Glasgow, first glimpse

Historically, you knew you were in Scotland once you hit Gretna Green. Gretna's place in history is cemented by, I suppose, shortsighted loving blessings of many a happily married couple. Apparently couples restrained from marriage due to the complication of a parental affirmative before the age of 21, fled to Scotland where the age of consent was only 16, and the first village they hit was Gretna Green. It seems the most lucrative trade there was the marriage trade.

Anyway, skipping such suicidal venues, I landed up in Glasgow. En route a fair was sighted in full flow. Perhaps the Glaswegians haven't heard about the mountains further North that offer better, more thrilling opportunities. I was staying at the house of a "friend's" aunt in Lochwinnoch a dozen or so miles Greenock way. Lochwinnoch's claim to fame lies in it being the birthplace of the original Titanic's ill-fated furniture.

It was a nice house, but with a narrow driveway that managed to scratch my rental car's door. Of course it was the driveway's fault! A widow, she is a very good pianist, works with children, and is starting to learn minerology. At the age of 60. Love that spirit. I slept in the loft; an experience you must try if you haven't. Here is me stuffing my face at Aunt Helen's:


Next day, on her recommendation, I went and saw the Burrell collection. Burrell was an 18th century ship magnet, who made a pile of cash, bought a lot of arty stuff, put it all together and donated it to the ooh-ing and ah-ing hordes of Glasgow. Ok, ok, it is a very nice collection, am just being nasty. It is set in the extravagant Pollockshaw estate where Burrell had his home, and it is free to get in. Pollockshaw house, Burrell's abode, the Pollocjshaw house, is also rather a sight. Did my bit for the upkeep of the estate by buying a ton of Van Gogh and Monet reprints for me mater.

Anyway, after a bellyfull of manmade beauty I was a-hankerin' for some natural stuff. So, I throttled my car, a sorry joke considering that it was a KIA, and headed out to Edinburgh through the narrowest roads I could see. The theory being that the narrow roads would go through better country.

I know not much about Glasgow on the way up, but more later on when I am on my way back.

It is good to be back, sort of...

Well, I am back from a month long trip. It is good to be back, for living out of a suitcase has its drawbacks. For one thing, it soon becomes difficult to separate clean underwear from, well, the not so clean ones purely by visual inspection. Ahem. On the flip side being back at Cam means that one has to work. Hell.

But there were several good things that I bring back from this trip. Nearly a thousand photographs (woes of owning a digital camera), the knowledge of having conquered a few more Munros (go ahead ask me), the memory of sailing on the Baltic in sailboats (while having as much swimming capability as a hunk of lead), the taste of truffles (now that is an expensive mushroom), and, finally, the firm decision to push forward ever more seriously with the violin (Odd?).

Hopefully, I will be able to write little stories about all this before I die, or leave for Switzerland. Meanwhile enjoy me desecrating the beauty of Bla Bheinn (how would you pronounce that?) - the name of the looming mass behind me.