A Day in Glasgow – by Patrick Holland

Woke up, got out of bed, had cereal, there was no bread. Flatmate is making an omelette out of all the remainders they can gather.

Walk down through the suburbs from Murano St residence to a history lecture. The lecturer is explaining his role in research for the UNODC regarding the unintended consequences of the ‘war on drugs’. The building is not quite as fairytalesque as some of the others but you can’t have it all.

Stroll through Kelvingrove Park past the dog walkers, cyclists and occupied benches of people eating and talking and trying to stay warm. Supposed to be meeting a friend but will be late. The rain is absent for the day. The old victorian buildings look very imposing and so many seem worthy of names and importance.

We meet out front of the Celtic Football Club store and wander in to get ourselves some tickets for the evenings game.

Underneath Glasgow Central Station is a small secondhand store selling more music, books, prints, collectables and dvds than you could poke a stick at if there were room for sticks in the shop. The kind of place where there is too much stuff to buy anything.

Go to a gallery down by the Trongate, free entry as per usual. We walk around looking unknowingly at all sorts of pieces, impressed by some, unsure of others. The main attraction is a later show.

I know a chippy/diner around the corner to get some lunch. Fish, chips, chicken and mostly anything that can be battered and survive the trauma of a deep fryer. Brown sauce – what is that?

Back to the gallery for the performance. It is kinetic sculptures accompanied by sound and light. Each piece is put together using an assortment of old bits and pieces, often involving singer sewing machines, many of them acquired from the nearby barras markets.

Have to get back home in time to be ready for the game. We buy a football on the way. Having collected a Spanish flatmate it’s up to the park for a kick before the light completely fades, just after 5pm. Unbeknownst to us, the makeshift pitch provides a view of the best part of the whole city with its lights turned on. An unexpected delight, the standard of play is sloppy despite excellent conditions.

A couple of pints of cider in the flat and then a taxi to Celtic Park. A cup tie with Glaswegian minnows Partick Thistle, the crowd is small and perhaps a little apprehensive. Chants bounce across from the opposite end and Celtic find the back of the net five times at our end, dismembering an undermanned Thistle.

Walk briskly among a stream of black jackets and coats and green and white scarves in the cold, dry night trying to work out where to go. The city is mostly quiet but Sauchiehall St is always alive with live music and busy bars for all punters. The night turns into the morning and I need to get some sleep.

Tomorrow I have to read about Mexican anti-drug policy and try to be prepared for law of the sea. I might have to do laundry too.

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