The heaving Northern metropolis

torrential with the sound of expectant, excited feet

is but for a short while,

quiet, serene and calm on the Sunday morning

as actors and performers rest after the shows

of the week and the laughter

that has followed them to the silence

of their dressing room

and the chance encounter

with the fan captivated by the show

and to whom the acquiring of the photograph

with their

new next day idol

is something to look back upon in dusty years

as they slump with unforgiving sigh

into the shadow filled bed alone.

 

The Nor’ Loch opens for the morning departed

and the taste lingers on the tongue

of the fried egg and Lorne sausage

and the reality of non-fringed,

no singed food, wets the lips used to the forlorn

and the quick and easy on budget dash

between venue and venue and venue and venue,

the chance to take stock

amongst the music over the virtuous

C.D. player kept out back whilst the

Sultans of Swing play their notes with Bon Accord

to those with but an hour

left of their Summer fling away from home

and the sound of the undisguised

appreciation ringing firmly in the tills

of the beautiful Northern Athens

and the view of a thousand stars

made within walking distance

of The Nor’ Loch.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015