Advertisement
Published: October 9th 2006
On Saturday, I woke up early and walked over to the city centre public library. There was a protest in George square in support of an asylum seeker. It was 10am and the streets were buzzing. There was also a fierce wind blowing; the kind that blows mist and fog into you so hard it stings; the kind you can’t use an umbrella in cause it would snap like a toothpick. I would call it a wind storm but I’m sure the locals would call it a “wee breeze”. There were already men in their kilts roaming restlessly around town waiting for the big game to start at 5pm! Some people were staking out places at the pubs.
At 2pm I ventured out on the streets again, this time with my camera armed and ready. Now the streets were full of kilt wearing men, all on their way to the pub. Instead of standing in the back of a standing room only pub, behind a bunch of big men, we had decided to watch the game at our flat. But as it turned out, because both England and Scotland were playing at the same time, BBC would only broadcast the
English game. You had have cable to watch the Scotland game. Jeanette very poignantly expressed to me that this was just one example of how Scotland is routinely jilted by the English. That subject deserves a blog entry all to itself.
That night we went out to a birthday dinner celebration for one of Jeanette’s friends. By this time the game had ended and in favour of Scotland. Imagine the Canucks winning the Stanley Cup.
What happens to people when they get drunk? In my past experience people would normally get to a point where their brains and bodies shut down and they pass out somewhere, hopefully inside a sheltered area. But for some unknown reason, the Scots are able to drink to the point where the brain has stopped functioning but the body is still moving. Imagine a zombie-esque man or group of men wandering the streets, some scarfing down fish and chips, some teeter-tottering on the streets with their cell phones, some yelling nonsense words and phrases.
On our way back from the restaurant at about midnight the streets were packed. There were line ups around the block for all the bank machines. It was
a celebration worth emptying out their bank accounts for. People were singing and congratulating each other. We were stopped by this man named Mike in the video and pictures. We decided to amuse ourselves and engage in a conversation with him. I asked him if Scots men really don’t wear anything underneath their kilts. Before he could answer a woman walked by and lifted up his kilt and proclaimed he was a “true Scotsman”. I asked him if that was a common thing for kilt wearers to go commando. Coincidentally, a group of cops were walking by us. Mike started to ask the nearest cop “Are you a true…” he got cut off with “Don’t even start mate!”
We ended up the hotel pub he was staying at and that’s where we met Stuart and his dad, Ian. The drinks kept flowing and I had the best drunken conversations in my life. We didn’t get home till 6:30 in the morning. Mike is now in Kiev with four of his friends awaiting the next big game by the Tartan Army.
Don't forget to click on the video!!!!!!
Advertisement
Tot: 0.094s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 6; qc: 46; dbt: 0.061s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Karen
non-member comment
Hansee's getting her mack on!
You really love those Scottish guys eh! heheh