Several years ago, I was invited to judge a high school debate for some TV gig. The venue for this great clash of young minds was the Beacon Arts Centre in the Scottish coastal town of Greenock.
It was a reasonably early start, so I had the pleasure of a Greenock Bed and Breakfast the night before.
Being me, I woke up late and desperately tried to wolf down some breakfast before a tiring day of sitting on my arse.
The B&B was of that type that seems permanently about to die out and yet turns up whenever I have to find a bed at short notice.
The owner will hand you a yale key on a huge piece of red plastic before telling you that "You are welcome to use the guests' lounge", in tones that make clear you should under no circumstances use the guests' lounge. You are then shown to your room, through corridors that have sacrificed every possible scrap of comfort in favour of respectability. There is a single bed, a shared bathroom along the hall and no TV. A heavyset Victorian radiator, it's elaborate metalwork blurred by endless coats of custard-yellow paint, has been set at a temperature to offer residents - free of charge - an early taste of the damnation that awaits them if they fail to repent of their sins and turn the one, true Church. Appropriate reading material has been placed on the desk to help with such a transition.
The owner of the B&B had, I think, clocked me as a sinner and reprobate the moment I walked through the door. He studiously ignored me while I ate my bacon and eggs in what was, his silence made clear, a manner reminiscent of the seedier side of Gomorrah. He focussed his attention on the only other guest, explaining to her the recent history of the town and its inexorable decline in to sin.
"There's been a very great decline in churchgoing in the town," he explained, before leaning in to offer the final terrifying detail of Greenock's miserable descent, "It's largely been replaced with dancing!"
I managed not to burst out laughing until I was out of the door and safely in the arts centre, surrounded by the luvvies, meeja types and related sinners you might expect. I had the pleasure of recounting the story to the Beacon's head of dance, who cackled with glee before passing the anecdote onto everyone who would listen.
Dancing no longer seems to provide the focus for moral condemnation that it once did in Scotland, and the nation's morals are no doubt the weaker for it. That role has mostly been taken by sex. No comparison in this context would be complete without a telling of the classic joke:
Q) Why don't members of the Free Church of Scotland have sex standing up?
A) In case anyone sees them and thinks they're dancing.
There are, of course, plenty of folk in the Free Church, as elsewhere, who have come to terms with the existence of dancing in the world and even, presumably, sex. But the question of whether the would-be first minister has done so in a manner that would allow her to accept that while she may not join the dance, others are at liberty to do so, is an interesting one. On balance, it seems that she has not. There is still time for her to demonstrate the line between her private observance and public duties but she has now turned down quite a few fairly easy opportunities to do so.
While we're waiting to see whether she chooses to dance the dance, this essay by Fraser MacDonald on the subject is well worth a few moments of your time.
List of Images
1) Sunset on the Clyde Estuary by Alistair McIntyre from Pixabay.
2) Snizort Free Church of Scotland by Colin Kinnear and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.
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