Art, Assemblages and Alasdair

We arrived back from holiday energised and keen, and started decorating the dining room.  While I have been painting, I've been thinking about Scotland.  Before we went away, I checked the website of The Ceilidh Place to see who was playing, and ta-da! my favourite! Alasdair Roberts.  We booked to stay at The Ceilidh Place bunkhouse, and booked tickets!  I though it probably wouldn't be of interest to Aimo and Master Aimson, but me and Miss Aimson were very excited about it.  Miss Aimson decided it was the occasion to wear the ram's-horns she made for Comic Con, but didn't wear in the end.

So the Saturday arrived.  We got to Ullapool at 11 o'clock (in the morning), and had time to kill until the gig started at 8.30 o'clock (in the evening).  Master Aimson found some Wi-Fi, Miss Aimson decided to join him, and me and Aimo went for a drive to Achiltibuie.  It was absolutely gorgeous, and we went to look for a bit of art.  Studio 106, next to the Summer Isles hotel, which we had been to before.  It turned out the artists have moved to a new gallery with more space, housed in the Community Hall.  Gorgeous, but still some time to kill before the gig.

We went to the Bunkhouse to check into our room, and who did we bump into (each of us, individually, in turn), but Alasdair Roberts!  I was completely shocked he was in the cheap accommodation with the likes of us; not in the nice accommodation in The Ceilidh Place proper.  Obviously, like Blind Rafferty, he is "..back against the wall, playing music to empty pockets." 

So we went into the gig, Aimo and Master Aimson were taking bets on how many people would turn up to listen to something that Kate likes.  In fact Aimo counted the number of people in the room, loudly, in front of Alasdair Roberts, which I thought was rubbing it in a bit.  Miss Aimson caused quite a stir with her ram's-horns, much to Master Aimson's embarrassment.  So in between him seething with embarrassment, and Aimo counting people in the room, it didn't look very promising that Alasdair Roberts was going to win them over.  He managed to with his amazing unaccompanied singing of The Cruel Mother ballad.  He did that amazing thing I have read about, but not witnessed, where he became the spirit of the song, or however it is technically referred to.  Everybody was won over totally, even the very loud Spanish lady.  Over the course of the evening, she had caused rather a kerfuffle with her loud behaviour, which without slandering her, appeared to have something to do with the glass of wine in her hand.  She annoyed various people in the room, but I can exclusively reveal that she also left the door open in the toilet and didn't flush, or what really horrified Master Aimson, wash her hands.  (It was a continental-style unisex toilets, so we were all in there together.)

I am getting a bit worried about how much I discuss toilet matters in this blog.  Is it a reflection of how much time I think about not tinkling when I walk, or is it just that generally the toilet has been a great source of humour for the British?  I like to think it's just me working in this comic tradition, rather than me becoming obsessed with my own tinkling.

Anyway, sometimes I think about art.  I am totally in love with my holiday purchase this year, a miniature painting by Sarah Watters.  I have been thinking about how I would frame it, or show it.  Today I had a look in the shop "Everything's Rosy" in Buxton and bought a mirror with shelf in reclaimed wood.  The assistant told me it was made by an 80-year-old man who makes stuff for them.

This is the picture I'm in love with:

A Good Painting

This is the assemblage "Aimsons in Scotland 2013":

Instead of a Frame

Who needs TV when you can look at Art?

(no lichen was harmed in the making of this blog)