Birthday Bash

Last night was highly entertaining. I had a gig in Kallio, of all places. The Finnish Scottish Society, with whom I’ve made friends through an amusing series of events, were throwing a surprise birthday party for one of their members. The Scottish-Finnish lad was becoming a Finnish-Scotsman, ie. turning 18.

His family and friends had arranged for us to meet him at the metro station, which we did. He had no idea we would be there, some 20 of us, and that I would be playing the pipes. I marched us up the street, into the Musta Kissa, where whiskeys and haggis and excellent company ensued.

The street march was a bit rough, since it had started to sleet and my fingers don’t work as well as they used to, post-chemo, but it all seemed to go well. It was enjoyable to see the locals peering out through their windows as I marched past. At least one lady was clapping and cheering, which was delightful.

Mrs. Hatboy was in attendance as my official baggage handler, and our old pal Antti “Che” S came along having run into us at the shops earlier on. He’d never heard me play the bagpipes, never eaten haggis and was stunned and delighted by the whole development of his run-of-the-mill Friday evening into this bizarre festival of Scottish noise.


He also got a hat.

Many a pint was bought for me, and it was much appreciated. I played several more times through the night.

The birthday boy was also thrilled, and handled himself very well despite the mass of drinks he had pushed on him. Towards ten o’clock, he asked me if I might play one more time, on account of there was a young lady he would like to impress.

“Well that’s why I learned to play these stupid things,” I told him.

More photos as they come to light.

The Society want to make me their official piper, so with any luck there will be more of these excellent parties. We also ran into Lloyd, a nice fellow who runs a tea and scones and pies place. 2017 is going to be the Year of the Pie.

Mild hangover today, but not too bad.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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