National Pipe Band Festival
As I have previously suggested, this most recent weekend in Nelson was definitely "the" weekend to be in Nelson. Not only, unlike the previous weekend, were no Germans of any description staying in our house, but we also had endless sunshine. It was so sunny that on Saturday, down Collingwood Street's 45 degree gradient, children's boxcars in the Trolley Derby were spontaneously and loudly exploding on the hot tarmac. It is a bit of a weird event, there was not too much clarity on how long it had been happening, but it was tremendously popular among families and solitary middle aged men chortling to themselves.
But for some fortunate timing I would not have run into our next door neighbours. The house we live in has been split in two. We are on the sunny non damp side, they are on the miserable dungeon side. I remember moving two friends out of that place and being shocked at the misery of the place, the dark seams of mildew running up the wall in the bathroom. Not that our bathroom is much better, the paint on the ceiling is endearingly peeling off, and there is a strong suggestion from the landlord that with the recent sale of the property, there will be a new construction on the property. Despite living directly next door to them, we don't see them that much. We see them a whole heap more than the shadowy gay man that lived there before them, with his flashy Russian sailor jeans and long disappearances.
I have digressed, they said that the girlfriend was performing at the National Pipeband Festival and that they had a spare wristband to get in and enjoy the festivities. I had nothing on, and was really waiting for Madeleine to wake up. She really breaks up my weekend when she works night shift as I miss my afternoon siesta which is the pinnacle of my week's sleep cycle. She is terribly selfish like that. We drove down, with the girlfriend in her scottish outfit, which resembled the costume of Snow White, except with a kilt and these hardy looking tartan socks. The kilt, apparently, had no connection to any clan. Not much of the National Pipe Band Festival seemed particularly Scottish either.
Set on the Trafalgar Park Rugby pitch, the Pipe Bands got into formation and then, led by a man with a silver mace who vigorously spun it around himself and into the air, they proceeded to play indeterminate bagpipe music. Apparently they were Scottish songs, they really sounded all the same. Some bands being louder and more pronounced, but all being basically the same. The real highlights were when the Macester, don't actually know if that is the official term, would drop the Mace. Occasionally something would happen and the whole crowd would clap. I was left none the wiser. There were periods when multiple bands were playing at once, but playing different tunes so it blended into this ungodly wall of sound.
There was very little clarity as to who was performing, what they were doing or why. There was an announcer, but he only spoke up one. There were Pipebands from around the nation and from Australia. When our neighbour got up to perform, she performed a highland fling with a crew of fifteen year old highland dancers. She was exceptional. That was probably the highlight of the day. But I don't really know anything about dance or the highlands. We waited for them all to perform en masse, it never came so we went home.
But for some fortunate timing I would not have run into our next door neighbours. The house we live in has been split in two. We are on the sunny non damp side, they are on the miserable dungeon side. I remember moving two friends out of that place and being shocked at the misery of the place, the dark seams of mildew running up the wall in the bathroom. Not that our bathroom is much better, the paint on the ceiling is endearingly peeling off, and there is a strong suggestion from the landlord that with the recent sale of the property, there will be a new construction on the property. Despite living directly next door to them, we don't see them that much. We see them a whole heap more than the shadowy gay man that lived there before them, with his flashy Russian sailor jeans and long disappearances.
I have digressed, they said that the girlfriend was performing at the National Pipeband Festival and that they had a spare wristband to get in and enjoy the festivities. I had nothing on, and was really waiting for Madeleine to wake up. She really breaks up my weekend when she works night shift as I miss my afternoon siesta which is the pinnacle of my week's sleep cycle. She is terribly selfish like that. We drove down, with the girlfriend in her scottish outfit, which resembled the costume of Snow White, except with a kilt and these hardy looking tartan socks. The kilt, apparently, had no connection to any clan. Not much of the National Pipe Band Festival seemed particularly Scottish either.
Set on the Trafalgar Park Rugby pitch, the Pipe Bands got into formation and then, led by a man with a silver mace who vigorously spun it around himself and into the air, they proceeded to play indeterminate bagpipe music. Apparently they were Scottish songs, they really sounded all the same. Some bands being louder and more pronounced, but all being basically the same. The real highlights were when the Macester, don't actually know if that is the official term, would drop the Mace. Occasionally something would happen and the whole crowd would clap. I was left none the wiser. There were periods when multiple bands were playing at once, but playing different tunes so it blended into this ungodly wall of sound.
There was very little clarity as to who was performing, what they were doing or why. There was an announcer, but he only spoke up one. There were Pipebands from around the nation and from Australia. When our neighbour got up to perform, she performed a highland fling with a crew of fifteen year old highland dancers. She was exceptional. That was probably the highlight of the day. But I don't really know anything about dance or the highlands. We waited for them all to perform en masse, it never came so we went home.
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Sounds like hell
ReplyDeleteUp until now I had seriously considered moving to Nelson but bagpipes for gods sake