The one about Tartan



Highland Fling
There's a preponderance of tartan around necks nowadays in England and Pinterest.  I have yet to buy into this trend as I am struggling to find the exact colour scheme that will match my complexion.  It will be very last year when I do, especially as January is arriving fast.   The lack of a plaid scarf won't stop me embracing all things Scottish as will be seen when I attempt the Highland fling at Hogmanay this year after a few Highland spirits, or maybe I’ll stick with the spirits and forget the fling on these creaky knees.

I am old enough to remember British Caledonian uniforms and indeed wearing kilts during the last Tartan Revolution. I was in my 20s then. I will state now that I will not be revisiting the kilt. I can only see that as Highland mutton dressed as lowland Lamb, in my case at least.  The wrinkles on my face are quite busy enough without being accompanied with a checkerboard pleat skirt held together with a hefty safety pin.  Yet I do love the ‘All things Highland' fashion, the wider picture.   There I find  scope for a person of mid age such as myself, especially as All Things Highland includes medicinal whisky, Drambuie and shortbread biscuits, not to mention wool and faux furs, and a tartan scarf, if I can find the right shade. I will make it clear that I will not be embracing bagpipes, not personally, and that will surely please my family and neighbours. 


 
So far my nod to All Things Highland is bed linen.  I found this plaid set in a sale.  The cushion was an extravagance but I think its cosy for a bedroom in
winter. The real selling point to me was that it’s reversible.  I can have a tartan week and if he asks for a stag weekend I can turn it over, perhaps to his disappointment, but that would be another story. 




This set reminds me of castles with  thick stone walls, wall sconces,  roaring fires and a lonely bagpiper piping in the misty mornings.  This is a sound not of dreams and imaginings as one of our neighbours used to be heard playing the pipes over our Sussex fields on a Sunday morning, bringing sounds of his homeland to our village.   There was romance in the instrument being piped as I cooked the family meal.

 
Another little nod I made to the trend was to make myself comfortable in a newly 'Highland' refurbished local village pub and enjoy a mulled wine last week.  There was a slight twist to the decor, instead of a stags head on the wall there was cowhide on the floor and a chesterfield sofa.





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