A CRAVEN PIPER FLEEING

I always thought pipers were supposed to be brave.

I mean, they lead troops into battle armed with nothing more than a vacuum cleaner that squawks. And they march in public wearing a skirt. So, with nerve like that, you'd figure they'd never desert their post.

And yet, I had a piper lead me into battle once and watched as he fled in the face of a force of no more than three hundred women!

It was the night I'd been invited to Lakehead University to speak to a group of ladies from all across Canada who'd earned post-graduate degrees in one subject or another.

Now, I've never been shy about getting up to speak in front of any group, especially if they give me a good dinner into the bargain. In fact, Jackie Mason and I are of the same mind on this subject. "I'd go to talk to a bunch of Nazis," he once said, "if they served decent cake."

Of course, this wasn't a hostile force I was about to confront. Although I will admit I had some reservations about going, because I've come to discover that most people who've endured excessively long periods of formal education tend to be incredibly boring.

Nevertheless, I was being offered a chance to talk on a subject near and dear to my heart: the regionalization of Canadian culture. So, off I went.

I was met at the door of the hall by a lady who smiled and said, "I'm your 'bunny' for the evening." And I immediately felt relieved to find that my escort and minder was someone with a sense of humour.

She led me inside, where we joined a line of big shots who were waiting to be piped to the head table. The young lad with the bagpipes glanced back nervously at us, then took a deep breath and began to wail.

It wasn't hard to understand the terror such sound must have struck into an enemy on the battlefield. And even in that apparently less dangerous environment, I was sure there was no one who wouldn't tremble at our advance.

I tried to maintain a polite smile, but the noise was hurting my ears. And I found myself praying for it to end - but wondering if, when it did, I'd ever be able to hear anything again.

Of course, I didn't expect them to allow a mere musician to sit at head table with us muckity-mucks. But I was surprised to see the piper beat such a hasty retreat when his brief gig was finished - leaving me and the bartender the only two males in the room.

My speech went well enough, although I did notice a few glares when I ranted on about how we had to stop relying on genetics to find new broadcasting talent and had to start looking somewhere other than just among our country's prominent families and only in the greater metropolitan areas.

And then, it occurred to me that I was bound to be speaking to members of some of those families, most of whom lived in those greater metropolitan areas.

But I carried on, regardless.

And once I'd finished (having castigated the CBC and National Film Board for promising to decentralize their production centres and then failing to deliver on their promises), I got a more-than-respectable round of applause.

And afterward, as I was mingling with the crowd, one woman in particular worked her way through the throng to get to me. And after she and I had spoken for a bit, my 'bunny' (looking very nervous indeed) rushed over and asked, "What did she say to you?"

I told her the lady said she'd especially enjoyed what I had to say, since her husband often came home saying much the same thing about the CBC and their myopic view of Canadian culture.

My 'bunny' heaved a sigh of relief. "You know who her husband is, don't you?" she asked. And when I said I didn't, she explained he was the head of French Language Programming at CBC.

And suddenly, I wished that craven piper hadn't fled or that I could have dragged him back to pipe me around the room again. And this time, I'd have had him play a tune of my own choosing: a little ditty by the Rolling Stones.

And I'd have sung along, as we went.

"Oh, you can't always get what you want,

No, you can't always get what you want.

But if you try sometimes,

You just might get what you need!"

(Scroll down for days you've missed. And don't forget: tomorrow is the twelfth and final day of THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS. And I can guarantee I'll leave you happily drumming your way into the New Year.)