Scout had a great time with the company – she started out the evening on one couple’s bed, then headed to my cousin’s room and scratched to get in (they were already asleep), then went and peeked in bedrooms in the morning. Everyone seemed delighted.
As people were filing out of the bathroom after their showers this morning, I started to notice bruising on all the women – what on earth was going on? Were they in abusive relationships? Had the sheep fought back on North Ronaldsay? No, it seems they had attended a ceilidh on their last night on North Ronaldsay, and the dancing had been beyond vigorous, to say the least.
A ceilidh (‘kay-lee’) is a Scottish gathering or party, often in local halls or community centres, and they usually involve live music & country dancing (like square dancing but with cooler names: The Eightsome Reel, the Dashing White Sergeant, the Gay Gordons), and pretty much always involve alcohol. Combine alcohol, dancing, and Scots, and things get physical, physical (my nod to ONJ, who died this week).
This is what my cousin’s arms looked like 36 hours after the ceilidh – those are fingerprints you can see, where her partners grasped (not clasped as they should have, but grasped and clung on to) her arms. Her friend Maura has a bruise the shape (and size) of Australia on her left shin. It was black. Souvenirs of an eventful holiday.
*(Oh, and behind Viv you can see two gifts I received last night – on the left is a lovely large bottle of my favourite local gin, Kirkjuvagr Origin – a thank you from my wonderful guests; and on the right is a massive bottle of Scotland’s official soft drink, Irn Bru – a thank you from the Chinese takeaway for our order. The latter is being donated to the local foodbank (Irn Bru is an acquired taste I have not yet acquired) and the former will be lovingly nurtured and consumed over the next several weeks.)