Another day of dance dawns.
Downstairs for breakfast. It’s nice to have somebody to make your breakfast for you, even if it does contain more than the the recommended amount of saturated fats, but to offset that, I had porridge to start with! The healthy option.
We were expected to attend the morning session which as always was a dance lesson. However, before that we had an hour or so of freedom to wander through the park again. It was a bit cool, but the sun was shining brightly, so we made the most of the walk along the banks of the Tay.
Back on the dance floor we started the lesson, the Ria Bachata. Like I said last week, this was just a piece of fluff designed to cause as much confusion to those who had never seen it before and give everyone a laugh. Thankfully the Brookfield lot had been given a couple of weeks to take onboard the tricky footwork of the bachata that never was. After an hour most folk had learned it and the lesson was over. We were free to roam again until the grand ball at 6.30pm.
I wanted coffee and tea in the Bean Shop in Perth and also we dropped off some books in the Salvation Army charity shop. Scamp went for a browse while I walked down to ’The Ship’ to get some more photos looking over the river to the posh houses on the far side.
We chose to drive out to Scone Palace. It looked easy on paper, but navigating Perth’s traffic system made it more like driving in a maze. Maybe it’s something in the genes of the Perth folk. The hotel was definitely designed as a labyrinth and the road from the carpark to Scone which is about two miles away was equally convoluted. But we made it to the grand palace which was closed for the winter, but the tea shop was open and the carpark was free. Beautiful scenery with extensive views over the valley to the mountains to the north. Scamp found the kitchen garden and we wandered round that for a while, wondering why someone had planted what looked like bunches of privet at opposite corners of the beds. Many of the beds were empty but we were both impressed with the size of the leeks all neatly labeled and the amount of herbs that seemed to take over about half of the garden.
We walked back to the house itself and had coffee and scone in the tea shop. I thought it was funny to have a scone in Scone with both words being spelled the same but pronounced differently. No wonder Americans think english is a stupid language.
PoD went to the Palace Chapel with its sword in the stone and bell that was rung to signal that a new law had been passed. Also, a neatly camouflaged peacock. Scamp chased an albino peacock for a while and eventually got a photo of it.
When we drove back to Perth we passed two of the dancers walking back. We offered them a lift, but they said they would enjoy the walk back, but thanked us for stopping. Thankfully, the road back was much easier to navigate than the one coming and we took a detour up to the carpark on Kinnoull Hill I’d been trying to find a month or so ago. I’d forgotten my boots, so we didn’t stop, but marked it as a place to come back to some time.
Soon it was time to get ready for the Grand Ball. Food was better in general this time but my prawn cocktail starter “that I could have made and I can’t cook” to paraphrase the late Albert Collins. had a few cardboard prawns in a Marie Rose sauce with some stringy lettuce. It had a load of allergens in it, but unfortunately they had forgotten to put any taste in it. The breast of chicken stuffed with haggis I had for my main must have been made by the chef, because it definitely had taste added to it as well as more allergens. Scamp had vegetable lasagne which looked good and apparently tasted good too. She had prawn cocktail with real prawns too. Maybe she’s just lucky.
The dancing, as the title of this blog explains, was more of the same. No “getting to know you” this time round, but there were a couple of rounds of Ria Bachata, on to real bachata rhythm and one to a jazzy, fast beat. There was an Aberdonian contingent and they taught all and sundry their dance. I don’t remember it having a name, but it was fun to dance to after a beer or two. Eventually after about two and a half hours, tiredness set in and I declared myself ‘danced out’. Scamp’s feet were aching so we said our goodbyes to anyone who would listen and we climbed the wooden mountain and fell asleep almost immediately.
Yet more of the same tomorrow is on the cards.