f4f3 | The Festivities Continue: Part One

Quite a packed weekend with one thing and another.

Friday night was a Chinese take-away (average) and Shrek 3, which was good value for money. I mean, I wanted to throttle Justin Timberlake, and Mike Myer’s “Scottish” accent is still on a par with James Doohan’s, but the Princesses were funny, there were some good high school jokes, and it was all quite chucklesome.

Saturday morning I surprised myself and Merlin by running along the Kelvin instead of walking. We did the same mileage (well, to be honest, the same mile) but a little quicker. A nice, lazy breakfast over the morning papers (8.5/15 on the Guardian quiz, so Not Stupid, just) and then off to Byres Road to pick up my new cash card. So with broadband partially restored (no VoIP, no BT Vision) and a debit card, I’m practically back in the 21^st Century.

After that I picked up my new (to me) speakers from Psychochicken. They’re the first floor-standers I’ve ever owned, mighty KEF beasts that weigh more than a small car. For the first time I see the point of big speakers, since these don’t just have power, they have enough colour and balance to bring out the best in acoustic and classical pieces. I like.

The first West End Festival event of the day was an appreciation of Bud Neil, creator of Lobey Dosser. If you haven’t come across Lobey, and the chances are you haven’t, he’s a cartoon strip, carried in Glasgow newspapers in the 50’s and 60’s (and possibly the 40s’, now I come to think of it). A happy marriage of that unique Glaswegian sense of humour which operates almost as mental ju-jitsu (once described by William McIllvaney as “taking the Micky out of the Micky someone thinks they’re taking out of you”) and the American West, Lobey moved from Glasgow to become sheriff of Calton Creek, a one horse town which wasn’t too poor to have its own resident villain, Rank Bajin, who’s office was a few doors down from the jail. Some of the humour requires local knowledge (for instance, if you don’t know that the factories in Glasgow shut down for the first two weeks of July, an annual holiday known as The Glasgow Fair, or just “The Fair”, then the judgement of the chief of the local tribe (the “Wee Arra People”) that squaws had to work during this period, loses some of its bite: “Only the braves deserve the Fair”, he says.

The tribute started by the statue of Lobey on woodland’s road. Raised by public subscription, it shows Lobey and Rank Bajin mounted on his trusty two-legged steed, El Fidelo. A crowd of about 50 people heard a trumpet piece played, and then trooped over the road to the Halt Bar, for music, booze, and a buffet (or, as the programme put it, “Free purvey, free booze (in limited quantities) and free love (on a self-service basis).”

The entertainment was fun: I recognised Jimmy MacGregor, who gave us a Glescae version of David and Goliath, and Dave Anderson, who played piano and sang a couple of old Wildcat songs which had there problematic elements – divorced from the plays, the racist, homophobic MC character who signs “One Singer, One Song” might have shocked the PC audience. Wildcat, the musical offspring of 7:84 theatre, had a left-wing, internationalist agenda that rang a huge bell in Scotland in the 80’s. I’ve seen their productions in schools, theatres, public halls and a tent in Glasgow Green, to crowds numbered in the tens, hundreds and thousands. Part of their appeal was their refusal to accept the old stereotypes that are peddled about Scotland (notably by the Scots) that we’re all down-trodden Calvinists, obsessed with England, swamped by sentiment and tartan, and they put the boot into that with some gusto.

There was some poetry, some appropriately Country and West End singing (I especially enjoyed “The Twelve Bar Blues”, about trying to get a drink on Byres Road on a Saturday night), and a great but greatly out of place cabaret singer, who let us know, amongst other things, the “She Wants to See Jon Snow Naked”.

In case it doesn’t show, I’m a great fan of Lobey. As well as great humour, the strip has great heart. The bad guys, no matter how Rank, are never really that bad. The race is usually to the swift (witted), and the fight almost never to the strong. It says something that Glasgow picked Lobey and his two legged steed as one of its heroes. I’d say that the Glasgow self-image has a lot more in common with Lobey than with any of the hard men or alkies the media seizes on.

We left, stuffing our pockets with chicken wings and sausage rolls, and hot-footed it to Dowanhill Park, and the world premier of “Who Stole My Sausage”, a play for dogs…