"Hey Campbell! I need some new walking shoes. You up for a little trip to the mall?"
This week has been a pretty normal week. Same old, same old. Except for the fact that I'm fairly certain I'm being followed by a pack of musically-inclined old British men that show up in the oddest moments. And no, they are not English. Yes, they probably would take offense to being called British, as in reality the old men are Welsh and Scottish. Here's a quick refresher on the crazy political structure of the island that I'm living on:
United Kingdom= Great Britain + Northern Ireland (or, the north of Ireland, as my Belfast friends prefer)
My first strange encounter was on Thursday night. There I was, sitting at my local pub with some fellow neighbors from the Russell Square 'hood. We were all enjoying each other's company and some local London brewed pints. Sure, I had noticed that we were the only people under 50 in the bar (and the only females other than the bartender were sitting at our table), but if there's one thing I've learned: In the UK, you know you are at a great pub when it's frequented by old men. They know where the good atmosphere, beer, and prices are, as they have likely been frequenting pubs in the area for the better part of a century. So I really thought nothing of the pub's gender and generational break-down.
Then, all of the sudden, it started: every man in the pub (that is, everybody save the four of us sitting at our table) began to sing acapella. One of my neighbors, with a mystified look (she hadn't slept much in the past few days due to a heavy amount of homework) asked "is this really happening?"
And it was. Oh... it was.
The men in the booth directly to our left ceased to sing, in an attempt to explain what was happening. Turns out, the London Welsh Male Voice Choir rehearses across the street from the pub every Thursday night. And sometimes, afterwards they come over for a post-rehearsal pint and feel the need to entertain, singing old traditional Welsh songs. We chatted with the men for the better part of an hour, about everything from where our cars have broken down to the location of Seattle:
Welsh man: So whereabouts are you from?
B: Seattle.
Welsh man: Ah... so you're Canadian.
B: Not exactly, though we are close to the border.
Welsh man: Ah, right! Seattle is on the French-speaking side?
B: No, it's on the west coast. South of Vancouver, on the States' side.
Welsh man: Oh! So you are right by the Niagara Falls, near where my cousin lives.
B: (gives up) Yes.
The entertainment was top notch (apparently the choir has a concert this Saturday!), and the men, though a bit geographically confused, were delightful. At the end of the night, we were issued an invitation to come watch their rehearsal the following Thursday at the Welsh Centre across the street.
The second musical oddity this week occurred today while shopping at John Lewis (a department store). My friend and I were at the Oxford Circus location, checking out spring coats, when all of the sudden the store was filled with the sound of bagpipes. We looked at each other, looked around, then spotted the source. An old Scotsman in full kilt regalia was riding up the (6 story) escalator, playing the bagpipes with all of his might. The oddest (and funniest??) part was that directly behind the bagpiper on the escalator was a much younger Scot (the piper's son or grandson, perhaps?) also dressed in the full kilt dress, with two large bottles of whisky hoisted on his shoulders. Where were they going? The men's department? And why are these strange scenes becoming a pattern here?
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