I’ll tell you what I miss…
The gallus gab of Glasgow. Sitting in the square, eating a square, watching a square go. Circling round Argyll, eyes up seeing Rennie Mac and Buchanan street style show.
Warrington Bank Quay, shitty cereal bars, the long trek choo-choo in the morn. The out of order hole in the wall. That angry man from the Patten Arms and his ever-growling scorn.
The evenings after work, the wandering – looking in and out and choosing to get lost. Craft to caf, the M&S nibbles – the never in expenses, and always over cost.
The endless flow, the coffee countless constant cup. The counter team, the happy tip, they’ll never have you stuck.
The ferry, the milky tea, the oversized plate of chips, that vinegary brown sauce. The scone I didn’t need, the cuppa chino with its overly chocolatey froth.
The bands, the gigs, the musty venue smell. The rammy bar and the overpriced pint. The vibration, the sensation, the one song you’ve waited all your life for to make you night.
The whirl, the mystery tour. The stop when, where and talk to who you want. The gateway to everywhere, anytime, whoever, whenever, now, tent up plonk!
My Dad’s beautiful nonsense, my Mums soup, the extra dod of bread. The charity shop travels. The life lessons every time, the offer of a bed.
The hooks ups, the friends, the untapped, unplanned and always undiscovered. The hop, the grain by car or train, the pace, the places we’ll now go onward.