Just got back from Glasgow. It wasn’t my choice you know; my parents took the lot of us. My brother’s girlfriend is up here at the moment aswell, which meant that there was five of us squashed into the car. On a journey as long as the one between Kirkcaldy and Glasgow, this was nothing but a recipe for sore testicles.
I was under the impression that we were going to New Lanark, which would have been something different, new and interesting. But instead we were taken to Glasgow, which we have visited a hundred times before, and which we’ll visit a hundred times again. That’s seven hours of my life that I’ll never have back.
We went to visit Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. Being the total philistine that I am, it bored the knickers off me. I don’t actually mind art galleries, but this one was full of hyper kids. I tried to go to the toilet, and kids seemed to be breeding in the urinals.
Whenever I’ve been to Kelvingrove Art Gallery it has been pretty quiet, much like any museum. But for some reason everybody decided to each take ten “Little
Terrors ” with them today. My mother says it’s because it’s been closed for four years. Pah.
When I was able to concentrate, there was only one painting that really caught my interest. Most of them seemed to be really old, boring portaits of posh people and people with boobs. Does the world really need to see any more of those? For me, there’s not much point in visiting an art gallery unless the art splits your eyes in two with its awesomeness. Banal portaits simply bore me rigid.
Later on we were taken along Byres Road. I have to admit that I’m actually quite jealous of Byres Road. That is one cool street! I feel a little bit cheeky walking along it because everybody else there is either in a smart suit or an unbelievably attractive studenty type with ridiculously cool clothes. The sort of person that makes me want to kill myself because I know I’ll never bag one.
Byres Road also has the best fish and chip shop in the land, the Uni Takeaway! The fish from this place makes every other fish you’ve ever tasted seem like mud.
And there is one other good thing about visiting Glasgow: the opportunity to tell lots of rude funnies about it!
When you pull up in Glasgow and park outside a nursery that looks like this, the opportunity is hard to resist. Unfortunately it’s difficult to see in this picture, but every window on the place is covered by a grill obviously designed to stop the local smackheads throwing bricks through the windows.
You can tell you’re in Glasgow when the local nursery looks like a prison.
My mother, unable to see anything wrong with the city of her birth, didn’t even notice the grills. She thought I was talking about those colourful railings! Even when I pointed out that I was on about about the windows she said, “They’re called vertical blinds.”
Earlier on, when I protested about being taken to Glasgow when I thought we were going to New Lanark, I said, “I only came along for the craic.” My brother piped up, “You’ll find plenty of that round here.”
All complaints should be addressed to onebrow.blogspot.com.
Update: I just remembered this conversation with my mother yesterday while we watched the news:
Reporting Scotland: Swords and machetes are to be banned from sale in Scotland blah blah…
Me: I thought that swords were already banned.
Mum: You can buy them in The Barras.
Me: Yeah, well I’m not surprised — it is Glasgow…