I am hanging a kilt up above the bath.
I do this once a year to get the wrinkles out.
It stays up there in the humid air for a couple of days and might get a light pressing before the big day on May the 8th.
Might.
Probably won’t if I am honest.
I did it once but once you are all wrapped up in leaves and flowers you can’t really tell if it is pressed or not.
Prole2: What’s that?
Prole1: It’s a kilt.
Prole2: What?
Prole1: A kilt.
Prole2: What?
Prole1: A kilt, it’s like a skirt that Dad wears.
Prole2: What?
Prole1: Dad wears it, it’s a kind of skirt and he wears it.
Me: I…well not just me…
Prole1: No, not just you. Scotch do too.
Me: Well all sorts of people…
Prole1: Yes, Queen Victoria made lots of people wear the kilt, mostly soldiers and stuff. And Scotch. She liked to see people wearing a kilt.
Prole2: That one? The queen made people…that one?
Me: No, not that one. There are others. Other kilts.
Prole1: Yes, they have…what are they called? The colours? The patterns?
Me: Tartan.
Prole1: Yes tartan. You get Scotch tartan and Indian tartan and French tartan and…well…I think you get quite a lot…quite a lot.
Prole2: Why is that one boring black?
Prole1: The Cornish army wore black ones. The Scotch didn’t.
Me: Umm…yes…I think the term is Scottish.
Prole1: Oh, the Scottish. But the Cornish Army wore Black right?
Me: I think it was the Regiment and not the Cornish Army as such.
Prole2: Boring Black?
Me: Well it’s a classic colour and…well…its not really boring is it?
He stared up at it whilst brushing his teeth and very quietly whispered to himself.
Prole2: Boring Black.
Which serves me right for doing a bit of research into these things and not getting a tartan I suppose.
I know a Kilt does not sound very Cornish.
I know the Kilt is a construct of the Victorian fad for Walter Scott’s fantasy of Scotland and wearing one in Cornwall may seem odd but fortunately I can no longer be repressed for wearing one. I wear it in celebration of Celtic culture everywhere.
Anyhow, try to get anyone in Cornwall to agree on National Dress.
I have to wear something.
It is surprisingly comfortable but you can never relax because you know someone at some point is inevitably going to have a rummage around underneath “Just to see”.
Well, anything to raise a smile.
The white shirt was one of the first things processed in the revitalised washing machine.
It has many more green stains than I remember and is looking a little worse for wear but as I say, it will be greened up soon enough.
Flora Day is a big thing on my calendar and the countdown has begun.
I have brought out the kilt.
I have polished the shoes, the sporran and the belt.
I have booked my 48hr baby sitter cover broken up into three shifts.
I have saved my pocket money for Spingo.
It is all very exciting.
