Happening Times.: Celtic Fest.

The internet went wonky but now it's back to normal.

Hence I can present you with..

Saturday:

The day dawned bright. We reached the RIR at noon. Hot & sunny. Sunny enough to get sunburnt; sunny enough to make me question the Celticness of the occasion.

Ye wouldnae gae these blue skies a' a real Celtic festival, eh?

We joined the U-Turn of drivers trying to get in at Gate 8, only to be sent onto Gate 6.
An Henrico County policeman took a shine to Emily and/or the station wagon so she got to have a special personal conversation of re-directions with him. Nice.

The sound of bagpipes on arrival was enough to make me a wee bit homesick. The same sound I've spent the last seven years dismissing as background noise & overlooking along Princes Street but nonetheless. Enough to harken to the heart.

Just in through the gate, a welcome sight for Celtic eyes:

Plus a lot of little Meridas running about the place.

What a wig! >>

(I'd already given our fellow intern & adopted roommate, Joey some food for thought with reference to "tossing the caber". Cue a small amount of giggling.
I then proceded to set the pace for Lauren with renditions of Mary, ma Scots bluebelle & Here in Bonnie Scotland, where the grass grows green (aye, that old but ne'er forgotten tune.) )

Walking through the Clan stands added further to the feeling. Clan Sutherland, especially with familiar names like Golspie & Dunrobin Castle. Long way from home.

First Stop.

It being a festival based around the British Isles, I reserved the right to use as many Britishisms as I saw fit, starting with Queue.

Our first port of call was for Beer. I tried valiantly to Queue. Standing in an orderly dignified fashion with a clearly defined sense of purpose. No matter, the Americans about me just got into another one of their lines. Och, they just don't get it.
Truly, no-one can queue quite like the British.

As far as imported Guinness goes, this was nae bad.
I even threw in a cheeky "Cheers pal" to boot on receipt.

The Games themselves were held on the competition field but the piping bands were playing so we took a wee wander around the demonstration stalls, meeting the blacksmith, two 1750 Scottish re-enactors, ending up at the axe-throwing.

We persuaded Joey up first. Despite the advice given, "you just throw it like a hammer on a nail", Joey didn't do so well. Which is worrying when you know he's the Carpentry Intern; hmmm. He did improve with his next round though.

Lauren then attracted the attention of Chicken Hawk, the instructor, scoring free tokens to participate.

I followed suit,
more free goes
for the girls!

(We did both & separately mistake token-passing for fist-bumping at first. Ooops.)

Missed my first shot, scored on the second with the "lady axe" (lighter in weight) & got to graduate up an axe but back a line for throwing: hit one, missed one. Two out of four, I was happy with that.
Chicken Hawk took my successes as proof of his great instructorship. :)

Onwards to listen to "Seven Nations", a great band complete with fiddler, piper, bass & drums (excellent combination), play over on the music stage. They made me want to ceilidh. Bit tricky when you're the only one who knows the moves. Although such thoughts didn't seem to stop the lone guy in the crowd cracking Lauren up by his playing 'air fiddle'.

The girls decided they wanted a snack.
Time to take in the food vendor's
far-ranging options:

Although Lauren's legit. question of "What is 'Bangers & Mash'?" made me laugh the most.

I found Irish soda bread.

Bought in Virginia.
Baked in Tennessee.

Brilliant.

But back to the Games...

Weight Throw. I liked this one for the way it lent itself to a ballerina-style twirl.

The Caber makes its entrance.

The sheaf toss was also interesting to watch, in which:
A pitchfork is used to hurl a burlap bag stuffed with straw over a horizontal bar above the competitor's head.