By Maggie Millar
I enjoyed a rare night out on Friday with my esteemed colleagues, Debbie Clarke and Dawn Renton.
We ladies were at (not so High) Society to see tribute band Doors Alive.
And singer, Willie Scott did a damn fine job of convincing his hometown that he was ol’ Jim Morrison incarnate.
The sounds were amazing, the French martinis were amazing.
And so was the magnitude of my hangover the next morning...
Those who missed the gig can read Dawn’s (completely unbiased) review of it online at this website.
The following night I broke the habit of a lifetime by tuning into The Voice for the sole purpose of hearing Kirkcaldy’s finest singing fireman Stevie McCrorie.
I’ll be brutally honest and say I didn’t hold out much hope that I’d like him because so often contestants on shows like the X Factor sound like pumped up/slowed down karaoke versions of the real thing - but not nearly as good.
So, I was genuinely surprised to discover that Steve’s voice is the real deal - and he thoroughly deserved to win the battle round.
But am I the only viewer to think he looks like Ricky Wilson’s brother. Spooky.
Finally, after months of anticipation my kids woke up on Tuesday morning to discover a winter wonderland awaiting them.
But the bad news was 1) they had to go to school/nursery and 2) the snow melted by the time they got out.
It seems especially cruel to me that we Scots live in a perma-frost/perma-rain climate without winter perks like sledging. What’s the use of that?