NOBLE IN DEFEAT

Body revived and mind reslain. Or is it the other way round? I have just staggered off the Thalys high speed train from Paris, feeling exhausted, jaded, hungover, and bloated. A good weekend, in other words, despite the disappointment of the match result. I may have contributed to Scotland's defeat slightly by cheering every time France got the ball for the first 20 minutes. It was that "Ecosse 2007" written on their shirts that confused me. I was growled at by the great hairy Scotsmen all around me, and Angus McSporran only cheered up when he saw the result of the England v. Wales match.

I also attended a rather exclusive gathering at the Town Hall of the 18th Arrondissement, where the Lothian & Borders Police Band entertained us with much skirling of the pipes and waggling of the sporrans. A man in a kilt standing near me muttered in a worried tone: "Who the hell's keeping an eye on ma hoose?".


There were also lots of people in funny hats who were not Scottish, from the Commanderie du Clos Montmartre, or friends of the Montmartre vine, who made interminable speeches about the Auld Alliance, firewaters French and Scottish, and initiation of various dignitaries into the ancient and sacred brotherhood of the raised elbow. We were about to nod off when we were rudely awakened by the warlike drumming of Clan an Drumma, a bunch of fierce and wild-haired tattooed Highlanders who made a hell of a noise, amplified even more by the acoustics of the elegant Town Hall atrium. I had slight palpitations, partly brought on by the drumming, but largely due to all the men in kilts.



On Saturday morning before the match the Police Pipe Band entertained the Parisians in the Place des Abbesses. The timing could have been better. They arrived just as the church bells started ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Eventually they decided to start playing, in competition with the very loud bells. The pipes won, needless to say. Even God is silenced by Scotland in full battle cry. The pipers were a huge hit with the locals, and before they set off for the stadium, dropped into a number of hostelries and raised the rafters, in return for which they were plied with complimentary tankards of foaming lager, which they bravely tried to decline I am sure, being policemen in uniform after all, but it's so hard to refuse well-meant hospitality.

Not usually being one to blow my own bagpipes, I must overcome my natural shyness and urge you all to go ahead and buy Mike Atkinson's Shaggy Blog Stories, in which you will find contributions from such leading blogueuses as three-time Bloggie winner Zoe of My Boyfriend is a Twat, three-times a night man Tippler Does Brussels, and three times a lady Peter of Naked Blog. I think I also spotted Vicus Scurra and one or two other reprobates in the list, although the post-Parisian fog hasn't quite cleared yet so I'm not sure. Oh, did I mention that I'm in it too? £4 or something per book goes to Comic Relief, so click HERE. Now. Go on, you know it makes sense. And while you're at it, go and visit Mike on his own excellent blog Troubled Diva.

I'm having an early night. Too much enjoying oneself at my age takes it out of you.