THE DEEP POOL - FEBRUARY 2004

Snow skirled round the Central Hotel, Glasgow, mid- morning on Wednesday 28th January, then turned into a serious blizzard. I stood in the blizzard saying silent and personal farewells to this magnificent city, after three great days in her care, courtesy of Celtic Connections Festival.

On the Sunday before, my colleague Michael Cosgrave and myself had played some songs at the Festival Club in the aforementioned hotel, and had made a joyous noise unto the creator, even though i say so myself. The next night, with good friends Guy, Gina and Deborah, we dined at the one and only Babbity Bowster's restaurant in the Merchant City - they had stovies - i had duck - towards the end of his life my father declared that it was 'wrong' to eat duck, although everything else was okay, and this always gives me pause, as a minor chord seeps into the duck flesh as i wield my knife (for god's sake man, get to the point - oh, sorry, that WAS the point...).

The next night Michael and I were playing a show at the Strathclyde Suite of The Royal Concert Hall with Ian Rankin, who had written, and was going to recite, a short story called 'Jackie Leven Said' into which we were to sow songs that were illustrative or reflective of the story. The plan was that after that, we would play a couple more songs and Ian and I would banter as only 'twa twisted Fifers' can and will.
Ian and me met up earlier in the day of the show to do some interviews for Word and Independent On Sunday newspaper/mag, then we had our photies taken in the sleetish rain down by the Clyde (and a' the wee fishes ran up her backside). We were then cold and sober and walking uphill through the steady rain to the Concert hall to do a long soundcheck.

After the soundcheck me and Ian sat with our backs to each other in the dressing room making final notes for the show, and checking that we were talking the same language about critical moments of the show's development and life, passing on this intelligence to Cosgrave, who nodded impassively and said 'right'. The voice in the dressing room speaker intoned that it was 10 minutes to show time - i asked Ian how he felt, and we had a laugh about the politesse we would employ toward each other if the show was a disaster, but we nevertheless felt honour-bound to be luvvies and say 'marvellous show - well, see you around sometime - we MUST do it again - somewhere'...

The curtain went up, and off we went. The hall had unusual twinkly coloured lights high above it, and Ian made an early remark about how they still had their christmas lights up. I rejoined, saying, well, this being Glasgow they're probably fairy lights. There was a low growl from the audience, and in that moment we knew it was going to be a great show, and thus it proved to be...

Ian's reading of the story, in which he had to be about six characters, was a dream - he said afterwards that he had changed his reading style after watching David Thomas's overwhelming performance at a show we had done with the great man in The Hague, Holland, last November.
Michael and myself played real well, there was a lot of good laughs between Ian, me and the audience, and then suddenly it was all over with a huge wave of applause warming us like true love at the onset of heavy snow,so we opened the wine and the vodka - if you were at this performance, i hope that squares with your experience!...........

On the previous Saturday night, I had played at The Famous Bein Inn, Glen Farg, Perthshire - a great venue with log fires - Deborah Greenwood sang a couple of songs, and the audience made me play an encore - unheard of these days...Ian Rankin brought some of his family, my oldest friend and blood brother, John Paton turned up with his family and friends, plus loads of other people i hadn't seen for ages from all over the country, and i was very moved by the warmth of this night - outside, ice was forming over the puddles, and stars were impossibly bright in the darkened glen.
Next day, before we drove to Glasgow, i took a long look at the northside of the Lomond Hills, the hills of my childhood, then we drove round Loch Leven - a loch which froze over for months when i was young, so that the world-curling championships could be played on it. On that morning the wind was still harsh, but the proud colds of another time lingered on only in memory.

If only i hadn't eaten that haggis and cheese toasted sandwich in the town of Dollar on the way to Glen Farg - i was showing off, eating the most disgusting-sounding thing on the menu - maybe if i hadn't added mayonaisse from a little blue sachet - you live and learn...

And now what? I'm still planning my year - Ian Rankin and me have another show together at the Beverly Festival in Yorkshire on June 20th - a charming town, and a dreamy festival.

David Thomas and me play as UBUDOLL at The Borderline, London on 23rd March - this is the world's slowest tour as i may have said already, only our fifth date in 5 years, and our only UK appearance, well, apart from The Greys in Brighton on 14th March, but you'll never get into that unless you book NOW. We'll be playing Morbid Sky, Rainy Day Bergen Women and blood-curdling Thomas ballads which, if they were to be filmed, would require the talent of David Cronenberg, around the time of 'Scanners', (but sad too, like 'Scanners').

I'm doing a great national German TV show, called Crossroads, in Bonn, on 26th March, as part of a tour which starts in Kiel and ends in Vienna (at a place called Chelsea) - dates to follow if they are not already posted...

Coo, so much more going on as well, for a year that has no studio album released - there is a good chance that my first comedy record will be released later in the year - a collection of stories from live shows - on Cooking Smilenyl of course.

Rain is battering out of the sky, the light is fading, and i must throw another boy scout on the fire - hope this hasn't been too 'chatty' for you - oh, and congratulations to The Rockingham Arms, Yorkshire, which i played the other night, for winning 'Folk Club of the Year' award from the BBC Folk Awards - i'll be at the ceremony with my redoubtable agent Harry Farmer (i'll be wearing socks, and mumbling 'where's MY award?' as the likes of The Oysterband hug each other and make acceptance speeches - only kidding - i'm not bitter, nor mild).

See you at the Folk House, Bristol, or the Marrs Bar, Worcester, at the end of February - two great venues.

jl