Celtic Connections 2011: Day 1 (13/1/11)

Begins with me running to catch the train. It is a recurring theme for me. Regardless of the alarm going off at 7:30am I find myself sprinting along Alexandra Parade, guitar in hand, bag bouncing off my back and ringing phone clutched in my other sweaty palm. I don't answer. Mornings are hard enough for everyone without being panted at by a rampaging Napier.

A Celtic Connections workshop at a primary school in Glasgow's deep south goes well. I recognise the school from my second failed attempt at finding the mountain bike trails on Cathkin. It was only after returning from that trip that I realised a time machine would have been a better mode of transport. The trails had not yet been built.

Finding the correct key for a song is always a tricky one. Made more difficult when you're writing a song with thirty seven people who's voices have not yet broken. So sounding like a cross between Aled Jones and the Proclaimers on helium we write the highest chorus ever written. It flashed through my mind that I was like a Scottish Sting... Soon to be purchasing acres of the Cathkin Braes to preserve the native dogging sites.

I still had an entirely blank canvas for the first Late Night Session. Blank canvas is a euphemism for fuck all. Well I do have one act. I can manage about two hours on my own but after an hour I think even the most die hard of Celtic Connections fans will be glancing at their watches and craning their neck to see if the drunk guy that just staggered in with a guitar might give us a song.



The torch light procession. Volunteers and festival staff joke loudly about burning down the city. Sure to grab some headlines. Festival Rises From the Smoke of Capitalism. Standing on the corner of George Square carrying the Celtic Connections banner. Without Provost, parade and pipeband we begin our half pace waddle to the Concert Hall. It's the closest we'll ever come to the media circus. Cameras, flasehes, tripods and videos. It's the real deal. My face wasn't designed to smile for this long. There's a guy in front of me whose sole occupation is to hold a flash. What's his job description? Opereater of the Flashgun 2nd class. Must be good at walking backwards and have very long arms.

I leave the concert hall as a bewildered Ross Ainslie is interviewed by an entirely over enthusiastic journalist and camera crew. If they want the really good telly they should be interviewing members of the Treacherous Orchestra after their gig.

SIGHTS OF THE DAY:

Frankie Boyle on Sauchihall street wearing a fur hat. I did a double take then leapt behind a litter bin in case he shouted at me or took me to a dark place in his mind.

• Days not smoking: 7
• Days not Drinking: 6... but it's not going to last.