High Horse; High Hopes

In an effort to feed my unceasing quest for cultural advancement and understanding, the Crumble Kids kindly gave me for Christmas, two tickets to see Billy Connolly tomorrow at the Apollo. I'm very excited. It's not the first time I've seen Mr Connolly live.

They changed the name but it'll take more than that to erase the memory of that place; I doubt Alzheimers could do that.

Back in the day, well way back when in the mid seventies, I held a temporary position of some responsibility as a spotty teenager working as a smartly dressed hall porter at the Caledonian Hotel in Inverness for a summer job. Yes, the white shirt, black tie and red nylon jacket were very fetching. It was run by a tyrannical ogre called Smart. He had an insufferable wife and his only redemption was his rather pretty daughter, the sight of whom in jodhpurs led to all sorts of unchristian thoughts crossing a spotty teenagers mind. In between all the fun jobs we got to do, mostly lugging 5 tons of antique cases for antique guests straight off convoys of Shearings holiday coaches, ('here's a shilling son, make sure you don't waste it'), I was sent down to the ballroom one day to lay out some chairs for an event that evening, all nine fxcking hundred of them. 

Later that evening, I stood at the back for ten minutes and watched this banjo playing beardy hippie in big banana boots come on the stage and to be fair, I and the other porters thought he wasn't too bad. How we would have laughed if someone had said we were watching someone who would become an international film and television star and only one wee notch down on the National Treasure ladder from the Duchess of Cambridge. 



I like to think that I was one small stepping stone on his giddy rise to stardom, not everyone has laid out 900 chairs for Billy Connolly you know. Anyway, we'll see how the Big Yin goes tomorrow, I hope he's really come on.