Can’t imagine why but I have a thing about Glasgow and Glaswegians. I call them Weegies with a certain affection.
Just pay no attention, no more than fleeting, to this vintage snap from our office library.
I’d been ‘‘advised’’ by the editor to catch a fast bus to the so-called ‘‘no mean city’’ at a time when it was promoting the slogan ‘‘Glasgow Is Miles Better’.’ Better than Edinburgh, that is. I’d been instructed to put on an unhappy face. Look glum because the people I met, the places I checked out, were the pits. So this is me, surrounded by students, pictured on the steps of the Glasgow Art School, the same engulfed by fire last week.
Well, let me say, flippancy apart, I am miles happier in the knowledge that the fire and salvage people did such a grand job in preventing a total catastrophy. Mind you, I still don’t rate Glasgow a patch on the city every Weegie envies.
Salivating at the very thought and mindful that this could land me in a bit of a jam, but the gastro gossip is that the jam roly poly is making a come-back big style and not a word about this to your doctor.
Tesco are now selling ten million sponge puds a year. Yummy. Meantime, sticky toffee pudding, rightfully I feel, has been relegated but keep that custard on the gas.
Which brings me messily to a court case in Perth the other day where a yob was jailed for six months for assault with white pudding supper in a chippie. The lady didn’t want him jailed but the prosecutor insisted the assailant got his just desserts – to whit a shocking waste of a white pudding.