If you were to die tomorrow, how would you spend your final day on Earth?
Facing his mortality this month, Domino’s Scottish folky James Yorkston.
Where would you wake up?
In the double bed in the room at the top of the stairs at the Pink house in Creagh. Hopefully without hangover or migraine.
Who do you wake up next to?
That would be my wife. And maybe the ghost of our cat. It’s a big old bed. For a long time we’d hear noises downstairs in the kitchen at night and presume it was the ghost of the old lady, Bess, who lived there before us, but then we found a rabbit living behind the kitchen cabinet, which explained a lot of things. We found a dead sheep at the back door once, which was odd, and another time a horse broke through the back door whilst we were at the shops and was standing in the kitchen looking nonchalant. All true stories, funnily enough.
How do you spend your last day?
If the rain held off, I’d walk down to Lough Ine, stopping at the shrine to say a few words to Herself and rile a few fairies. I’d take a sloop out, do a few perimeters and have a chat with Labhrai Loinsigh. I’d maybe walk up furry mountain and take in the view.
Who do you invite for your final dinner?
Everyone who was at our wedding – except those people who I had no idea who they were – they can stay at home. And the hall keeper – he’s similarly excused. If my brother made it over from Mexico with his family, that’d be pretty cool. I guess we’d have to hire a hall somewhere. BYOB. Robert Mugabe can come along if he likes and sit by my gran. That’d learn him a few things.
What will you be eating at this supper?
Vegetables from the garden, loads of spinach, courgettes, potatoes, peas, beans, etc. Maybe the apple tree would have fruited by then. Strawberries and raspberries. We have an olive tree that’s valiantly fighting through the haar, but I doubt it’ll be much cop these next few years. Hmm… Whisky? Caol Ila, eighteen years old. Some very young Ardbeg. A few nice Belgian beers. I guess that’s not food… Chocolate? Some dark chocolate, vegan lasagne. Whatever. There are loads of bats round here and loads of starlings. The starlings swarm in the evening and the bats swoop at night. They eat the bugs that come out from under the seaweed every tide. I wouldn’t be eating starlings, bats or bugs, but you’d be more than welcome to eat your bodyweight, if you were around.
What movie would you watch inthe evening?
Dirty Harry. Why? Andy Robinson’s ‘Scorpio’ and Lalo Schifrin’s score.
What would be the last album you listen to?
Lightnin’ Hopkins – ‘That’s My Story’. It’s an afternoon’s session recorded and released wholesale with Lightnin’ and a cool band. Pretty rusty drums, amateur trombone, all-over-the-place double bass and great songs – ‘Mr Dillon’s Store’: “If you ever get lonely in Houston, take a trip to Mr Dillon’s store”; ‘Rain’ – “Rained five days, sky turned black as night” – all the greats. I’ve listened to that album more than any other.
Who is the last person you would kiss?
Well, that depends. If it was anyone other than my wife, it’d probably be her who killed me, so I’ll have to say my wife.
How would you like to snuff it?
Somewhere unexpected. Surprise me. Not just now though. Hmm. I’d rather not die on stage, I think, either. That’d be embarrassing. I don’t expect it’d do the merch sales much good either. Erm.. I’ll probably die playing squash, in real life. Which isn’t a nice thought. Still, it’s fun whilst it lasts. I play two or three times a week and every now and then we turn up and find blood on the walls or the floor. It can be a messy old game. Either squash or on the motorway. My driver is crap. Hello David.
What would your final words be?
Help ma boab / Aye David, mind that lorry.
What song would play at your funeral?
I have no idea. It’d be nice to end with ‘Go, The Mass Has Ended’, but it depends on the sense of humour everyone had around that time. If they had too much sense of humour, they’d probably play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ and I’d come back to life and spook the beJesus out of them all. Not ‘Angels’ though, dear God, not ‘Angels’.
What clothes will you be buried in?
My kilt outfit. Most expensive clothes I’ve ever bought. Still, I got it when I was fourteen and it still fits, just, so I’m getting my money’s worth. So are the moths though, the blighters. I’d have those silver cufflinks with the skull and crossbones which my sister bought me in Amsterdam and a hip flask of good whisky in my sporran, just to help me on my journey.
What would it say on your gravestone?
Hear lies James He had six names Wright Yorkston Jackson Paul Patrick James
Which dead star would welcome you at the pearly gates?
My great-grandfather became a star in Yanomami, after he invented a fire hose that could keep the pressure of the sea water up all the way up to the village. It saved quite a few of the wooden houses until it was taken away in the Second World War to be used as a submarine tow. A real shame. But I never met him and would like to, so, if he’s reading this, I’ll be the guy in the moth-eaten kilt, singing out of tune and drinking good whisky.
