Serious Scotland

Last week I spent Monday night to Friday morning in Glasgow, Scotland. I had travelled up to Crewe on Arriva Trains Wales and then transferred to Virgin Trains which was like an upgrade from a BB in a seedy backstreet of Blackpool to the Waldorf Astoria. Even though Virgin and Richard Branson did the dirty on Jeremy Corbyn I hope they are one of the Rail Operators who are tendering to take over from Arriva in January of 2018. I had read somewhere that Glasgow did not feel like a British City and it did feel different, perhaps Scandinavian. The air was fresh and clean, it did not feel like a polluted city although I did experience walking through a rush hour and in that respect it was like every other British City. People trying to get home at exactly the same time. Whenever I arrive someplace new, I walk like a madman ( I can use such terms for I am a madman) to get my bearings, like a Baudelaire flaneur on speed and this I did the first night along the Clyde walkway where I was delighted to see a statue to 
Dolores Ibarruri:La Pasionaria.
The part of the Clyde that I walked alongside from behind Central Station to the West of the City was a little non descript. I don't know what I had been expecting but it must be how visitors feel when they see the Taff in Cardiff flowing through Bute Park and out to Cardiff Bay, a little underwhelmed. Never mind the following morning I decided to walk down Sauchiehall Street where I had a breakfast bagel and coffee and the lady asked whether I was from Newcastle. Bit further South I replied. "Speak a bit more" she commanded. "Well alrighty" I replied "I will have black pepper and brown sauce on my bagel, thank  you" "Och yes I've got you now". She didn't say where she'd got me pinned down to but she'd got me. Satiated, I decided to try and find the Blue Plaque of R.D.Laing.  I had looked at a map and seen that it was in an area on the South side of the City called Govanhill and I saw Govan and thought it must be in that direction but having walked for miles I decided to ask directions and thus started the most helpful series of events. I was told twice by two different people that it was behind Pollockshaws and that perhaps I should get a No 90 Bus and I'm glad that I did because who was driving that bus at approximately 12.15pm on Tuesday 25th July 2017 but Mr Mohammad Sharif of First Bus Glasgow. I asked him for a Day Pass and directions to Ardberg Street. On alighting, he told me to catch another bus and get off after one stop and cross the road and work my way down and I would see it and like a mirage in a desert I found it. I had walked for miles and was feeling extra grateful. Govanhill by all accounts was an area with a high percentage of refugee families but one thing that struck me was that there was a fairly easy going vibe and that if I was a Refugee or Asylum Seeker in the UK, then I would rather be based in Glasgow than anywhere else. There didn't seem to be the edge or tension of other cities despite the after effects of austerity. I looked up at R.D Laing's Blue Plaque and thanked him for his life and legacy of challenging Psychiatric Orthodoxy and headed back for the centre of the city. Despite having bought a Day Pass I walked and walked. I don't know what it is, there is a level of addiction to walking that I tend to only stop and look for alternatives only when I am well and truly knackered. Glasgow was impressing me with its earthiness, its lack of pretence and its general ambience of good nature. It was my first visit but I'm sure it won't be my last.

The Wall Art was fantastic and here is just a small sample. I am not an artist or a musician. I am a bad poet and I should really have gone to Dundee to track down the birthplace of William Topaz McGonagall but I am a big fan of Street Art and I appreciate a good busker and Glasgow was well endowed with those as well.

Because I am no longer an imbiber of hard liquor I decided to take inspiration from the Shark in the Wall Art below. Only water for me on this trip. 

After being very impressed by the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum on the Wednesday morning and less so by the Tenement House in the afternoon my curiosity about the City's 'Fitba' had to be satisfied on the Thursday. In the morning, it was pissing down and I hailed a bus on the West Side of the City and of all the buses and all the bus drivers in the whole of Glasgow who should pull up but Mr Mohammad Sharif. I was so glad to see him, I bought another Day Pass and when we got to the last stop in the centre I offered him a couple of quid to buy a coffee as a token of my appreciation but he refused  and just said that he was happy to do a good deed and that it was nice to be appreciated. I cheekily asked him for directions to Hampden Park and the Scottish Football Museum and he pointed me towards the No 6 to East Kilbride.
                         

 Near to the Bus Stop was a surreal picture. I had to take a photograph.

Somebody, perhaps on a night out,had left a decent pair of shoes in the middle of the pavement. I thought the symbolism was stunning. Had the owner been abducted by aliens? Had he decided to leave an old life behind? On my Instagram Page I framed it as the inspiration for a Creative Writing Competition and I would be delighted if you would consider taking part.

Having played Rugby for most of my teens, twenties and early thirties I now hate the Welsh National Sport and have thrown my allegiance behind the Football. Rugby was the script but football was the passion. Were you in Anfield in 1977 when Joe Jordan handled the ball and denied Wales the right to go to Argentina and the World Cup Finals?

Well here is the football from that game and it's on display at the Scottish Football Museum in Hampden Park, Glasgow.

I don't know how aggrieved Welsh fans still are about that night because they've been to France now with Chris Coleman's side in the European Championships last year but even in 1977, 1958 seemed a long way back in time, the last occasion that they had qualified for the finals of a major competition.
I mention this fact because it struck me that Scotland and Glasgow in particular had a sense of civic pride. They treated their footballers like heroes almost elevating them to a God like status. In  Cardiff and Wales we do not have that sense of civic pride. Where is the National Football Museum? 
If Big Joe Jordan had not handled the ball that night, then the world the following year would not have experienced one of the wonder goals of all time in the World Cup Finals in Argentina in 1978.

                           
I realise that I am ageing myself terribly in this blog but hey time and tide waits for no man. The Scottish Football Museum was a great trip down memory lane. If you go, make sure you combine it with a Guided Tour of Hampden Park because the Volunteer Guides are wonderful. I didn't and regret it.  I headed back into the Centre again with my Day Pass and decided to visit the Peoples' Palace. Once again a great example of civic pride. It showed the history of Glasgow. 

Of all the exhibits this one particularly caught my interest.

 Sing up there at the back!