Billy Connolly does a brilliant sketch about Glasgwegians coming home. I’m paraphrasing here, but he talks about arriving in Central Station, feeling Glasgow seep up through your legs and knowing unequivocally you are ‘home’.
I left the west for university in 1994 and I still get that feeling anytime I head ‘home’.
In recent years, before lockdown grounded us, visits mostly involved wheeching past the city centre to visit nearby relatives or friends.
Girls. On. Tour.
Always a joy but I’ve missed a wee jaunt to the big city. Why do we still call it home even though I’ve lived on the east coast longer?
Biggest kid and I decided to head through for some quality time with a hotel voucher she had.
Time to show her all the old haunts and make her realise her mother wasn’t always a frumpy, overtired, burst couch.
To top it all off, it was my weekend ‘off’ chemo so I would be brimming with energy.
We’d scoot through on the train, relaxing and deciding what to do with our mother/daughter time.
Train strike? Okay, scrap that. Car it is.
No problem, plans can be made on the drive through instead. Via McDonalds at Perth? Okay. We arrive, dump the car and head out. Finally! Girls. On. Tour.
We were excited to spend some time away from work and decided to get some stuff needed for her moving to university.
A list was written. We felt organised, prepared, and raring to go.
A mum has two important jobs…
A mum has two very important jobs to do. One is to look after the children, the other is to do everything else as well.
University prep wouldn’t be any different and it was time to show her adulthood can be fun.
There are so many surprises associated with being a grown up. Like when will I sleep next? Will my card be declined this time? Is this all worth it?
A heat wave? Who knew?
When the hell was the last time Glasgow had a heat wave?
It’s a common theme for us to leave the east dressed in shorts and sandals only to arrive in the west to torrential rain or gale force winds. Not this time.
Let’s smack MJ in the face with some city centre steam heat to knock her off her game.
A walk through the park, some cocktails in Ashton Lane before meeting the cousins in Mother India in Finneston.
I felt like I was in my twenties again, until I tried to pay the Uber driver with cash and my cousin’s glam lass just laughed.
Girls go shopping
Saturday brought gently hungover shopping.
My favourite colours are black, dark black, pitch black, pastel black, light black and faded black but we were shopping for the bairn and even though the rainbow of blazers available in Zara caused a blinding headache we were not to be put off.
Money was spent and lists were ignored, so time to regroup for lunch at our favourite restaurant.
We decided to push our bodies to the limit – exactly how many cocktails and how much tapas can we consume before we’re unable to physically move?
Lots. The answer is lots, meaning the fitted jeans she bought first thing no longer fitted for our evening out, thankfully I’m still a fan of an elasticated waistband.
Karaoke time. When I initially booked the slot, I worried it was too long and she’d be bored. Shows how little I know.
I swear I was given a daughter so I could see how dramatic I truly am, and she belted out tune after tune fighting the rest of us off the microphones.
Experts tell you to raise a daughter people are a little scared of. Teach her to be strong, fierce, and not care what people think.
Do I get extra brownie points?
Aye, okay, but I’m just wondering – do I get extra brownie points if I’m a little scared of her and she doesn’t care what I think??
If you ever need to test this, take your bairn to a karaoke room. By the end of the two hours, we were all desperate to stay and offering poor ‘Sean’, our favourite karaoke employee, cash to let us keep going.
Who doesn’t love tunes, soundproofing and a button to press for someone to bring you drinks?
Dear next weekend, all we shall be doing is acting our age. Promise.
https://www.thecourier.co.uk/fp/columnists/2496058/mary-jane-duncan-kitchen/
