The beautiful journey past Loch Fyne to the Islay ferry should have been magical, but as previously blogged, I had less than an hour's sleep. Corned-beef sandwiches on a choppy ferry did not make for a happy Jim.
However after six or seven hours we arrived safely to begin our jazz fuelled adventure. But first, the drinks of the first night.
Tesco Finest Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc, 2009 :- an off-dry, big and balshy wine, flumps, tropical fruit, guava, lemon juice and more than a hint of sherbet dib-dab . Better than expected.
Isla Negra Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot, Chile, 2008 :- this wine normally puts the fear of God in me but again I was pleasantly surprised. Chilli and chocolate on the nose. A thick one-dimensional blackcurrant palate with an unpleasant vinegar edge. Quite a hot and simple finish. Everyone else seemed to quite enjoy it, no complaints but no complements either.
Tesco Finest Chablis, 2008 - Very smoky, almost like a stern Pouilly-Fume, long on the palate with minerals aplenty and white pepper. A distinct lack of fruit which I quite enjoyed. I shall not over-indulge the quality of this Burgundy though, it was just more my style than the previous wines, but in terms of quality I would say the N.Z Sauv had the edge.
We got ready in our finest and sat ready and merry. Mrs Metcalfe came down in a beautiful, skinny jeans, leather ankle boots and silver and grey merino cardigan combo. Sat next to her equally well presented children, she shot a disparaging look towards Tony, her husband. A look that could only have been constructed through years in the central Scotland education system.
Tony, was as ever, un-perturbed by the slight and sponged out the chilli stain from his sweater and was ready to leave. Tony has always had a strange relationship with educational authority, despite his tremendous achievements in academia, his end of school report read...... " ..As ever, Tony remains and enigma."
Tony's relationship strategy with his current educational authority, Mrs. Metcalfe, is one of listen, raising an eyebrow in supposed agreement, and then to do exactly as he pleases. An enigma as always. He also makes an incredible gin and tonic, sod the roses, a perfect G and T is the best flirtation a woman can ask for.
Mrs Metcalfe has a vampiric thirst for sitting on the front row, an itch that reveals itself 90 minutes before a concert is to start. Within the countdown hour and a half, Mrs. Metcalfe exhibits an exterior calm and may even construct a nonchalant angle to her sitting position. However to all that know her, we can see beneath the flat calm, we can see it in the eyes. The flick of a kettle or a shower being turned on sends Mrs Metcalfe in to a state of silent panic. Her children play with this, much to their amusement. A cruel game.
Panic over, we ended our day by seeing a Jazz quartet at the Ionad Chaluim Chille Ìle on the bay around from Bowmore. We sat in the modern hall, the under 30's separated from the senior family members by two rows.
I am unsure if you have ever been in the company of jazz fans? Scottish folk modern jazz fans? Forget the idea of blue grass bars, chewing on tobacco with an African-American edge of cool. Not even cigar smoke, cognac swirling, or handsome men in sharp Italian suits.
We had landed ourselves in the realm of the rambler. Even Janet Street-Porter would have been a looker in this gaff. Imagine the crowd, a sea of matching red berghaus anoraks, one size fits all. Wife looking like an angry midget in a red burka and husband looking like a gangly grey-haired teenager who has outgrown last years' coat. A grey and red sea, high tone scents of murray mints and Lagavulin 16yo mixing in the air. The crowd was obviously well-read (they had the glasses for it) and an annoying intellectual air about them that crossed between busybody and a bed-by-eight mentality. In short, they would be incredible neighbours but no fun at the pub.
With one space left in the bright pine hall next to pale scot 1, a non-berghaus chap sat himself down. The only character of the room. The bumbling whisky-soaked Scot delighted in showing us his saxophone tie and re-telling stories that his family had obviously banned him from telling at Christmas. We listened as politely as we could muster.
Surrounding us were 60 or so amateur painting of the delights of Islay. One picture in particular (see above) had amused myself and lawyer friend next to me. The presumed highland cows (I had thought they were guinea pigs) were painfully standing in a circus triangle formation in such a way that one cow looked like it was levitating.
Our giggling has upset drunken saxophone tie man and he launched in to a tirade about art........
"They once laughed at Picasso you know!!???"
"Could you do any better??"
“well, not necessarily" pale scot 1 quipped
"But at least I would have put a shadow roound the cooow!"
Conversation over, concert started. He didn't speak to us again over the weekend. May start to contribute to howtoalienatethelocals.com
Slaandjivaa
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