The Smokie and The Souter

The first time I met Scott, was the same as the last time. In fact, the same as every time. He walked in sheepishly to the reception of the Union in Dundee, looking for someone to speak to. Or rather waiting for someone to speak to him. And there it was. The single raised hand greeting, with the other firmly planted in his pocket. A nervous smile, and the overly humble introduction. This is how Scott introduced himself to me 10 years ago. It’s how he greeted me when he walked into the Queens Arms on my stag night, the last time we saw each other. This quickly morphed into a classic Scrab hug, coupled with the affirmative ‘hiyaahhh’ wee laugh that always accompanied it. A lot changed in the decade that followed. But Scott didn’t.

The first night we met, I had booked the band for a T Break…