Technically we are off today but we have been graciously invited to a reception at the Canadian Embassy in Washington D.C. thrown in aid of Tartan Day. Aside from ourselves the guest list includes a number of American and Scottish politicians, the Cape Breton singer songwriter Bruce Guthroe and most importantly, the team from Grants distillers of Dufftown who were supplying a heap of whisky along with a tasting and coopering demonstration. These industry experts were in attendance at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival when we played there as part of the contingent from Scotland.

After the Reception, the above assemblage with our trusty tour guide and cultural attaché, Dr. Nancy Groce, adjourned to J.Paul’s in Georgetown for a hundredweight of oysters, a sea of martini, and a sing-song, all in competition with the NCAA men’s basketball finals belting out of the bar television. A marvellous, if somewhat pricey evening.

For security purposes these individuals must remain nameless.
Except Nancy.

The actual reason we are here is to play at Georgetown University tonight in an elegant hall at this venerable educational establishment. Stewart, the Vice President, informs us that the previous night’s guest was no other than Viktor Yushenko. The newly, and rather dramatically, elected president of the Ukraine. After the show I try to convince Stewart to award us all honourary degrees but I don’t think it is going to happen.

Before going to Saratoga Springs N.Y., Alasdair and I have to stop off in Boston for a quick television interview for Friday’s concert at the Somerville Theatre. This entails a wee bit of flying and a lot of driving without the aid of a map. Luckily when searching for the T.V. station, we asked a joiner the way and his reply was “Follow me, I’m doing a job real close to that.”

I have found Bostonian people similarly helpful in the past. I remember one time after gently running the car into the back of one Boston man’s car, he quickly looked to see that there was no damage and proclaimed, “No hahm, no foul.”

Having driven the width of Massachusetts, twice, Alasdair and myself made it to Saratoga Springs with two pints time to spare. Caffé Lena is an ancient and venerable folkie venue and after, we go for a pint in the parting glass where we meet Tom Smith and James Byrne from Ayrshire and Belfast respectively. Both are involved with the Belfast session scene and the band Croabh Rua and coincidentally Tom played in a band with Pat in London during the 1970’s

Thursday, 7th April.

We make our return to Satalla in Manhattan where we are playing with Paul Anderson of Deeside. Paul is certainly one of the best proponents of the “North-east” style of Scottish fiddling and he plays a great opening set. The gig is great but unfortunately Rob, Alan and I must go to New Jersey while Pat and Alasdair head up to Dr. Gilbert’s in the Bronx for a session with Keith O’Neill, John Walsh and a large reservoir of Guinness. The Bouzouki however decides to opt for a night in Manhattan all on its own and was so completely plucked that it never made it to another gig this tour: It was even lifted by the police. Watch this space for an installment of the Bazouki's personal tour diaries. Similarly, Alasdair’s suit has chosen the suburban path and hidden itself in John Walsh’s house, refusing to make the trip north to Boston.

Refreshed after our sojourn in the quiet hamlet of Boston, It is only halfway up the road to Bath, Maine that we discover that yet another item of Alasdair’s clothing has taken leave. Yes that’s right, his jacket has stowed itself away somewhere in its opulent Boston suite – and who can blame it.

With only the clothes on his back, Alasdair and the rest of us continue up the road to the Chocolate Church in Bath. This has been an excellent gig for us over the years and a great way to finish this busy tour for a number of reasons: It is completely sold out; Amy, the boss, has provided us with Lobster dinners; and if we had any more gigs Alasdair would surely have had to play them naked as it was becoming inevitable that the remainder of his clothing was heading for the off. Just as well we’re no playin’ in Hartford the morn’.
After the concert we have enough time for a couple of pints and some atrocious pool back at the hotel

Today we go home which is ordinarily uneventful but as we have to drive three-hundred odd miles to the airport, there is ahead of us enough opportunity for misadventure and sure enough, Alan mislays his computer at his cousin Steven’s house in N.Y whilst attending The class reunion of "all the shite we have lost during the last week".

Luckily Steven runs the laptop to the airport with just enough time for Alan to make it onto the Batt-Air flight from Newark to Amsterdam. The rest of us have enough time for a pint with Scottish bands Shooglenifty and The Peat Bog Fairies who are returning home on the same flight after a stint in New York City.