Security alert on Sauchiehall Street as the girls from Barra take to the floor

Sore but happy, I am now back in Stornoway after a quick trip to Glasgow with Mrs X for what may be the last ever Charley Pride concert in Scotland. It was tremendous although a severe wardrobe malfunction nearly left me singing soprano and my wife learned that some hotels no longer have Ladies written on the toilet doors.

It was a sort of early present for her big birthday next year, or perhaps a late present for one I forgot nine and a half years ago. So I booked a swish hotel. They are not paying me to plug it so let’s just say it was very grand and very central. When we arrived, who did we meet at reception but Ian Mitchell. A former motor dealer of some renown, the Mitchell name was also synonymous with Lewis bus travel for many years. Ian’s forgotten more about that industry than latter-day upstarts like Brian Souter will ever know.

A keen country fan, Ian immediately decided he too was coming to see the legend Charley. What a star. Not a lot of people know this but Ian is one of the few Scots to have seen Elvis performing live. On April 3, 1957 he was in Ottawa visiting relatives. They had tickets to see the rocker from Tupelo, Mississippi, with the shoogly legs. It was just after his hit Teddy Bear and all the fans had teddies with them.

Ian told us that to stop the eager young girls rampaging around to find Elvis and paw him after his performance, it was indeed announced: “Elvis has left the building.” I forgot to ask him if any of these disappointed lassies pawed Ian’s teddy bear instead. Uh-huh.

Then I had to endure the interminable shopping. Yuck. It was time for the annual Buying Of The Pants. We travelled light to Glasgow because we knew we would be buying clothes. When we took the first bundle back to the hotel, I put on some of my new clobber. Big mistake.

There is nothing worse than tramping round St Enoch Centre in a new pair of those underpants with the heavy-duty elastic. A pair of drawers is like a pair of shoes. They should be broken in gently. They should also be washed before you do any serious tramping in them. It’s the chafing, you see. Agony. I was red raw in places I didn’t know I had. I still am.

Many islanders were down for Charley including council officials, fishermen, ambulance staff – even a ferryman. Near the front row in the Glasgow Concert Hall, we were surrounded by Barrachs. I’ll tell you something, they know how to have a good time. They bopped and whooped on the road to San Antone and along the streets of Baltimore. If you don’t know the great man’s songs you’ll now be wondering what the heck I’m on about.

Charley on stage in Glasgow

They were all there. Donald MacIsaac, who works on the Leverburgh ferry, as well as a bevvy of Castlebay lassies like Mairi Tinan, Christine Binnie, Anne Campbell, Mary Flora Marat, and even some from Eriskay. Imagine.Charley is 74 now but the voice is as rich as ever. Maybe better. At one point, the girls from the southern isles left their seats, as did Mrs X, and they boogied and bobbed in the corner by the stage. Charley himself was eyeing them fearfully in case they came after his teddy bear.
Security were summoned to disperse them and ordered them to sit on their behinds. Appalling behaviour – at their ages. Donald and I were mortified. Mo naire.Oh, I must say hullo to Katie Ann Thomson in Inverness. She’s a much better behaved Hearach. Nice to meet you, a’ Cheit Anna.

Staying in a hotel by a railway station brought back many memories for me. On Sunday evening, I was telling herself that, after a good night out, I was going off to England early one morning but got on the wrong choo-choo and I ended up in a place called Crossmyloof. Hardly the hub of the universe.
On Monday morning, I was awake early and soon afterwards she turned over, grumbled and asked why I was making all that noise. That wasn’t me, I said, it must be the train to Crossmyloof. Without even opening an eye, she said: “I’m too tired for any of that. Just cross your own loof.”

She gave me a proper red face the night before. After a glass or two of fizz, she went off to look for a hotel loo. However, the toilets are all now designed in keeping with this age of equality and don’t have old-fashioned terms like Gents and Ladies on the doors. Instead, you’ll find just one word on all of them. Unisex.

She was taking a long time so I went to look for her. She was round the corner moaning to the concierge and telling him: “That unisex thing is all very well, you know, but what about me? I went to Sandwickhill Academy of Lower Education so I didn’t go to university.”