An evening in the garden
Sun slowly dipping below rooftops,
Shedding an orange glow,
Caught by the ice
In the glass on a rustic table
A background chorus of warbles
Marking out dusk territory
A faint smell of lavender
Mixed with mown grass
Brings a summer day to a close

All the remarks of wet winter weather
Plaguing our dull, dreary lives forgotten
Replaced by bare sleeves, smiles
And a biblical invasion of midgies

Digeridoos are back in stock
Said the notice in the bric-a-brac shop
Are the West of Scotland Numpties
On their own Dreamtime quest?
Are they contemplating their navels
Through the holes in their stringvest?
Could they realize their chip-papers
Hold the answer to their havers
And the Buckfast in the Hand gripped
Tight is causing calluses in the brain.
Corks dangling from their hats
Swinging like disorientated bats
In ryhthm to the dance of delirious tremor
The adrenaline is pumping.
Mossies no, but midgies, aye,
A stark contrast to the Kappa motifs;
Are the natives going walkabout,
In the local run-down mall?
Calling everyone mate,
In an accent you love to hate
Walkabout, lost in the wilderness
Wandering through the bush.
Outback here there ain’t no
Crocodiles, only quilted, padded cells.
Hand to wall a red imprint,
Not paint, my boy, but blood.
This lot would embarrass any Aborigine
Because they havnae got
An original thought.

They gather
To the sound
Of the pipes ringing
Across the village

They gather
To see
The strong men
Hurl the hammer

They gather
As the dancers
Lilt and lift
Above the swords

They gather
In their tartan
Both young and old
As the saltire flies

They gather
In spite
Of rain
And midgies

They gather
As so many years past
They gather
For The Games


Written after the Helmsdale Highland Games Sat 15th August 2015.