And he called for his Karaoke Machines, three
My heart sank when I discovered that the top story in Thursday's Berwickshire
was about a dog which had spent 9 days stuck down a rabbit hole near Coldstream. That's a hole near
Coldstream before some indignant 'streamer asks what I am calling a hole. Not me Guv, but I can't vouch for Rabbi B. But the following letter, from another Burns lifted my heart:This type of 'streamer need all the moral support we can afford With the big Five O just around the corner, I find that I prefer a glass of red and the company of my good lady much preferable to an evening in any of the local hostelries.
However, upon hearing that the weekend of May 30/June 1 would see a gathering of fiddlers, guitar players etc descend upon the town, I decided to leave the cork in the bottle and head downtown to enjoy some easy listening music.
Upon my arrival at the Castle Hotel, I was delighted to hear the sound which had lured me away from my Californian red.
The musicians, around a dozen or so, were filling the air with wonderful sounds from an assortment of instruments, one or two I have to admit I had never seen before.
The volume of the music was such that it was possible to both enjoy the performance and have a good blether at the bar at the same time, something not always possible in pubs these days.
Just as I was starting to really enjoy myself, the players were asked to leave and much to my disgust were replaced by a chap who began setting up a karaoke machine. Within minutes the whole atmosphere changed.
The wonderful sounds we had been enjoying were replaced by a smoke machine, flashing lights and music loud enough to be heard in Cornhill.
For the next hour or so, a steady stream of musicians with guitar or fiddle at the ready approached the pub with the obvious intention of doing nothing more then trying to entertain.
As I watched them turn and walk away I was left wondering how they felt at having to play second fiddle* to ' I Will Survive ', 'Dancing Queen ' etc.
With the Big Seven 0 a distant memory Huttonian would have been tempted to have made a bit of a fuss, but one tends to be cautious at this stage.
You can see why the Ploughman Poet never returned to Coldstream.
* No pun intended, one assumes.
Labels: Coldstream, Karaoke