The Glasgow “adventure” is approaching its end and there they were trying to give us an “advance” of three weeks salary, which wasn’t even three weeks salary, after five weeks work, and it wouldn’t even cover my costs here. The reservoir of local talent, MAs, RSA Diplomas, in “fucked-up” ‘Blighty’, makes it possible; running around like chickens with their heads chopped off, while trying to keep all of their eggs in the one basket, and even if they get out of that basket, they are only jumping into the small pool, Paisley, Anniesland, Strathclyde, Caledonian and one or two others sprinkled in the West of Scotland. No, keep the mouths shut, need a reference, need a job and, anyway, they will pay, don’t know where, don’t know when but I know they will pay again some sunny day. Don’t blame them, really I don’t, but I suggest they pick up a copy of the ‘Ragged Trouser Philanthropist’ and not for me ‘old bean’, not for me!
The city itself; a much ado about nothing, culture got left behind somewhere along the line, reference is mostly of the local sort, even if it is sometimes dressed up to look cosmopolitan; oh there is the decent “French Farmhouse Breakfast” at the top of Byres Rd, a run of the mill affair of the sort that I enjoy at the river at the bottom of my garden back in Fürstenfeldbruck, prohibitively expensive in Glasgow though but then that is par for the course and what was it we used to say about the people in Morningside, Edinburgh, when I was a kid; “all fur coats and no knickers”. Yes, Glasgow, cheek, chic, chickens and cherrio!
The picture shows Glasgow University, where cheek meets chic and they run around like chickens with their heads chopped off.
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