Robert in lockdown!
Playing some music with the Tide Lines lads last week for a BBC Alba filming project felt like a first step towards some form of normality – despite being far from normal.
Our temperatures were taken on arrival, we were handed masks to wear until we were onstage, and a 2m distance was maintained throughout. Most depressingly of all, there was no BBC catering van!
The most unusual aspect was the lack of audience. I still don’t really know when I’ll next get the chance to throw on a guitar in front of actual fans and that is a frightening thought; but, nevertheless, it was a great feeling last week just to play some songs with the boys again in real life rather than on a Zoom screen!
I am sure there have been many similar reunions as the restrictions have eased slightly, but I also can’t help think of the many people who still haven’t seen friends or family members for such a long time. That puts my desperation to play live music into some kind of perspective.
As Glasgow begins to open up carefully, perhaps the day is not far off when this article can return to something resembling the Glasgow Letter. For the time being, however, readers will have to cope with more anecdotes about my music and my golf!
I popped down to the driving range on Great Western Road this week. In the booth beside me were two middle-aged ladies whose accents placed them in Glasgow’s Northern suburbs, like Milngavie or Bearsden.
It seemed to me they had come rather well dressed to hit 50 golf balls (I’ve never found high heels to be the best choice of footwear while swinging a Seven iron) and their make-up was impeccable. Judging by their conversation, one was a bit of a golfer and the other had never held a club in her life.
The golfer began teaching her friend the correct grip: ‘There should be a v-shape between the thumb and first finger of your right hand, darling. Yes that’s correct; and that v-shape should point directly up your right arm...oh, my goodness, your nails are lovely – where do you get your manicures?
‘I simply can’t wait for the beauticians to reopen. In fact I’m going to phone mine now!’
And off she went. Leaving her friend to work the rest out for herself. On her return, they chatted briefly about what spices they put in their homemade meatballs (I’m not making this up!) before turning and asking me if I had any advice.
I said I didn’t know much about meatballs but, if it were golfing advice she desired, I would simply say: keep your head down and your eye on the ball.
The gentlemen in the next booth along (who hitherto had been hitting in silence) looked up and, with the cynical smile of someone who has played the game for a long time, said: ‘I’ve got some golfing advice. Don’t take it up!’