Sunday, December 05, 2004


This is a feeble attempt to document my little wee trip to Glasgow. I’ll fill it with useless observations, drunken exploits, my attempts at Glasgow slang, whiskey appreciation, and the search for the perfect piece and square sausage.

Day One. Saturday.
Kings Cross @11.00am on “The Flying Scotsman”

Get on the train and as usual get confronted by the usual barrage of total idiots. I snagged a good seat by the window, and hunkered down for the next 6 hours. Two minutes into my special travel mix on the ipod, I’m rudely interrupted.

Stupid Women: “Are those seats reserved.” Pointing to a small but very important slip of paper with the words “RESERVED” emblazoned across the top.
Me: “Yes, and the seats with out the paper slip……..”
Stupid Women: “ Are for anybody, right?”
Me: “Well you’re anybody!” (In the nicest way possible way. It’s always nice to mix in a little urine with the sugar in these situations.)
Stupid Women: “So is anyone sitting in these seats, then?”
Me: “The reserved ones you mean?”
Stupid Women: “Yeah.”
Me: “ Well they are RESERVED”
Stupid woman sits down, muttering that she can’t sit backwards on a Train all the way to Glasgow.
Me: Putting back on the headphones thinking [Do not talk, smile, or in any way ask me a question for the next 6 hours lady, I hope you get kicked off the train.]

Also my coach is supposed to be a quiet coach. The lady across from me with a mobile phone glued to her ear, babbling for the last half hour gets told off by the conductor for talking on the phone, meanwhile there is a small tribe of troll like children just out of shooting range who every time they open their little gobs seem to break the sound barrier. The irony is I’m listening to early Metallica on the ipod, and an earsplitting level and I’m feeling quite smug.

I’ll pick up later.

Just looked at the window, at a real hole of a city, very depressing looking. As I’m writing this I’m just crossing over a river. It must be the Tyne. What’s with all the frigging bridges? Aye. Geordie land. I love Geordies, they are great, but Jesus, what a shitehole. I can see the reason for Nuke-Broon now. It all makes sense. And I suppose its true what they say. It’s grim up North.

Picked up by my cousin in Glasgow and realize its FREEZING up here. I’m really glad I had enough sense to buy a coat/sleeping bag. I haven’t been here for 15 years, and it’s all brand new to me. I think Glasgow is beautiful, if you take away all the rubbish, and all the crummy looking houses. But it’s hard not to love your hometown, even if you don’t know it from a bar of soap. Proceeded to the family rounds. Saw my wee granny, which was fantastic, and then saw an uncle. Had dinner then got down to a serious bevvy in the toon. Went to some boozer and my god it’s cheap compared to London. Maybe that’s the huge myth with Scotsmen being tight. Maybe we are not tight at all we just live in the cheapest place on the planet. Met up with two of the most foul-mouthed hardcase Glasgow women that I have ever met in my life. Ever. My jaw was constantly on the floor with the patter that was pouring out these septic mooths. Brilliant. I’m not going to go into too much more detail except for that I’ve never had my crotch grabbed and asked if this was my kangaroo pouch.

To be continued…tomorrow. (I’m so lazy today). But in the meantime here's a link to a great video from a Glasgow band called Sons & Daughters. Who are playing at Optimo's Hogmanay bash by the way, and which by some delicious twist of fate I'm going to go to with my two favourite gal pals, Ms. Smacked Face and Ms. G. (Thanks Ms. G for the FANTASTIC time on Friday night, it was one of the best birthday parties that I have been to in a long time. You rock, girl).

NB: I’m not going to post the rest of the Star Wars Glesga Style, for the simple reason, probably no one but me will read it. If you, one of my avid 7 1/2 readers out there want the full transcript; I’ll send it to you.