Happy New Year
Happy New Year
If I had thought staying in Ullapool over the festive season would be quiet I couldn't have been more wrong.
Scots do Hogmanay which means last day of the year and is at least a two day celebration.
Jean Urquhart who started the Ceilidh Place with her husband, actor Robert Urquhart, in the 1970's came to stay for me for a few days over the holidays as the hotel had sold her room! The village was teeming with visitors. Every bed had a body in it.
It was Jean who had instigated the wonderful Not-Christmas feast years ago and was until recently, a Scottish MP. Scotland not only has proportional representation, but MP's do not have to be affiliated to a political party although Jean was elected to the Scottish National Party. They can stand as independents. She got Bridge House Arts into the national papers last year as she was on the same portfolio course as I am doing now and is currently studying on a foundation Art course in Shetland.
We got on like a house on fire and I was her guest at the Hogmanay celebration held in the Ceilidh Place. It wasn't the only party in town. The village hall had an equally popular and crowded event too but without the three course meal.
Our food was excellent. Venison with blackberries.
I shared a table with a motley crowd of interesting people, including a journalist who writes for the Big Issue, a prominent child psychologist whose specialist area was very young criminals and a Frenchman called Dominic who has been coming to Ullapool to celebrate Hogmanay for the past 4 years.
After the meal the tables were cleared for the Ceilidh itself - Scottish dancing to a group of well known musicians who like everyone else it seems, have celebrated Hogmanany in this tiny port on the North West coast for 27 years.
They played violins, guitars, a tin whistle (amazingly well) and one of the musicians is famous as the foremost mandolin player in the country.
The dancing was "called" as it is in England at barn dances, so there was no excuse not to get onto the floor. Respecting the fact that many guests were visitors, they weren't too precious about it either and everyone had a great time.
At midnight everything stopped for the countdown, everyone enthusiastically kissed everyone else and then it was Auld Lang Syne - lots of verses.
In spite of the fact that we'd only recently eaten a multi course meal, the kitchen staff reappeared with vats of Stovie and bread as apparently the rest of the village, who had been celebrating in the village hall were now on their way en masse, to "first foot" bringing symbols of salt, potatoes, bread and themselves.
This food was for all of them and any of us who could squeeze down a morsel more.
The first footers arrival was heralded by bagpipes, an older man and his three scrummy, kilted, 20 something sons. Outlander fans eat your hearts out - they were the embodiment of Jamie - and I was there in the front row.
The revellery went on without me until about half past four in the morning.
The following day was freezing cold, frost on the roof but sunny for once.
I went for a late morning stroll and thought the apocalypse had occurred whilst I had slept. It was me and a solitary seagull. No-one else.
Guess most people were all still sleeping off the excesses of the previous night.
However, some people were awake and doing. The local village museum was open for three hours, serving free drinks and home made Scottish shortbread in the hopes of catching some tourists before they left for the airport or the A9 home.
Ullapool community Museum is housed in a small disused church and tells the story of how the village was built by William Telford on a grid road plan, with the express purpose of serving the fishing industry and surprisingly providing crew for massive Atlantic sea going racing yachts. There is some fishing still but not on any industrial scale except for Spanish containers that hoover up all the seafood and the ocean going yachts also seem to be a thing of the past.
Entertainment over and the New Year begun with the realisation that I had less than a week before term re-started and I had yet to settle on a personal project upon which I would be required to deliver a 10 minute presentation the following Monday and then work on delivering for the remaining six weeks culminating in our passing out exhibition.
My wrist was still remarkably painful and limiting but being unable to drive meant I had no excuse to procrastinate.
My tutors were determined that I should work in oils as my medium and were equally determined that my subject should be the one area I had not enjoyed - life and figure drawing. Fat chance!
....
If I had thought staying in Ullapool over the festive season would be quiet I couldn't have been more wrong.
Scots do Hogmanay which means last day of the year and is at least a two day celebration.
Jean Urquhart who started the Ceilidh Place with her husband, actor Robert Urquhart, in the 1970's came to stay for me for a few days over the holidays as the hotel had sold her room! The village was teeming with visitors. Every bed had a body in it.
It was Jean who had instigated the wonderful Not-Christmas feast years ago and was until recently, a Scottish MP. Scotland not only has proportional representation, but MP's do not have to be affiliated to a political party although Jean was elected to the Scottish National Party. They can stand as independents. She got Bridge House Arts into the national papers last year as she was on the same portfolio course as I am doing now and is currently studying on a foundation Art course in Shetland.
We got on like a house on fire and I was her guest at the Hogmanay celebration held in the Ceilidh Place. It wasn't the only party in town. The village hall had an equally popular and crowded event too but without the three course meal.
Our food was excellent. Venison with blackberries.
I shared a table with a motley crowd of interesting people, including a journalist who writes for the Big Issue, a prominent child psychologist whose specialist area was very young criminals and a Frenchman called Dominic who has been coming to Ullapool to celebrate Hogmanay for the past 4 years.
After the meal the tables were cleared for the Ceilidh itself - Scottish dancing to a group of well known musicians who like everyone else it seems, have celebrated Hogmanany in this tiny port on the North West coast for 27 years.
They played violins, guitars, a tin whistle (amazingly well) and one of the musicians is famous as the foremost mandolin player in the country.
The dancing was "called" as it is in England at barn dances, so there was no excuse not to get onto the floor. Respecting the fact that many guests were visitors, they weren't too precious about it either and everyone had a great time.
At midnight everything stopped for the countdown, everyone enthusiastically kissed everyone else and then it was Auld Lang Syne - lots of verses.
In spite of the fact that we'd only recently eaten a multi course meal, the kitchen staff reappeared with vats of Stovie and bread as apparently the rest of the village, who had been celebrating in the village hall were now on their way en masse, to "first foot" bringing symbols of salt, potatoes, bread and themselves.
This food was for all of them and any of us who could squeeze down a morsel more.
The first footers arrival was heralded by bagpipes, an older man and his three scrummy, kilted, 20 something sons. Outlander fans eat your hearts out - they were the embodiment of Jamie - and I was there in the front row. The revellery went on without me until about half past four in the morning.
The following day was freezing cold, frost on the roof but sunny for once.
I went for a late morning stroll and thought the apocalypse had occurred whilst I had slept. It was me and a solitary seagull. No-one else.
Guess most people were all still sleeping off the excesses of the previous night.
However, some people were awake and doing. The local village museum was open for three hours, serving free drinks and home made Scottish shortbread in the hopes of catching some tourists before they left for the airport or the A9 home.
Ullapool community Museum is housed in a small disused church and tells the story of how the village was built by William Telford on a grid road plan, with the express purpose of serving the fishing industry and surprisingly providing crew for massive Atlantic sea going racing yachts. There is some fishing still but not on any industrial scale except for Spanish containers that hoover up all the seafood and the ocean going yachts also seem to be a thing of the past.
Entertainment over and the New Year begun with the realisation that I had less than a week before term re-started and I had yet to settle on a personal project upon which I would be required to deliver a 10 minute presentation the following Monday and then work on delivering for the remaining six weeks culminating in our passing out exhibition.
My wrist was still remarkably painful and limiting but being unable to drive meant I had no excuse to procrastinate.
My tutors were determined that I should work in oils as my medium and were equally determined that my subject should be the one area I had not enjoyed - life and figure drawing. Fat chance!
....
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