Every time we walk down a corridor we put our spread hands up on our head and gallop. Some even have little plaques like:

Wee Huge George.
Duke of Cornwall
1835

I’m assuming that’s the stag’s name, the shooter and the year. Unless I’ve really got it wrong and that was the Duke of Cornwall's nickname! It’s quite amazing, and the rest of the castle is incredible. I tuned a guitar next to a case containing Bonnie Prince Charlie’s riding gloves (he had small hands) and one door down is a room containing hundreds of pikes, sheilds and swords.

So, onto the gig.

We found out earlier that guitarist Boo Hewerdine won’t be acompanying Heidi Talbot and John McCusker tonight, which is a real shame as we bought his album and have been playing it to death.

But…

Replacing him are Ewan Vernal on bass and none other than guitarist Ian Carr. Two stalwarts of the Kate Rusby band (three if you reminisce and include McCusker). So we’re in for a treat. Tempurature is dropping though. By 4pm it’s already hovering around freezing, and up here, freezing really means freezing. Cloudy breath, stampy feet, and even the locals are muttering about the first frost.

The gig was fantastic. Heidi Talbot is very funny, and her thick Kildare accent is quite a standout amoung all the Scottish ones (and Ian Carr’s Welsh). The band are a tad rusty, having really been thrown together for tonight, but it’s a great show. McCusker is just a force of nature. There’s little that man can’t do, including write amazing songs and tunes (we play a couple of his tunes ourselves) and play fiddle, cittern, low whistles and piano. He's also very funny. Ewan Vernal is like a slightly ‘morning after’-looking Alan Rickman while Ian Carr is simply brilliant. He has such a unique, almost ‘accidental’ way of accompanying tunes and songs on his guitar. Best thing of all, they were all a really good laugh! Heidi is quite pregnant too (along with Julie Fowlis, and, we just found out, Cara Dillion. Add to that list Kathryn Roberts who’s just had bubs, Kate Rusby and Nancy Kerr, and I think I can see a bit of a conspiracy here. Looks like everyone decided now is a good time to get preggers so there’s always other kids around at festival. Just a theory).


Bridget and Heidi

Dougie’s show was great too. It was just him and Ross, playing his flutes and warpipes. Dougie’s ear has been troubling him a fair bit today, bit it’s amazing to watch him go from pacing and fretting in the dressing room to being an utter showman the moment his feet touch the stage. Ross has to run off the stage to tune the pipes in another part of the castle as they’re so fecking loud. Even so, while he’s tuning and Doog is tuning the guitar to him, there’s this incredible ghostly wail. I have to say, I’m not a big fan of warpipes (he also plays small pipes and Uilleann) but feck… to hear that noise sent my hair right up! The highlight was Dougie's version of the Neil Gow song, Gloomy Winter, which Michael Nyman used as the 'base' for the music for the Piano. I put 'base' in quotes there as to me they're identical, and there are a lot of Scots pissed about the appropriation (and Oscar I think)!


That's John McCusker and Heidi Talbot in the foreground, watching Dougie's show

By the time we’re packing up it’s ‘Fooking Baltic’ to quote a local singer/songwriter. Even Mick Jaguar is flashing warning lights about black ice, and indeed, the drive back had a few hairy moments. But Fat Mick and his traction control and heated seats saw us through.

By the time we got back to Atholl Palace, it’s -4c.

Perthshire Amber 1.5

(Somehow, this blog slipped through the upload, so it's a little out of sync)

It’s fecking cold at the Crannog, but then considering it’s a recreation of an ancient loch dwelling on Tay, I’m surprised that I’m surprised. It’s another beautiful day, though the wind has come up, and it’s the kind of wind that slices through regular jackets as if they were string vests. I’ve fallen in love with my thin Merino layer and hefty Paddy Pallin Polartec.



This is probably the most exclusive and special of all the gigs. The Crannog only holds 30 people, and that’s including artists and crew, so the the tickets are aways the hottest sellers and had gone months ago. This year it’s a solo show around a roaring fire, though in previous ones the rest of the band have squeezed in. The Crannog is a round building sitting out on Loch Tay (which itself is incredbly impressive) on stilts. It’s connected to the mainland by a stilt bridge, and is big enough that there would have been livestock inside to. We could do with a few warm Angus cows right about now.



As much as I want to stay, I have to head off to Castle Menzies (pronounces Mingus) to help prepare for tonight’s gig, another small one inside, and you might have guessed, a castle. But the girls are getting to stay, so hopefully they’ll be able to sneak inside to hear the gig.

Perthshire Amber 3

Tuesday night was the gig at Dunkeld Catherdral, an incredible 13th century church that was razed during the reformation in the 16th Century. The quire/presbytery and the main tower were rebuilt a little bit later (I was told that the church wasn’t really supposed to be burned, just have all its iconography stripped, so it sounds like a few people had had a bit too much to drink). So the quire is this incredble room, basically like a nave, with stunning high wooden ceilings, stained glass and a pretty cold stone floor. The cathedral sits right on the banks of the Tay, which is a the fastest-flowing river in Europe, and certainly looks it. The waters are contantly boiling past at the rate of a rapid jog. When we arrived, the rains were just clearing and the sun was streaming though the huge larches and Douglas firs in the grounds.

The sound guys had already been in and rigged the place out, but I was lucky enough to be able to sit in on the soundchecks. When Mike McGoldrick blew that first stream of flawless notes on his Bb flute, it was just sublime. John Joe Kelly and Ed Boyd (so essentially, it was Flook without Brian and Sarah -Mike McGoldrick was in the original line-up) fire up, and the empty cathedral was washed in this incredible music. It was a stunning moment.

It was a great show. Dougie played acoustically with Ali on second guitar and Chris on brilliant 5-string bass, and the highlight of his set was probably the cathedral --which by this point was filled with about 200 people-- singing along with a very nicely augmented version of Caledonia. I still don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone play to an audience the way Dougie does. All he needs to do is walk on and smile, and the night is his. We even managed to get Helen and Lyn a couple of last-minute tickets.

The McGoldrick Trio played a fairly laid-back set, including a beautiful Pierre Bensusan arrangement that just silenced the audience. Of course, the set couldn’t last long enough for us, and not seeing John Joe utterly tear up the bodhran was dissappointing, but only in a very minor way. Because we’re working behind the scenes, usually it’s our job to take care of the performers, and we’re all happy to say that they’ve all been absolutely wonderful. The trio were humble, happy and very funny, and most importantly they love what they do with a passion that is just inspiring.

A full moon rose out over the mountains behind the ruin of the cathedral, and later on in the evening, as the temperature dropped, mist crept across the fields. It really wasn’t too hard to imagine the Scottish warriors running through the fog, carrying the baby Mary, future Queen of Scots through Dunkeld to safety.

After the gig, we drove back through the mist to Atholl Palace, where there was a fire in the grate (it was 1c by now), whisky 80 shilling ale and most imporatnly, tunes. I wasn’t like a normal session. Everyone was continually swapping instruments (I played John Joe’s bodhran -which has me thinking about a new one-- Mike McGoldrick’s bouzouki, and Eliza’s 5-string banjo. All badly when compared to their relative owners, but it was great fun. The night ended at about 5am, but not before Sarah had picked Mike’s hard drive clean of tunes!

Pulled up ok the next day, surprisingly, but luckily it was a smaller show in the truly wonderful Edradour distillery, the smallest distillery in Scotland. I’ve been drinking a fair bit of it this trip, and along with Talisker, it’s become something of a favourite. The show was an odd one; the Fiddle show, with just Dougie playing his fiddle tunes with John Moran, a wonderful DADGAD guitarist. It was a beautful hour of great tunes, including The Gael, Mr & Mrs MacLean from Snaigow and some of the ones from the Perthshire Amber album. The distillery is in a tiny hidden glen, in the hills behind Pitlochry, and it’s really something. Only just big enough to be a commercial distiller, it makes some of the smoothest most delicious whisky I’ve ever tried, and Andrew, the owner is always quick to offer up a dram for us helpers (and the whisky cake is just criminally good). Hopefully I’ll have enough weight allowance to bring some back!

It’s Thursday now, and I’m sitting in an old chair at the Pitlochry Theatre writing this. Some of the others are off at Blair Castle, setting up for tonight. I pulled guitar duites, (which basically means I have to make sure Dougie remembers them) so I’ve got a bit of time to kill. We’re just been told we’re doing a spot tonight on Cabaret Amber, which is here in the theatre. We’re thinking of bending the rules a bit and doing Ready for the Storm and the Gael. Dougie will be here listening so that might be fun! Then the four of us have to manhandle Dougie away from the bar, into the Jaguar and whisk him off to Blair Castle for the show. Tonight it’s Heidi Talbot and her band (John McCusker and Boo Hewerdine!), Ross Ainslie (who is an incredible piper/whistler/zouk prodigy) and Jarleth Henderson. Should be a incredible show in a unique venue. Then of course, it’l be back to Atholl for another hopefully very late night of tunes. Wish you could be here!

Perthshire Amber 1

Eddi Reader is on stage, all flying hands, that incredible voice, fey, singing purely in the moment. I'm standing stage left, behind the biggest most advanced mixing desk I've ever seen (and that's just the foldback). All this stuff was on the back of a truck less than 10 hours ago. It's been a non-stop first day, from an empty theatre to setting up 2 stages (one that seats 500 in the theatre proper, another smaller stage for the open mic sessions and some smaller gigs (still a set up larger than the average Sunas rig), a vast merchandising table (Dougie has a lot of stuff to sell) and even a small pub in one of the back halls for the neverending session. It's an odd feeling standing here. I could hear a lot better out the front, but there's something about being back stage, watching Eddi and her band and seeing the rapt expressions on the audience's faces. She really does spin magic when she sings. It's breathtaking, kooky, almost difficult to watch except for the little voice in your head that tells you not to turn away, you're watching something rare.

The past couple of days we've been down at Butterstone, preparing merch, sorting instruments, drinking tea and generally weaving our way around the chaos that is the MacLean house. I'm not sure that I've actually explained wee part of us being here. Dougie invited us over to perform, but then sometime later Jenny floated the idea of us joining the small volunteer crew. We jumped at the idea because it means we get to see the runnings of a festival from start to finish and it has the brilliant bonus of having two weeks’ accommodation in a five star lodge in Scotland and getting to hang with the most amazing people. The Festival support staff run to about fourteen I think, and most of us are either family, friends or other performers. The depth and breadth to this is just staggering -it runs for 10 days, with concerts every night, workshops and smaller gigs during the day, a session bar, and that’s just the stuff people see. What you don’t is the staggering amount of technology powering this. The entire festival is being streamed online, and pretty much everything else is available on demand. There are high-definition video cameras in the auditorium, portable handy-cams roaming around, all feeding into a control centre where it is cut together on a barrage of iMacs then sent out into the ether. Dougie’s son Jamie is the mastermind of it all, and so far it’s working incredibly. The stream quality is just amazing (depending on your own access though I guess). Then there are a few digital cameras floating around (including myself) and Ian on the proper photography. A lot of the shots are quickly editing then uploaded to the huge plasma screen in the main foyer -sometimes before the acts being photographed have even finished playing. This all adds the the great sense of immediacy and likeness of the show. Jenny and Julia (Dougie’s daughter) pretty much run the front of house, with Jamie and the incredible soundcrew running the tech. Of course this is in addition to Dougie himself, who is always hurrying around, still one of the most enthusiastic and boyish people I’ve ever met (and someone who has no problems getting on the two-way radio system to announce he’s lost his cigarettes).

The blogs might slow down a little over the next few days, because we no longer have broadband connection where we’re staying, so I have to write them nestled in a corner of the theatre. The hardest this is there’s just so much to tell!

Tomorrow sees us play our first gig, just a wee thing, but it’ll be fun and I’m pretty sure it’ll be live to radio. I think we’re recording some video for the web too, outside on the banks of the churning River Tay, so check at the website address below if you’re interested in streaming.

Right, back to Eddi Reader for me.

Butterstone

We found The Old School House easily enough as there are only about 8 houses in Butterstone. What took longer was finding the front door in the darkness. We knocked, not quite knowing what to expect, and after a pregnant pause, the door flew open and a frock coat-clad gentleman flew out shouting 'you made it you made it you made it!". It was quite possibly the most surreal and brilliant moment of the tour so far. Dougie was all done up posh as he'd only just come in from a meeting, and as he hurried about making us tea and coffee, we said hello again to Jenny, and met Jane, Jamie, Julia and Ross amid the riot of festival paperwork confusion around the main table. It was a wonderful welcome, and made us poor sickening people feel a whole lot better.

The house is just incredible. It's an old schoolhouse that they've extended over the years (it's actually the school that both Dougie and his father attended, so there's an incredible sense of place here), so the rooms are fascinating. It's a warm rabbit warren of wood, narrow corridors, a full recording studio (inside the old church), cosy nook and Dougie's shed where he 'makes stuff'. Books, portraits, Jenny's beautiful art, old posters, instruments, Apple Macs... But most of all it feels incredibly homely.

Of course within ten minutes Dougie and I were geeking out over iPhone apps and recording software (the iPhone definitely seems to be the gadget of choice among musicians), but generally we were just catching up, and filling the others in on some of the exploits from the tour.

Jenny and Jane drove us off to where we'll be staying for the next two weeks, Atholl Palace in one of the art deco lodges. It's stunning; a beautiful old house originally built to house the chauffeurs in the 1930's but then restored in 2005 for accommodation. We are being spoilt! There's ancient woodland on the estate that I plan to walk around early in the morning, complete with deer, native red squirrels and pine martens.

Inverness to Findhorn

Today started badly.

Bridget has been coughing a fair bit, and it’s been getting gradually worse, so when we got the message from her room this morning that she was really unwell, we rushed her straight off to a doctor (as an aside, thank feck for free healthcare in the UK and also Google, for finding the medical centre nearest to us -a phonebook doesn’t really work when you don’t know the suburbs around you). Turns out she has a virusy thing and is on antibiotics (and before the comments and emails start flying, we all know that antibiotics are only good for bacterial things. We think it’s to avoid a chest infection).

So, dosed up, we headed off towards Cawdor, only to find the castle closed for the season. Most things here seem to close this time of year. Make sense when you see how bleak it can be. There wasn’t much else to do other than admire the wee little village, so Sarah’s hunt for the Clan has stalled, albeit temporarily.

Early afternoon found us at the Findhorn Foundation, an incredible spiritual ‘eco’ community on Findhorn Bay. I’ve had an odd little obsession/pulling towards this place for nearly fifteen years, after I read ‘Flight into Freedom‘ by its co-founder, Eileen Caddy. It’s also been mentioned by the likes of Liam O’Manolai and Mike Scott of the Waterboys (who has a home here) both of whom I hold in very high musical regard. Providence was shining on us, as I was not sure I was going to make it all this way, only to be stopped literally miles away. I couldn’t very well leave Bridget in the car while I looked around (Findhorn offer tours, classes, and stays varying from a day to a week to 6 months to a lifetime. It’s an amazing place, mostly self-sufficient -it even has wind turbines and a state of the art water filtration system), but mainly, it’s about self-awareness, and the quest for it. I can’t really go into too much detail here, as there’s, well, too much detail.


One of the amazing hand-built homes on the Field of Dreams

When I said providence was shining, I meant because while we were in the Blue Angel cafe I spotted a sign for a healer /masseuse. Most of you know that Bridget has a bad shoulder, and needs regular work, so she made the call and found out he was 5 minutes away and did 2 hour sessions -exactly the length of the tour. So she went off and did that while Sarah and I were taken around Findhorn by the lovely Leanne. It’s a stunning place, most of it hand-built. The focus is on Common Community, shared responsibility and tolerance and respect. Nothing is taken for granted. There are potteries, a state of the art printing house (using world-class standards in recycling and acid-free inks), performance spaces, galleries, permanent housing, nurseries, and the incredible Universal Hall, easily the most incredible and inspirational venues I’ve ever been in.


The front entrance of Universal Hall. Shame the picture does no justice to the stained glass

It’s a hand-built, limestone walled, turf-roofed hexagon with amazing acoustics and that truly breath-taking feel of something made with love. We missed out on a gig here by only a little bit (date clashes) but upcoming artists include Shooglenifty and Malinky, and the Waterboys have recorded two albums here (I don’t think I mentioned it’s a multi-level centre with a top notch recording studio and even a meditative sanctuary under the floor of the hall, with its ceiling holding a frosted skylight into the amphitheater. Words can’t describe it really.


The carved whole tree trunk is the centerpiece of the stage. See the little hexagonal 'skylight' to the sanctuary below!

Sarah’s favourite place was a small drystone building called the Hobbit House, which was also hand-built, and inside contains a single circular room, used for meditation and also for singing. Of course Sarah was invited to try it out, which she did with a verse from ‘Sorrow’s Away’. The acoustics were perfect, and her voice came back to her tenfold.


The Hobbit House.

It’s an incredible place, not affiliated with any religion except your own personal oneness, and how you use it to better the planet. I have no doubt whatsoever that I’ll return here. My fifteen-year curiosity has been quelled, but more doors have opened.

From there, we shot south into the gloaming evening, across the Cairngorm National Park on our way to Dunkeld. With the clocks going back an hour, darkness seemed to fall even quicker, but there was one incredible moment when I looked over and saw a buck deer running through the woods next to the road, parallel with the car for a time before fading back into the dark. The Cairngorms are incredibly bleak, possibly some of the harshest Scottish terrain short of the Hebrides, but I’d cut things a little too fine for sight-seeing, so mostly, we travelled the winding roads with just the snow markers and the occasional croft for company. It was probably the hardest drive of the trip so far. The big Jaguar stuck to the road like its namesake, but it’s pretty heavy (with all our gear) and the road dipped, crested, swung and jigged like a mad thing. Add to this the constant scanning of the distance for eye shine that might mean a deer, a sheep, or, gods forbid, a giant Angus cow, and you have a knackering few hours. It was fun though, like my own wee episode of Top Gear, with only one really hairy moment when I misjudged a switch-back turn and poor Bridget got covered in schnacks from a toppled bag.

But eventually we wandered down out of the moors. The featureless grey to either side of the car was replaced by a tunnel of burnished copper beech trees that shivered leaves down on us. We found Dunkeld, then continued on the few more miles to Butterstone, and Dougie and Jennifer’s house.

And I’ll save that bit for tomorrow.

Inverness and Monster Scones!

Just a short one tonight.


After a mammoth Scottish breakfast (like an English breakfast but with haggis etc) we said our goodbyes and headed north at a nice gentle pace. We popped in to have a look at Invarary Castle, which was pretty impressive, then we hit the road proper. It's been tipping it down through the night, and the roads were pretty flooded in places. Nothing the sturdy-footed Mick couldn't handle with aplomb. We stopped back in Fort William for more monster scones and the best coffee in the Highlands.


Monster Scones!

From Fort William, we followed the road up through Fort Augusta, and along Loch Ness. When the rain cleared, it was amazing, with mist clinging to the hills like cotton. The mountains became striped with dozens of temporary waterfalls, and look like huge rocks shot through with glistening quartz veins. Some of the larger waterfalls look like giant mare's tails that fan out in the breeze before smashing down over black rocks and disappearing beneath browning bracken and heather. I loved it, though the girls were a bit cold.



We stopped at Urquhart Castle, but it was just too wet to go anywhere, as a lot of it is outdoors. Loch Ness is just vast, and despite the crapness of the visitor centre it's really a fitting heart to Scotland.

We hit Inverness in the afternoon, promptly found some accommodation (we splashed out on a Travelodge) and a local curry house. Stuffed ourselves silly on awesome massala (sic) and korma, and are most likely all going to be asleep before 8pm.

Rock and roll!

Tomorrow we continue the quest to Cawdor, looking for Sarah's clan, then I finally get to visit the Findhorn Community, a place that has fascinated me for over 10 years.

And tomorrow night we arrive in Butterstone, Dougie and Jennifer's home, and the fun (and drinking) really begins

Haggis, Neeps and Tatties

It's about 1am. I'm sitting here on a very comfy bed in the servant's quarters of the George Hotel in Invarary. It's a full-service pub/hotel, and it has quite a large live-in staff. The rooms are just spectacular, and although where we're staying is pretty austere, it's warm, cosy and clean, and as a muso, one can't ask for much more. It's closing time, and I can hear merry drunk people with thick Scots accents staggering out in the street. One guy just yelled out "Hey! I jus fart-ted!' in an absolute perfect Big Yin voice. The split in the word is intentional, as you can tell if you say it out loud like Billy Connolly.

Tonight's dinner was a pie made of Angus beef braised in local ale, with tatties and neeps. Sarah devoured smoked haddock (smoked about 70 metres from here by an old man who's family have smoked fish for generations and uses smouldering old oak whisky barrels or, if he's feeling saucy and wants more interestingly-flavoured fish, port or sherry barrels). Needless to say, it tasted spectacular. Bridge schnozzled into a tagliatelle made with about 5 different kinds of local fish, finished in a crayfish sauce. The food on this trip has been just incredible. I'm not sure we'd ever tire of the endless variations of fish and chips (haddock, pollack, cod, plaice, sole... all battered to some secret family recipe using the local grog and served with proper chips -new potatoes if we're lucky. But it's the other meals that are stunning us. Haggis, neeps (turnips -it makes sense if you say the word), thick, glorious butter, clotted cream, organic breads, duck, venison...oh the venison... even wild boar sausages (tasted like very heavy bacon), Scottish smoked salmon, Mull and Orkney Cheddars, and beautiful asparagus. I could be a cook here I think. Most places seem to source their food locally, and because of that the menus change daily. Then there the sweets. Scottish fudge (called tablet) is crumbly and just dissolves on the tongue, but like Lembas bread, only fat hobbits and Celtic musos can eat more than one. Hazelnut pavlova, sticky toffee pudding in fudge and chocolate reduction, local ice cream (including one called caramelitta which is to die for) and apple pies....

Now I'm sitting here hungry, and all we have in the room are the schnack bags full of crap. We have to stop eating the crap.

The food distracted me. I originally here to write a quiet blog about tonight's gig while the girls got ready for bed. Last night was great. The pub was choccas and there was a wonderful group in for a pre-wedding night out. There was much dancing and carrying on, and I think finally all our fears of selling snow to the Eskimos have been dispelled. We have been welcomed here beyond belief, and though Scotland is in the grip of a huge resurgence in traditional instrumental geniuses, to have such reassuring things said to us by the likes of the Peatbog Faeries, who are icons here, is just well, quite humbling.

Tonight, we were told, would be a little different, as later on the local shinty trams would arrive. We paced ourselves, saving a good stock of our fast stuff for later, and lucky we did. Tonight was frenetic, mad, loud, hot (poor Sarah had to stand basically next to a roaring fire) and essentially Scottish; great heart and warm humour. We played our arses off, and they danced theirs away. It was triffic. We met some great people, Fiona, Chris and Wendy that Bridge hasn't seen since she was four, and Russell, the philosopher who was one of the most enthusiastic people I've met for a long time. You got me thinking, sir!

So now we're buggered. Bridge is laying in bed reading Pullman's The Subtle Knife, Sarah is nose-deep in a book on Scottish Myths & Legends (after devouring her book on Mary Queen of Scots this afternoon), and I'm about to get back to my Journal of Tibet. All I can hear is the gentle trickle of the rain (which has really settled in now), the tap tap of the MacBook keys and occasionally, a distant seagull. This place it very settling.

So, tomorrow. We have a day off! Or at least, a day where we don't need to get to a gig. So in true Súnas fashion, rather than just take it easy and pootle around Argyll, we're hopping into Mick Jaguar and taking off for Inverness, via Loch Ness, which we all want to see (and Urquhart castle). A nice 5 hour drive. There, we're going to head to Cawdor, land of the dread MacBeth to track down some of Sarah's clan. She's a Cawdor Campbell (not the tricksy Glen Coe ones!).

Oh, and the clocks get wound back an hour here tonight, which means and EXTRA HOUR IN BED! These things are important. We missed the hotel breakfast yesterday as we had our first lie-in of the Scottish part, and we're determined not to tomorrow. Food!!

Scottish Tales

Right, time to catch up. I'm sitting by myself in a deserted pub in Invarary, and pint of Black and Tan next to me (Scottish Guinness, only not so heavy) and rain on the window. I have an hour or so before the dinner crowds start rolling in. Time to bring the blog up to date I think! We've been a bit hampered by the lack of internet connections in the wilder parts.

We arrived in Edinburgh at about 7pm, and by 9 we were showered, changed and playing in a session with Angus Grant an Luke Plumb from Shooglenifty. It was one of those wonderful coincidences. The magnificent carmen told us that Luke (a Tasmanian mandolin genius whom we often bump into around the festival traps) usually did a session on the night we were arriving. We nearly didn't go. It was a long drive up and by the time we'd lugged the gear up tow flights of stairs (none of the older, smaller hotels here have lifts) we were about ready to go to bed. Luckily, we decided to go for a wee drive as the folk club were were performing at the following night was just around the corner. The bar looked deserted, so while I drove around the block looking for a park, the girls nipped in to see if there was anything happening and bumped right into Angus. It was a great session, nice and laid back, with lots of really interesting tunes that we tried to soak up. We're going to see if we can hook up with them again on the way back.


The Session at The Reverie with the Shoogles

The next day was spent wandering the streets of Edinburgh, then that night we played a lovely spot at the Edinburgh Folk club, supporting the great Rab Noakes.


Edinburgh in Autumn is just beautiful

We finally got to meet up with Queensland songwriter Bec Wright, who made the train trip from Glasgow just to come and say hi. Funny how we've never met properly until now, considering how many mutual friends we have.


Edinburgh Folk Club

It's a lovely little specifically-designed venue inside Edinburgh University, with great sound and extremely attentive people. It's the kind of place that Brisbane is sorely in need of. We've been invited back during our next trip, so the night was a great success.

From Edinburgh we hit the road to Skye. A beautiful 7-hour drive that took us through Glencoe, Fort William and across the bridge to Skye. It took us nearer to 10 hours as we had to keep stopping for photos!


Glencoe.

We also passed the stunning Eilean Donan castle on Loch Duich, which was the location for parts of Highlander (although he calls it Glenfinnan on the shore of Loch Sheil. Fail). It's shame the tide was out, but the sun was setting so it was majestic.


Eilean Donan Castle


From there we pushed through to Skye, and the utterly stunning drive up to Dunvegan. The Cullain mountains (named for Irish myth-hero Cuchullain) were just breath taking. We've been truly blessed with weather so far, and even up on Skye we had blue skies.

So, Skye. We were here for a monster session with local band the Peatbog Faeries, and once again, by the time we'd settled into the beautiful Dunvegan hotel, we were knackered. We met up with John, the manager, who is the brother of a friend of ours back in Brisbane, and he set us up with great food and drink. Sleepies beckoned, but of course the tunes had other ideas, and we were jamming away until the wee hours. The whisky flowed (the local Talisker, of which I am a huge fan), the cider was there and a gallon of Guinness was drunk, as Peter, Ian, Seamus don't do anything by halves. It was easily the fastest, most rampaging session I've played. It was also the best fun. Even the border collie that chased the bar mats was mental. Nothing was done slowly, and it was simply fantastic. Thanks so much guys, hopefully our paths will cross again soon.

Even with the shadow of a sore head, I got up early so I could wander around the shores of Loch Dunvegan. The stillness is just incredible, as was the urge to go climbing. Alas I think I'm about 6 months of exercise and diet before being anywhere close to being mountain fit again.

We had breakfast in Portree, which is a wonderful small town on Skye. The weather was still perfect, and after some very strong organic coffee, we drove back across the bridge, stopping for a moment to visit Plockton, the village used in the TV series, Hamish MacBeth


Plockton, ala Loch Dubh. No sign of Hamish or Wee Jock

It's been about a decade since the show was filmed there, but landmarks like the building used for Barney's Pub and the police station are still recognisable.

So, tonight we play the second of our two gigs here in Invarary, in beautiful Argyll. Last night was fantastic. Lots of dancing and incredible Scottish hospitality. Apparently tonight there will be a few shinty teams in (Scottish hurling) so things might get fun!

Barley Folk

Our first gig.

It's a folk club in Liskeard, Cornwall, in a pub called the Barley Sheaf, and after the now obligatory negotiating of some twisty-turn streets, we wandered down, instruments in hand. It's so nice to play gigs where we don't have to lug gear! The club, Barley Folk, is in an amazing upstair room which is there solely for the music. It's so amazing to find a pub landlord that is willing to invest time, effort and not to mention money in something like this. On the way through pub (and after being distracted by the nice number of ciders and ales on tap), we passed by a full-sized skittle alley! Pubs here are amazing things, and I miss them greatly. It's a nice-sized room, very atmospheric and with such great acoustics that we only use a pair of mics just to boost the girls' voices a little. The instruments went unplugged. Candles in sconces on the tables, very subtle stage lighting and that wonderful woody smell of an old pub.


Steve and Kim. Corncrow. Smashing. Look 'em up on Myspace.

Steve and Kim, ala Corncrow played a set as well, and they were just wonderful. Steve is rapidly replacing me as the guitarist of choice and he's far funnier, more handsome, has a cool accent and is a better player (and he can quote Armstrong & Miller better than me!). Ok, one thing I have to point out here is that people actually listen. I mean really listen. We started playing and you could've heard a bee fart at the end of the room. Of course that makes our performance equally easier and much more terrifying, as other than a bit of session noodling, we've not really played much to a few weeks.



But it was brilliant. We played a couple of sets of varied stuff, and even managed to air out a new tuneset we'd literally thrown together that morning. The atmosphere was simply smashing. We desperately need places like this in Australia, small venues devoted to music, a small cover charge to recoup costs, attached to a pub with really vicious cider (Cornish Rattler, but more about that in Sarah's upcoming 'Tour Schnacks blog').

Between sets, Steve got up with a friend of his, Gareth the Flute, and played some wicked tunes (sorry for pinching them!), then Corncrow played a few more and we finished up.

I can't enough about this place (though I'm writing this with Sarah, Bridge and Carmen waiting for me so we can head out for some Cornish clotted cream and scones). The room was full, the people are some of the friendliest we've met anywhere (on par with our Tasmanian Chums, and that's saying something) and we had just a magical start to the tour.

But we're counting down the days until Mannie joins us, as it's just not the same without him terrorising the locals.

Now, away wid yeh. Scones, clotted cream, jam, cider and a visit to Bodmin await.

Listening to 'Bridget, Sarah and Carmen saying 'hurry up!'.

Kernow

We're here. The Ancient and Fey Duchy of Cornwall.

I'm sitting at the dining room and Steve and Carmen Hunt's beautiful house in Liskeard, attempting to write this but being continually distracted by the awesome session that is going on around the kitchen table to my left. Sarah, Bridge and Steve (who plays very mean guitar, zouk, bodhrán and quite possibly a dozen more instruments I've not seen yet in a number of brilliant bands here in Cornwall) are just running through tune after tune. We were supposed to be heading out to Penzance, Mousehole and the Men-a-Tol today but, as Sarah said, when the fingers are a-tingling...

I love Cornwall. It's one of my favourite places in Britain. The history, the twisty-turnedness of the land, the people, the language, culture, everything. It's truly an ancient land, and to be here as performers is just very very special. I can't wait until we start exploring, but for now, tunes!




I guess I should back track a little, seeing as we've been here a day or so now.

After we left Glastonbury, I drove for another hour or so, but was beginning to flake by the time we'd got into Devon, so Sarah took over. Now, I should point out that Mick Jaguar has a very nice built-in GPS system, but as it the wont with all sat-navs, it seems to have a mind of its own. It took us through the country avoiding pretty much every main road and motorway and sticking to the pleasant country lanes. Maybe it's a posh Jaguar thing, and certainly it makes for a beautiful trip, but Sarah, driving a big Jaguar wagon down (literally) single-lane roads where you have to climb embankments to pass oncoming cars well... let's just say it will take me 2 weeks to relax my sphincter.

So we made it here unscathed and unscraped, just not unclenched.

We arrived quite late, got settled in, had an amazing dinner of fish pie made by Carmen, got acquainted into the night, then were up at arse-o'clock to drive the 45mins into Truro for a spot on BBC Radio Cornwall at 10am. It was great fun. We played a couple of tunes and sang Dicky Goodchild (which will be on the next album) and Sarah managed to say 'bollocks' live to air. We are now banned in most ABC Australia radio stations and Britain. Smashing. Thanks to everyone who sent messages from all over (it was streamed on the website), it was very surreal to think you were all listening in. We spent the rest of the morning camped in Starbucks (for the free wi-fi) then had dinner at a funky old pub called The Old Ale House. The ale was indeed very fine and old, and girls are managing to keep up the new cider in every pub objective.




Then it was back to base to prepare for our forst real propor loike gig an all...

Which I shall have to post tomorrow as the session is winding up and Penzance is beckoning.


Currently Listening to: 3 awesome musicians just mucking around.

The Long Drive (Pt.1)

The cds were seized by customs.

We got a nice red letter with a demand for about £54 (approx one billion Australian dollars). My dear Mum paid this when our backs were turned and the cds were delivered quite promptly the next day. It was only when loading the car that I realised it was only one of the two boxes we had shipped. Now, as of today, and for the next few weeks, we're very mobile, and not returning to Kent, so I was, to say the least, quite...annoyed. Half of our potential sales were sitting somewhere awaiting clearance. There's still no word. What we don't want happening is for them to be following us around the country, as it's very hard for us to back track.

So, the early morning didn't start too well. I was ranting around the house, trying to pack the car while the girls just left me alone.

But set off we did, and after sitting in traffic on the dread M25 for a hour or two, we were scooting down the M3 towards the West Country.

Our first stop was Stonehenge, but there was no way we were paying £6.60 to get in (about 34 million Australian dollars) and to quote Sarah, "Sod ORF! That's three coffees...EACH!". So we just snapped pics from outside the fence, all the while singing Spinal Tap.



We had to stop off at Glastonbury to haul our fat chakras up the Tor, which was great fun.



We felt highly spiritual.



We were nearly taken out by a highly-trained ninja druid attack squirrel that decided to leap from tree to tree across our path. Bridget yelled 'Squirrel!', there was a rustle, a grey blur then it was gone. Must have jumped at least fifteen feet. The climb up the Tor was worth it, as it was a wonderful clear blue day, and we could see for yards. Actually, it was quite lovely!



So, onward and...onward.

Canterbury Tales

We're stomping around Canterbury a bit today, one of my favourite places in the world. Whenever I get back to England I come here. There's something about the narrow cobbled streets, the buildings all leaning on each other and of course the cathedral and the history that just calls to me. After last night's big rehearsal it's good to just relax and stroll around. I'm writing this in a Starbucks (as usual) next to the entrance gate to the cathedral. It's one of the funkiest Starbucks I've been in (and I've been in a few!), all small rooms, pokey corners and low beams. I don't care what people say. Starbucks' coffee is uniformly good (though admittedly not a patch on the one I bought from the Monmouth Street Coffee Company in London. Best. Coffee. Ever), and I've never had bad service there. Actually, while I'm thinking about coffee (and supping my extra-shot grande latte) I must just warn you, dear reader, to beware what you order overseas. I asked for a coffee in Singapore, a grande flat white at 55℃ (which I always do nowadays as it avoids the terrible result of having burned milk and therefore a cup-o-arse). This poor dude decided that I obviously didn't mean the milk, I meant the whole coffee so he proceeded to half-fill the cup with cold tap water, then pour the espresso and arse milk in after. Needless to say it tasted of buttocks so it made its way into the nearest pot plant.



Sarah is sitting here nose-deep in a book about Henry VIII (her new obsession) and Bridge is staring out of the window, no doubt thinking about Tom. That, or whether or not to buy that stupendous black velvet dress. She's hard to read. We had an amazing moment this morning as we entered the cathedral just as the Eucharist Mass began (being a Sunday). The cathedral was filled with the incredible sound of the Canterbury choir and for quite a while we just stood there, breath-struck. I'm not a religious person, but I have to admit it was spine-tingling. For me, the highlight of the visit was the Becket Spot, and the incredibly powerful piece of art hanging over it.



The other thing I love looking for in churches is Greenmen and Pans. I found this particularly wonderful one inside one of the Canterbury Chapels within the Cathedral!



Right, the latte is gone and the grey streets of Canterbury beckon, as does that 3/4 length velvet coat I found...