Village (social) life

Last year when I was here I was a curiosity; this year, having proven my credentials and intent by actually returning to the scene, I seem to be ‘one of them’. Or as Theresa put it, ‘You’re the most interesting thing to happen around here all year’.

However, I am pretty certain that this village is not typical in this regard. Certainly, I have always had the inkling that in small Scottish communities until you can prove three generations of residency (preferably in the same homestead), you will always be considered an ‘incomer’ or from ‘down south’ (across the border in England). I’m also not sure the level of social interaction and planned events that happen here is usual either.  There are apparently about 400 residents, so as you can see, we are not a large group, yet the amount of activity that goes on is prolific.

Of course, last year, I only gradually met the locals – this year, I returned already know a lot of people, in varying degrees of acquaintance-ship and friendship, yet many of those I hardly knew have now welcomed me back as if I were, well, one of the more interesting things to have occurred recently. I suspect being banked up behind several feet of snow for large tracts of time may have some bearing.

Regardless, my social calendar is jam-packed. There has not been a day when I have not been dashing about getting myself to a dinner, lunch, tea party, coffee get together, shopping trip, knitting circle, drinks, more tea .... it is hectic. Those of you wondering how The Great Novel is progressing can rest assured that last Sunday I penned 1100 words (yes, pathetic, I know) and I have high hopes again for this Sunday. 

However, manoevring oneself around the local social mores is quite another matter. It would be so easy to inadvertently do the wrong thing and be forever outlawed. So for any of you planning to bury yourself in a small Scottish village at some time in your future, here are a few hints to help you survive. Oh, but I would just add, please don’t take these as gospel, for all I know, everyone is discussing my social eccentricities behind my back and having a good laugh, too polite to let me know that my way most definitely is not the way they do things round ‘ere.

Gifts should not be extravagant, it is the thought that counts. Or more precisely, if you don’t have the thought, that will count even more – against you. If in doubt, take a small and suitable gift when you visit for lunch or dinner and the first time you receive a tea invite. Any event involving a meal for more than about six people usually means you’re expected to take a plate of food (therein lies another minefield which probably deserves its own chapter).

Phoning is fine, but if you want to ensure face to face interaction, just drop in. You can pretend you didn’t have the phone number (or even a phone) if the person you drop in on looks as if dropping in isn’t quite what they had planned / has other visitors / just on way out / run out of tea bags etc. SMS-ing is highly popular, except for Dawn, 85, who is grappling with predictive texting on her ancient Nokia. You might wonder why, at her advanced years, she would want to learn but she has a deaf friend who misunderstands arrangements made by phone.

“I can’t make it tomorrow, dear,” says Dawn.

“I’ll see you in the morning then!’ her friend replies.

Going to the pub for a drink or a meal does not happen much, well not in this village. Mostly people eat at home and the blokes occasionally meet for a beer. Stamp your status and personality on the village by arranging pub dinners or drinks. The locals will find this a charming way of socialising that they don’t often do, proof of which is when you return a year later and at your welcome home party at the pub, the majority say it’s the first time they’ve been back since you left. The landlord will also approve.

Ceilidhs are Scottish dances and you need to dress down and dress light. It gets extremely hot, all that jigging about, and if you’re the one in the party frock and stilettos you will stand out like the fairy on the Christmas tree amongst the blokes in their hobnail boots, women in jeans and the occasional kilted native. (Hogmanay and weddings excepted)

Posh anything - clothes, jewellery, accent – are all frightening and unnecessary. Avoid. Unless you are leading a fashion revival, such as wearing a mink coat and your neighbours can jump on the bandwagon by rummaging in their attics to find auntie’s long lost fox fur, you will just look like a ponce.

Be wary of your sense of humour. It is quite likely your new friends will (a) not understand your accent or your joke (b) misunderstand your joke and take offence or (c) not even realise you are telling a joke and take you seriously. Equally, be careful what you laugh at – whilst you might think the local wag is telling a joke, he might be describing the eulogy at old Frank’s funeral (which admittedly may be very funny but as you didn’t know Frank it would be inappropriate to laugh).  Laughing out loud at what you think is a joke but didn’t understand a word of the Scottish brogue or lingo signal the death knell for your acceptance into the local community.

Repay your debts instantly and to the penny. This is, after all, Scotland.