There must have been a meeting, right? I’m just guessing here, but I bet there was. I bet it was in a really shiny office, with a big shiny table and lots and lots of biscuits, and not those cheap pink-and-white wafer things,
either, but proper biscuits, probably hand-made by a lady called Morwenna who downshifted from retail consultancy in Islington to live in a self-sustaining croft on Skye to craft artisan baked goods out of recycled shoe boxes.
I bet there was PowerPoint. Oh, there’s always PowerPoint. And one of those laser red-dot doo-dahs, which is a handy thing to have at meetings. You can play at being a villain in a Bond movie, a sniper and you can drive cats mad with it. Useful if a tiger gatecrashes your boardroom.
So I bet you any money you like there was a presentation and someone from London, probably called Jacinta, with her male counterpart JC, and the conversation would have run along the lines of
“Glasgow? 2104? Commonwealth? Games? Opening? Yah?” There would have been a lot of question marks in the conversation. Recent pollution in the air above London has lead to widespread damage in Southern vocal cords so they all go up at end of the sentence? Like in Australia? Only not so happy?
I bet Jacinta and JC had ideas about the opening ceremony. They probably had some notions, but my fellow Glaswegians would not be swayed.
“So they threw the Queen out of a helicopter, yah? Showstopper, yah? We’ll have the First Minister on a bungee rope, yah?”
As one, the men and women of the Clyde said “Naw. We’re gonnae blaw a buildin’ up.”
Now that must have silenced Jacinta and her skinny jean- clad lad.
I’m thinking we should pair the demolition of Red Road with a new flaming Commonwealth cauldron. A petrol-soaked Cherokee Jeep might just do the trick.
So, Glasgow, on a big wind-up?
There used to be a programme on the box called 2012. It was the greatest ‘black propaganda’ programme I ever watched, since it convinced viewers that mayhem, lunacy and designer chaos were destined for the opening of the Olympic Games down where Jacinta and JC live.
After all, people who openly order ‘skinny soya low-caf buffalo-mix non-foam organic coffee’ are just the sort of people you want organising opening ceremonies and children’s parties. To everyone’s surprise, the opening bash went off quite well, with dancing nurses in a paean of praise to the NHS, which rather gratifyingly, caused David Cameron’s blood pressure to visibly rocket.
For a wild moment, I thought that was part of the shenanigans, and we’d have the spectacle of an opening ceremony and a state funeral rolled into one.
Not even in the wildest dreams of the media experts or the satire merchants did they think Glasgow would out-do the consultants blue- sky thinking by blowing a chunk of real estate into fine white powder.
Or is this just the Glaswegians hoaxing us into believing that the opening ceremony will be exploding buildings, tap dancing razor gangs and entire male voice choirs in sashes and bowler hats?
When, in fact, it will just be the Queen, firmly on the ground saying ‘I declare these games open’, and Wee Eck on a bungee.
Buy hankies. They’re better than bus tickets.. or phones
NOW, I have obviously missed the memo here, but clearly it’s considered passé to use hankies.
No bus journey now seems complete without a veritable chorus of honking snorts, sniffs and mucous rattling. It’s like travelling the middle of a seabird colony when mating time is nigh. My fellow passengers are nothing if not imaginative when they feel the need to use a stand-in handkerchief.
The traditional sleeve is still in there as a replacement hanky, and of course, some folks still have the odd glove or two in their pockets.
Bus tickets, however, are not the best substitute – they are too small, my friends, and have the wrong paper.
They also involve ink, which leaves marks on your face and is a dead giveway.
And finally, why, even bus tickets are going digital these days, with people buying their day savers on their mobiles phones, which are very smart, but do not think for one second you could use it to wipe your nose.
Just buy hankies, people!
Holyrood lost a little of its soul
I’ve just been up to a meeting at the Parliament.
Now here’s the thing, I didn’t know Margo. We met a couple of times, as you’d expect a pair of busy women in this city to do.
I’m not translating that into a life-long friendship, but we knew each other well enough to nod and smile across rooms.
So I was taken aback that, as soon as I walked in, I felt her loss. I knew she was gone.And a little of Parliament’s soul has gone with her.