Highland Fling

19th February 1993 - Prowlers BC

By lucky chance I was still accompanied by the young lady I offered tent-space to almost a month ago, and happily managed to get her a ticket for this weekend as well. I had replaced the weedy wire tent pegs for more capable items, to reduce the possibility of a collapse spoiling our fun a second time. (As was observed on Sunday morning, some people were not so lucky.) Also there with our club was M's sister, who seemed to be associating with club member Mick.

As is the custom, Friday evening was filled with music, the marquee filled with dancing, the rallyists filled with beer, and jumpers filled with straw. A enjoyable evening followed, and we eventually made our way back to the tent.

I don't recall much of Saturday morning, I must have been busy doing something, but the games, with Caledonian influences, were fun, and were recorded for your enjoyment.

The evening was more-or-less a continuation of the previous night, with the same levels of mess and enjoyment. Once we had our fill of that, we retired to the nearest bonfire to the tent. Some dangerous drunkard had managed to get hold of a power-saw to cut up wood for the bonfire but, after waving it around for a bit, was persuaded we didn't need it, and put it away. We spent a while sitting by the fire before deciding it was time for bed.

As we awoke on Sunday morning, we heard some noises quite close by and found, in the alcove of the tent, Mick in his sleeping bag with M's sister. They assured us nothing had been going on and, indeed, their extremities poking out from the sleeping bag were fully clothed. We didn't care about that, but how long had they been there?

Once the lodgers had been evicted, we packed up and rode the not-too-great distance home, in the cold, but dry, air.

- Phil (the Spill) Drackley