Last week, I saw a tweet, asking the Burghers of Edin where there might be a convivial cafe to sit and write. Suggestions spewed forth, with Black Medicine in Morningside seeming to top the bill. The next day I sent a similar teaser: in which
pubs and bars do people choose to write their memoirs? Several were the same as my own favourites – but I’m not giving anything away here. What a strange thought that, when I sit with my little black book, pen in mouth, contemplating words, I might not be entirely alone. Edinburgh
In the days of Scottish Enlightenment, not long after the
Union with our Southern Neighbours, Gentlemen (ladies, take note) met in Convivial Clubs and Drinking Establishments to discuss Matters of Importance. It was then that the term 'alcoholism' was coined. The idea that this could be considered a disease, but drunkenness, disorderly, seemed to be enshrined in the attitude that drinking was a middle-class pursuit; getting drunk was common. Commoners gambled, while the upper echelons wagered. And the difference between Taverns, Inns and Bars was clearly class (or money, which is usually the true distinction) oriented.
When I saw this silver Quaich in the Museum, inscribed with the motto of an 18th Century Convivial Club, I imagined two gentlemen gently ribbing each other: an Englishman and a well-to-do Londoner, come to visit his newly-acquired cousin Edinburgh, engaging in persiflage over a dram or two. And this is a 62-word fragment of what, perhaps, they might have spoken at the time…
‘There are some things I would’nae place a bet on,’ said Edward Lothian, in an affected
accent. ‘One is that you’ll no’ find a rhyme with “silver quaich”.’ Edinburgh
‘You may well be right,’ replied the Englishman convivially.
‘Yet I’d put a hundred to one,’ continued Lothian, ‘that you could’nae pronounce it.’
He had a go. But it came out as “quiche.”
A quaich was a shallow drinking vessel unique to