It’s late in the evening. The Ceilidh is bouncing, the drinks are flowing and kilts are flying - although not in the natural way they would normally soar while dancing a reel!
Earlier, I’d been seated on the ‘lesser relatives and friends’ table, with all the bride and groom’s second cousins once removed, their husbands, wives and children, and with two men and another woman who, like me, were attending the wedding on their own. The guys who were polite and dressed to match the other men at the wedding, wore the classic Highland garb of kilt, sporran, sgian dubh, and ghillies. The woman sat beside me was loud, boisterous and spoke with a strong cockney accent.
After the reception meal, the tables were cleared away and a fiddler and an accordion player struck up a tune. They were joined on the raised platform by a bodhran player and a guy shaking an egg shaped thing - which I’m pretty sure is not really a Gaelic instrument! The dancing and drinking got underway. By eight o’clock everyone was hectically stripping the willow and by nine things had advanced to warp ten.
My male tablemates had joined in with the chaos and were dancing violently. I escaped to the sidelines watching the madness, while catching my breath. My female tablemate from London was drinking lots and getting more and more vociferous and aggressive with each drink that kept being magically topped up in our glasses.
At eleven o’clock, London woman informed me that she intended to conduct a survey to see how many of the kilted guests were, in fact, ‘True Scotsmen’.
She sprinted off into the thronging mayhem, flicking kilts high in the air with each hand as she quickly zigzagged around the dance floor, amongst the wild dancers before eventually returning to where I was sat.
“Oh my god! They really don’t wear anything underneath!” she said giggling before running off to do further research.
It’s now about twenty minutes later and I notice an elderly red-faced gentleman approaching me.
“Dae ye think ye cood teel yer mate tae no go lookin' under th' men’s kilts, please? it’s nae th' dain thin,” he asks.
I raise my hands in the air “Sorry... she’s nothing to do with me. I have no idea who she is. We only met tonight at the reception.”
“Och!” he huffs. “I presumed ‘th’ bein' th' only tois English voices I’d heard tonecht, ye waur haur together.”
I’m left in no doubt that, in a less formal setting, the more derogatory term for English people, ‘Sassenach’ would have flowed off his tongue much more naturally than the word ‘English’ had just done.
“Nope!” I reply firmly.
“Och!” he sighs sharply. “I jist wish aw English women wooldn’t...” The sentence tails off, unfinished.
“Not All English women would!” I reply, a bit taken aback. “I’m English and I haven’t gone around kilt lifting!”
“Nae, but ah can see frae ye red hair an' freckles 'at ye nae pure a true English hen an' it’s only a true English woman 'at woods!”
- For anyone interested in the result of the research conducted by London woman - approximately 90% of the men surveyed during the evening were in fact true Scotsmen.
LJ Idol, Topic 7 - No True Scotsman ever would
This is my entry for therealljidol, topic 7 - No True Scotsman ever would
My apologies to any Scottish people for my attempt at writing in a Scottish accent!
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"Do you think you could tell your mate to stop looking under the mens' kilts please. It's not the done thing."
“Sorry... she’s nothing to do with me. I have no idea who she is. We only met tonight at the reception.”
"Oh, I presumed that being the only two English voices I've heard tonight, that you were here together"
"Oh, I just wish all English woman wouldn't...
“Not All English women would! I’m English and I haven’t gone around kilt lifting!”
"No, but I can tell from your red hair and freckles that you aren't a true English woman
and it's only a true English woman that would!"