So there we wur, piled intae the van, headin up fae Edinburgh like some kind ay musical expedition. Mid-week October, brass monkeys, sky the colour ay a three-day bruise.
That’s when we clocked them.
A cowboy wanderin doon a sandy track towards Port Henderson — Lord Macdowall, well-kent in the central belt — movin like a man wi somewhere tae be, or mibbe like a man who’d just left somewhere he shouldnae huv. Beside him, The Countess ay Fife hersel. Faye Fife (The Rezillos). The pair ay them dressed like they’d either just come fae a funeral or were aboot tae start one. An uncanny duo if ever there wis one.
Then it happened.
The Countess wis doon. One foot in the air, rollin aroond at the roadside, howlin fir help. Lord Macdowall crouched ower her wi the quiet focus ay a man wha’s seen worse — though mibbe no much worse — haudin her ankle, heavin at the boot wi baith haunds.
The snakeskin boots, ye see. Those boots. Beautiful things. But the sea up here disnae care aboot beautiful things. A sneaky mixture ay salt water an bad luck had got intae them ower the course ay the day’s shootin, an they’d shrunk — seized roond the Countess’ feet like they’d made a personal decision tae stay. Permanently. The boots that had walked ontae Destitution Road were no the same boots tryin tae come aff it.
Ten minutes. The pair ay them at the roadside — him heavin, her howlin, the October wind absolutely unbothered — until finally, finally, the boot relented.
The Countess walked hame in her socks. The boots were never quite the same again. Some sacrifices ye dinnae plan fir. Ye can take a deek at the video below. Thir new album is available to buy on Bandcamp (https://thecountessoffife.bandcamp.com/album/star-of-the-sea).