Let’s blow the horn for the weird and wonderful

Any good at hornblowing? A town in Yorkshire has a part-time job for you. Each night at 9, a horn sounds four times in the marketplace in Ripon.

It’s been happening since the year 886 – yes, more than a thousand years – and has its origins in early policing, or possibly a Royal Charter, or something.

I confess I lost the thread of the story when I saw the hornblower’s magnificent, oldfashioned hat, and I didn’t care in the first place.

It just doesn’t matter.

In recent years, Ripon increased its number of official hornblowers from one to three, because it was too much of a commitment to do it every night.

Now, there’s a job ad for one of the tooters. If you’re willing to move there you’ll earn £8.72 per hour, three nights a week, and get to be a big noise, because dozens of tourists turn out to watch. This is spectacularly pointless and I utterly love it.

Across the world, there are ceremonies special in their significance, poignancy and more.

Take, for example, the Comrie Flambeaux. Nobody seems to know why the village spends Hogmanay whirling fireballs through the streets, but sometimes you have to look beyond the “why” and feel the joy of it all. It’s spectacular.

So the Ripon hornblowers had me smiling. I know they’re a tourist attraction but the best part is they attract tourists. People enjoy them, and at £8.72 an hour they’re great value for money.

If only we could get a royal family for the same money. I’d blow a horn in celebration of that.

Mike Donachie