WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME (by THE BENEFAKTOR)

Taylor Swift is in town. The streets are full of pink, sparkle and cowboy hats. The excitement is infectious. Tonight is the third and final night of her Edinburgh performances on The Eras Tour. 9 June. That makes it St Columba’s Day: 1,427 years since his death. I jot that down in my Black n Red notepad. I will come back to that. I have decided to head out to take in the atmosphere around Murrayfield Stadium. 73,000 people plus all the crew and venue staff. It is not a bad evening. Some sun, though there are clouds to the west. I imagine that others will have had a similar idea.

I have listened to Taylor Swift’s most recent album on Spotify. The Tortured Poets Department. In fact I heard it twice in quick succession, because Spotify just loops around. I find that irritating (Spotify, not Swift). I rather enjoyed some of it. I find myself humming “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me” as I head along the Water of Leith. Perhaps that should be my new anthem. People do seem rather scared of my Benefaktor persona. I find it hard to believe that people would have a problem if they met me in real life. I am a pussy cat really. You just need to watch for my back claws; and my bite.

Well, even with my presbycusis I can hear crowd noise and bass as I walk along the quieter stretches of the river. I am heading east to west, the right direction for the speakers I am told, and the wind is carrying the sound towards me as well, skipping low along the water, finding the gaps between the houses and trees. There are no birds on the water tonight. As I approach Roseburn and then Murrayfield itself there is a spring in the step of everybody I pass, even without trabs(*).

There is a trail of trash along barriers that previously guided queues to merchandise stands, burger vans and ticket turnstiles. I sit on a bench under a chestnut tree (it is pouring), near an illuminated Edinburgh sign erected I assume for the concert, and listen. They are playing my new theme tune. No more Dance Macabre for me.

“If you wanted me dead, you should’ve just said/ Nothing makes me feel more alive”. It reminds me of my fall in the second GANTOB book – my first public dispute with GANTOB (AKA Gillian).

It is still light enough to sit and write and will be for another hour or more. I will need, however, to be careful to catch the tram back before the crowds pile out. I pull out my notepad and phone and start a new piece.

A psalter is “a translation or particular version of the Book of Psalms”. With the poetry and songs of the psalms this was as close to reading for enjoyment (and of course enlightenment) 1500 years ago. In the days before mass produced books, if you wanted a copy of your own you needed to either have a lot of money, luck, or be prepared to write it out yourself. Columba opted for the latter, copying out a Latin translation of the Book that had been compiled by Finnian, Abbot at Clonard Abbey, Ireland. Columba wished to keep this copy for himself, but Finnian would not allow it. The decision went to court.  King Diarmait mac Cerbaill ruled in Finnian’s favour: “To every cow her calf; and to every book its transcript”. After further disagreement, a battle and much bloodshed, Columba was sent to Iona. And the principles of copyright were established.

I think that I will leave it there, except to note of course that Taylor Swift re-recorded her albums because of issues around copyright and ownership of the master tapes of the original versions. Somethings never change. Kopyright be damned.

I take out my Saltire card, wind around the stadium towards Stenhouse (the stop before the stadium), and head for the tram. I have no need of (its near-homophone) a psalter. It is all available immediately on my phone, and I know many by heart. Nonetheless, there are frequently new lessons from re-reading and different versions. I read a few pages, but before I know it, I am back on Princes Street and striking distance of the flat. I walk home to the sound of fireworks and the last chords and applause from the concert. It has been an enjoyable evening, despite the rain.

The Benefaktor 9 June 2024

(the last couple of paragraphs are imagined based on observations of the sound and pyrotechnics from Murrayfield Stadium on preceding nights).

(*) Trabs have been mentioned in a couple of Christine’s pieces. Gaynor explains: “Christine’s bouncey trabs! Love it! – you know what they are? 110s…..(I bounce about in them too). They are really called Nike Air Max 95s as they were released in 1995 but then cost £110. Scallies adopted them for jumping off bins and fences at stuff. And us trab collectors, trainers that unify!”

This is not a pamphlet – just an impromptu blog post for, I hope, your interest.