'Down among the Daniel O'Donnel' - a short story by Ashy Macbean

Down among the Daniel O'Donnel

I was in Scotland recently and I dropped in on an old friend, Rawls. I don't have so many friends that I keep in touch with in Scotland now, but the ones I do have are very good ones and I try to make a point of visiting them whenever I can. Besides, I enjoy seeing them. My visits to Rawls generally follow the same pattern every time. I phone to check he's at home and if he is I drop in and we sit for a few hours smoking spliffs and chewing the fat. I usually promise to return before I leave the country, but I never do and I think Rawls kind of expects that.

We go back a number of years, Rawls and I. We were both at the same university for a while and I met him when he started dating a friend of mine. That eventually became a long-term relationship which lasted a number of years and it was very painful for everybody when it ended. I tried to stay in the middle and not choose sides, in the hope that eventually I could remain close friends with both of them. Eventually I fell on Rawls's side of the fence. It just happened that way and there was no animosity between his ex and I. We just lost touch as I, and perhaps she, realised I had more in common with Rawls than her.

Going back to my comment above, when I say we were both at the same university, Rawls was the one who was actually studying. At that time I was just using the campus showers and taking advantage of the cheap beer and camaraderie at the student union. I had been thrown out of another university the year before and it was to be another four years before they let me into this university to study philosophy. I still remember the interview I had with a nice man called Alan. He explained that although I had the required grades in my school subjects to gain admittance, I had also had them the first time I entered university, therefore, under the circumstances the authorities required some further assurance that I wasn't going to repeat the behaviour that got me chucked out the first time. He asked me for example what books I had been reading. I hadn't been reading anything except dodgy sci-fi and I started waffling about all sorts of rubbish, trying to sound keen. To this day I still don't know why they let me in. It was, I think, an astute decision on the part of the interviewer however, as I successfully completed my studies second time round, though I still haven't figured out what the fuck you do with a philosophy degree once you've got one.

Where were we? Yes. Sitting in Rawls's living room chatting about music. Rawls is a self-confessed music bore. He's got a huge collection of CDs. Zillions of them. He buys them all the time and he also makes up his own from his collection of vinyl and tapes which is equally impressive. We were reminiscing about the music we used to listen to in our student days and we got on to talking about Magazine. We both agreed that they were one of the best bands of their time but neither of us had listened to them much lately. I had never even thought about them up till then. You don't hear them on the radio and very few people seem to have their music or know about it.

I didn't go back to see Rawls after that visit. As usual I had a lot to do and only a little time to do it in. A few days later I found myself at a car boot sale in a small town up in the north east corner of Scotland. Don't ask me what I was doing there. I don't really know myself. I was stuck there for some time anyway, as I was relying on someone else for transport so I decided to make the best of it. People in that part of Scotland have their own particular style and way of doing things. They are a very tough people, perhaps because of their farming and fishing background and the harsh climate. Men are rugged, muscular and often handsome and the women are usually very self confident. Perhaps partly because of the American influence from the oil rigs on the North Sea, their style of dress reminds you of rural Texas or somewhere like that (without the sun, that is). The oil industry forms a big part of the northeastern economy and most families have some members who are directly or indirectly involved in it. Checked shirts are fashionable, as are faded jeans and cowboy boots - even neckerchiefs. People listen to a lot of country music too.

I decided to kill time looking for second hand tapes. There was a lot of good country music blasting out from cars and stalls and it was putting me in the mood - songs by people like John Pryne, Johnny Cash, Burl Ives, Dwight Yokam and, one of my favourites, the Judds - great stuff. I began to get into being there. The music was putting a surreal spin on an already strange day. I started rummaging in cardboard boxes of old tapes but, unfortunately, such boxes usually contain only bad country music. If it was good, would people try to sell their tapes for fifty pence each? No, they play the good stuff on the car stereo to pass the time while they're trying to flog the bad stuff.

I've got nothing personal against Daniel O'Donnel. I've never met him but I'm sure he's a very nice man. On stage he wears the jumpers his mum knits him and he's very popular. I've seen him on television and he's very kind to his fans. I just don't like his music. Judging from the amount of Daniel O'Donnel tapes in those boxes, a lot of other people don't like his music either. It cuts both ways though, doesn't it? For so many tapes to end up in the car boot sale, a lot of people must have willingly went out and bought them in the first place. Maybe they got them as Christmas presents? But then, you usually try to buy people what you think they might like. I do anyway. I'm sure if you held a grudge against someone, there would be better ways of sticking it to them than buying them a Daniel O'Donnel tape for Christmas. Or would there? I don't know. I'm just speculating. The point is, I was getting fed up rummaging through boxes of tapes and turning up Daniel O'Donnel, Daniel O'Donnel - Oh, there's a tape without a box, mustn't overlook that. It might be good. What does it say on the label? Daniel O'Donnel. Look. There's a Sydney Divine. How's that for a change…and here's another Daniel O'Donnel.

Then suddenly - and I'm not kidding here. I am prone to exaggeration at times. I do tend towards embellishment, even complete reworking, of the truth if it sounds more interesting that way, but not this time. This is exactly how it happened. Suddenly, just as I was giving up hope of finding anything interesting, there it was sitting right at the bottom of the very last cardboard box. 'After the fact' by Magazine.