21st August 2006
Hi all,
I'm pretty sure that there should be a rule that you shouldn't write about something which you can't spell. However Google didn't oblige with any quotes on the matter to stop me, and so I can take the opportunity to talk about... (checks spelling)... c?ilidhs.
I've lived in Scotland for almost nine years now. Prior to moving here I had never heard of a c?ilidh. For years after I moved here I was daft enough to think it was spelt the same way that it was said (caley).
My first experience of a c?ilidh was actually my first date with my wife, at a work colleague's wedding. So on top of being on best behaviour in front of my workmates and my date, I also had to learn how to do some of these dances. Throw in Lorraine's shoes with what was to become a trademark massive heel and our then unfamiliarity with each other and you had a recipe for disaster. Or laughter as it in fact turned out. (Incidentally this isn't just reserved for c?ilidhs. We both look ridiculously uncomfortable at the first dance at our wedding. Neither of us are dancers really.)
The next c?ilidh I went to would be another matter entirely. It was Lucy Partridge's 21st, and there would be a bumper amount of c?ilidh dances. Not just the Gay Gordons or the Dashing White Sergeant which I could get by in. As it turned out I nearly caused a pile-up during the third dance. Shortly after this I discreetly took a seat and remained there until Lucy's brother took over the music for the disco section of the evening.
With that disaster still in mind for some reason I was back in action just a few months later. Neil Taylor came to visit for the New Year celebrations, and our search for entertainment in the Motherwell area led us to a c?ilidh in the town centre. We arrived at around 4am, didn't pay to get in (which endeared us to those people who had) and before you know it Neil and I had been grabbed for some dancing. Lorraine was an amused spectator as Neil and I participated in the unofficial world record longest ever Gay Gordons. It must have gone on for a full fifteen minutes! Neil and I were looking forward to a well-earned drink after that. Could we get one? No chance. At least our getting in without paying wasn't the only reason people weren't enjoying themselves.
Give Neil credit, he's prepared to try things. We only had a couple of c?ilidh dances at our wedding, but Neil was in evidence on both occasions. During the Gay Gordons he dropped his prior protestations and danced with his Mum, while during the Dashing White Sergeant he was getting flung around by my old friend Claire and another lady. By the way you never want to be in the middle of a three during the Dashing White Sergeant, that's seriously hard work. Trust me, I saw Neil in that position that night. How did I see him? I was safely situated, well off the dance floor.
And so having avoided any kind of c?ilidh dancing for about six and a half years then came Lucy's wedding. First dance for everyone, the Gay Gordons. On the dance floor with Lorraine, both of us doing about as well as we had eight years earlier. We had one further dance, and I honestly felt embarrassed. I was ready to reanact Lucy's 21st, quietly sit down and chat with people throughout the night, safe in the knowledge that I'd enjoy myself and not injure anyone. I pointed out to someone, "I am to dancing what Michael Buerk is to stamp-collecting." They asked, "What does that mean?" I had to be honest and replied, "I have no idea."
Of course at a wedding there is always someone going around making sure that everyone is dancing, so it wasn't long before I was up again. I relaxed a bit and started to enjoy myself. Before I knew it I'd had a couple of dances (including one with the beautiful bride) and was standing in a line of five people opposite another line of five people. A number of them had been at the same table as Lorraine and I for the meal. I felt compelled to point something out. "Excuse me," I said in the direction of the band, "Too many English people on this side of the floor!" The band didn't care, but the nervous laughter from around me spoke volumes.
And maybe that's the big problem with English people and c?ilidhs. Too much nervousness, too much awareness of the potential for utter humiliation. Ultimately these events are part of a celebration, not the final part of a special Anglo-Scottish edition of Fear Factor. It's just fun, treat it as such and go with it.
(And if the Scots reading this can keep the laughter contained to an extent that would be appreciated.)
Have a good week!
Tony
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