Not the Peatbogs

Frozen Gold were a five-piece band. Lead, rhythm and bass guitars, drums and Hammond organ. Three mikes, including the one for the drummer. The equipment looked surprisingly new; the amps and speakers were hardly battered at all, and the Hammond was in mint condition. They even seemed to have their own two roadies, who were finishing the setting up. No sign of the band themselves.

Sun pours in way too early. Claire goes for a run, I work my way through a list of chores that starts with “do your washing”. There are animals to clean and fruit trees to (belatedly) prune. I’ve also got a job in Michigan to plan a job for.

Claire returns from town with Megan and they soak up the sun next to my clothes, flapping lazily in the breeze. I cook cauliflower and leek in a cheese sauce before retiring to doze. Megan fills up Claire’s shuffle with her chosen playlist.

Boron and Theresa’s party is amazing. There are faces from all periods of the past four decades, a laden barbecue, a sheltered stage/pa/coloured dance space. We’ve already missed the first band, but Ali Faka Tom’s other band (not the Peatbog Faeries) is up next and they lay down a superb good-time set. There are issues with the mics for the backing singer, but that’s the way of things.

Hamish is supposed to be bringing Angus down, but the pair of them are being remarkably uncommunicative. In the end, I bundle a posse of drunk people into my car and ferry them back to Romanno Bridge. Then it’s back home, to sleep before 2:00 in preparation for my 5:00 alarm call.