The Show and Dance

The month of August heralds great things throughout Britain. Up and down the country the yoof happily wile it away in a hedonistic haze at one of Britain’s numerous music festivals. Islay, I'll have you know, is no different, for it has the Islay show.

I have to admit that I’ve spent my life sniggering at Highland shows, namely my local one at home. Bearing frighteningly close similarities with Craggy Island’s ‘Funland’ complete with the Crane of Death, the Strontian show is a slightly mad mix of boozy farmers shearing anything in sight and such nail-biting competitions as ‘dog with the waggiest tail’ all held, of course, in the pouring rain. But this year there was no place for such scepticism because the Islay show offered two rare things- one, a day off and two, the experience of a social environment. I couldn’t wait. 

In actuality it sadly wasn’t that far off the Strontian show. The crucial difference being I seemed to know more people at this one. This is an embarrassing reflection on how hermity my home-life is. Other than judging Islay’s rival trekking centre’s ponies, we therefore spent most of the day running away from 10 year old girls wielding silly string and blue hairspray. I’ll never be cool.

Not all friend-making opportunities were eliminated though, as that evening all the show goers were to de-camp to the Show Dance. In fact they probably just rolled there from the Show field. Rachel and I could not wait for it and so, having turned up about 3 hours too early in Portnahaven in our full glad-rags, we ended up having a few drinks at Rachel’s Granny’s house. I’ve never had such guilt-inducing lash as pre-lashing at an OAP’s.

Nevertheless we trooped on to the village hall where the sounds of the ‘Pneumatic Drills’ filled the still night air. Summer of 69, Strip the Willow and 500 Miles were always going to be winning tunes and we blazed the night through singing and being thrown around whilst trying to avoid collision with such colourful characters as the human cannonball and the local psychotic (always important to have one).

Perhaps it was because dances are relatively rare on Islay or because I’d become so accustomed to hanging out with horses all day, but I came away thinking that Islay folk know full well how to have a good party. Sign me up for next year.