Diary of a Shopkeeper, 4th August 2024

TS’s audience. Or, rather, the fire engine’s audience (parked stage right.)

Friday evening. A corner table in the Ferry Inn beer tent. Two tall figures sat hunched over half-finished pints of Dark Island. A packet of cheese and onion crisps lay torn open on the table in front of them. As he spoke, the big man dabbed his fingers in and fiddled with the remaining crisp fragments. His voice rumbled. Imagine if Darth Vader had come from Dunblane. Which in a way he had, for this was none other than the dark lord of elite sport, Andy Murray.

‘I suppose I’ve just got to face it. I’m getting too old. The greasy pole competition is a young man’s game, and I’m…I’m not so young anymore.’

The willowy blonde woman laid her hand on his and gave it a squeeze.

‘Gee, Andy, with everything you’ve achieved in your career in climbing the greasy pole, no one’s gonna remember the way you fell in the basin today. They’ll all think of that time you shimmied out to the end in less than ten seconds and grabbed that prize. You cried, I cried, the whole world cried – with joy.’

Murray grimaced. ‘Aye, Taylor, but that was away back in 2013. Who’s the wean that won it this year? She probably wasn’t even born then.’

Taylor shook her head. ‘Simone Biles is a unique talent, Andy. Especially coming out of the Grieveship projects – a tough place to grow up – it’s just amazing what she’s achieved.’

Andy sighed, shrugged, and picked up his pint. Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the car park, and a bellowed ‘Hello, it’s me!’

‘Oh god,’ grunted Andy, ‘It’s Adele. She does my head in, that woman. She just opens her mouth and skraiks.’

‘Stoup!’ whispered Taylor. ‘She’ll hear you. Anyway, she’s the finest mezzo-soprano in the business.’

‘She’s a mess of something,’ grunted Andy, and took a long draught of his beer.

‘Hey guys! Good to see you!’ cried Adele. ‘Taylor Swift! I caught your gig with the Burray Blues Club at the pierhead. You really are the GOAT! Hey Andy, you’re the GOAT too – apart from Simone Biles, of course.’

Andy frowned deep into his empty glass. ‘I wish everyone would stop going on about…’

Taylor Swift shifted her Argo’s shopping bag so Adele could sit down beside her. ‘He’s just getting over his early exit in the greasy pole competition,’ she said. ‘It hurts when you’ve been the best and you start to, well, slip.’

‘Slip right off!’ said Adele, and cackled.

Andy got to his feet, slightly unsteadily. ‘Damn hip,’ he muttered. ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’

‘I drink wine,’ said Adele.

‘Same again,’ said Taylor, holding up her empty glass. ‘Oh, and see if they have any pork scratchings.’

They watched him head off across the carpark, then Adele turned back to Taylor, her immaculate eyebrows knitted in concern. ‘He’s not the only one who’s had a hard day,’ she said. ‘It was bad luck the way that fire engine drove right in front of the stage while you were up there.’

Taylor looked at her, stony faced. ‘It was a medical emergency in the hotel next door,’ she said. ‘When you’re a professional you just have to cope with these things.’

‘Still, they could at least have switched their siren off. For most of ‘Anti-Hero’ I didn’t know if it was you singing or the fire engine wailing.’

‘I had something similar before,’ said Taylor. ‘One time I was halfway through my set at the Nashville Nissan Stadium, when Dolly Parton landed her helicopter plumb in the middle of the outfield.’

 Adele leaned forward. ‘Nashville bashville,’ she said. ‘This is the big time now, girl. This is Stromness Shopping Week.’

‘I’m back.’ Andy was lumbering towards them, two pints and a large glass of wine balanced on his tennis racket. ‘Look who I met outside the bogs.’

Two peedie bright eyed men in black suits and ties waved and called, ‘Wey aye, lasses!’

‘I was looking them up and down,’ said Andy. ‘And I thought, ‘Jings, those guys have really nailed their Ant and Dec costumes for the three-legged fancy-dress beer race.’ And then I realised: it really is Ant and Dec! Imagine them being here!’               

‘We wouldn’t miss Shopping Week for the world,’ said Ant.

‘I’m a celebrity,’ said Dec, ‘Get me into the Daft Raft Race.’

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 8th August 2024. A new diary appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations, and occasional small corrections or additions.