The sight of jeans, Bolo ties and "cowboy boots" (in Scotland) is oddly more common and less something to stare at than kilts...
Several years ago I piped a wake for a friend of mine from Falkirk, held at our pub. His family had come over, and they had me, an American in a kilt on the Great Highland pipes playing traditional Scottish tunes, and his brother, a Scotsman, in jeans & cowboy boots playing Country & Western on a guitar.


The week before, I'd attended the funeral of another friend of mine, also a piper and regular at our pub. Afterwards, not caring for the dry, brittle biscuits and florescent red punch the church ladies had set out, I stopped by the pub where Stuart and I had spent many an evening.
I met Martin there; he had been on his way to Stuart's funeral, but had been rear-ended on the way, totaling his car. We commiserated for our friend Stuart, Martin's wrecked car, and dry wakes; we postulated that when our day came, we'd prefer that our friends and family be somewhere more comfortable; where we'd known each other in life, where they can reminisce, lie, and sing or pipe a tune or two, and have good beer and food at hand...someplace like right here.
The next day, Martin had a splitting headache, the day after he was admitted to hospital, and the next day he died of a cerebral aneurism secondary to his car crash Saturday. Seven days after Martin and I had that conversation over a pint, I piped his wake at the self same pub, just as we'd discussed a week before.