a Saturday afternoon cacophony

So, just when I started to forget that I'm living in Scotland, I hear a parade of bagpipes and drums marching down my street.

...And just as I wrote that, the bagpipes faded, and I'm now hearing 76 trombones. Not in the Music Man sense, although that would make my heart pretty happy. Just "in the my goodness, those are a lot of trombones out there" sense. I think maybe I'm hearing the Kate Kennedy Club parade? From what I remember of the last time I saw it, it's a lot of people marching in cheesy medieval-looking costumes, and in the middle, they stop for a pint. Because this is Scotland. (And, because it's Scotland, it's cold and rainy, and they're still out there. I will not be.)

To add to the cacophony, I just spent some time muttering these lines repeatedly to work out all the interesting internal rhyme and alliteration going on:

Forflittin, countbittin, beschittin, barkit hyd
Clym ledder, fyle tedder, foule edder, I defy the.


[Outdone in flyting, poxed, filthy, hard-skinned
Ladder climber, befouler of the hangman's noose, loathsome adder, I defy you]*

(How's that for a giggle?!)

Conclusion: everything about this place is noisy--the instruments, the language, the rain on my rooftop... Aaaand I love it.

Happy Saturday!



*Translation loosely taken John Conlee's edition of "The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy," The Complete Works of William Dunbar (Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2004).