Jarkko Lehmus Diary

Serial Ceilidh

Ceilidh: An Irish or Scottish social gathering with traditional music, dancing, and storytelling.

Having no underwear on is such a liberating contrast to wearing a jockstrap for hours on end. For the past two nights I have been birling my head off in a kilt, combat boots and a t-shirt and not much else. My heart goes out to all those ladies that burned their bras (and inevitably headed south afterwards) in the sixties. It's an expression of freedom and nice for a while, but I wouldn't go around with my bits hanging about every day. I quite like my Calvins.

Last night, Sunday, was the Company's Christmas Party. A big bunch of dancers spiced up with a hearty handful of techies giving it their (our) best on the dancefloor. There's nothing like a good old shindig! I confess to indulging in some folk dancing in my youth (my then-girlfriend forced me into it!), but I never did that incest thing. As the common knowledge goes, there are two things one should never try: folk dancing and incest. Because I did the first I can blag my way through just about any folkish evening. What I could blag my way through if I'd done the second, I don't want to know.

Being properly warmed up I headed for the second round tonight. A friend of mine (whom I met in a library, believe it or not) plays drums in a ceilidh band. So basically, he invited me to crash a party full of Chinese nurses. How could I resist? What better way to spend a Monday night than busting some moves with a physiotherapist with funky boots? When the man with the red thong over his trousers stuck a bunnytail on and started doing the Highland Jig I knew the end was night, though.

Why am I sitting here writing this nonsense on a Monday night, you may ask. The social gathering, the traditional(ish) music (they did played a version of the Dallas theme and Ghostbusters) and dancing is covered, but there was no storytelling involved, so I had to fill the gap to complete the official description of ceilidh.

Now that the drinks have been drunk, the dances have been danced and the fat lady has sung the 'Dancing Queen' it's time for me to retire to my cave again. Ready for another week of cruising for bruising. A couple of shows off and another first night in the form of the third cast of daddyism. This time the honors of Cinderella go to lovely Sophie Martin and my old sparring partner Diana will be the bad mutha. Let the gods of Gonzo shine on me to get through it all.

Posted by Jarkko at December 20, 2005 01:34 AM