I'm Calling It A Draw - Postcards From Across the Pond

Bagpipes: 1 Human: 1

Burns Night came. And went. And somewhere in there, I piped the microwaved haggis (meat and vegetarian) in to the tune of A Man’s a Man for A’ That, while my wife read Address to a Haggis, both works by Robbie Burns. I put a great deal of practice into that performance but, alas, you wouldn’t know it.

The best thing I can say about my piping is that I was the best bagpipe player in the room. Consequently, everyone thought it was great, whereas I knew better.

_{This is what I piped in, so I guess it was appropriate.}

I didn’t let that spoil things, however. I played, we laughed, ate (the haggis was delicious, by the way), drank, had a grand evening, and for the first time I can remember, my wife and I got in at nearly 2 AM and didn’t bother to wake up early on Sunday morning to go for a walk around the local nature reserve. So, yeah, a good night.

Ah, but the pipes. Going in, I wasn’t sure what our future relationship would be. I figured it would depend on how well I performed but, once I got them home (and sobered up) I realized—whether I performed well or not—I had no reason to play them anymore. It annoys the neighbours, and my wife, and, frankly, it’s painful, both physically and musically. Without a pressing need to drag them out, they are certain to languish in the case for another 20 years.

So, let’s call that Bagpipes: 1 Human: 0

_{The Great Highland Pipes, a daunting piece of kit.}

It is, however, only halftime, and I’ve got an ace up my sleeve (as well as a case of mixed metaphors).

The Border pipes are still with me. Compared to the Great Highland pipes, they look like a toy, but they have a formidable sound and, although a bit fiddly and temperamental, they are much easier to play. They are also easier to carry around, find space for when I am not playing them, and to just pick up and have a go at during a wee break. (Sorry, slipped into the Scottish vibe, there.)

The biggest drawback, of course, is that they are not the Great Highland pipes, and playing them makes me feel like an aging biker who now rides a trike and tries to convince himself it’s the same as when he was on two wheels. (No, it’s not, granddad; it’s time to admit you’re past it.)

But, the biker—be it on two wheels or three—is is still biking, and I—though no longer piping fit—am still piping.

_{The Border Pipes, a bit smaller, a bit easier and a lot like riding a trike.}

So, Bagpipes: 1 Human: 1

I’m calling it a draw.