A Weekend In Scotland - Part 2
It is morning's last minutes in the Antedisestablishmentarianism household.
I am reading 'Moab Is My Washpot' whilst Ant clicks away methodically at his keyboard - the only sound present in this scene of domestic bliss. Occasionally, he will mutter something under his breath, rousing me from my page, only to fall back into intense concentration. After a while, when his work is done, the comfortable silence is broken as we peruse his photos.
Considering the excesses of last night, we both feel surprisingly chipper.
The grey streets fall away steadily behind the awkward padding of our feet as we aim for the docks. I have a pronounced limp from a running injury not aided by my interpretive dancing under the previous moon. Chatter of travel and such like distracts nicely though. We stop at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum to look at a Spitfire hanging from the ceiling and ancient chinese armour.
Before long we are staring at the Glasgow Science Centre - a big glass beetle hunkered down by the river near The Clyde Arc - an impressive, ornate modern bridge. In through the doors we go, and the afternoon is spent playing with turning handles, watching weird and wonderful puppet displays, and eating lunch in the canteen, where we discuss the finer points of people watching and the nature of family.
I drink some of Ant's Irn Bru, which I had not tasted in years - an unequivocable hangover cure, according to some.
We head to the toilets, opening the door to a scene of a young fellow fully exposed, squeezing out a large one on the bog. He grunts unashamedly, and me and Ant just look at each other, wondering whether or not we should tell him to close the door to his cubicle. We elect for 'not', as he may tell his mummy that some strange men were looking at his winkle, and then we might be subject to one of those kisses that Glasgow is famous for.
Shaken, but in no way stirred, we head for the iMax to watch Beowulf; a CGI Tits N' Gore Fest in glorious 3D - apparently suitable for someone under the age 12 to oggle, so long as a parent is there to:
a) squirm in embarrassment as CGI Ray Winstone gets naked (at any available opportunity)
b) wince in discomfort as the hyper-sensitive-to-hearing Grendel gets punched in the ear drums and sea monsters get stabbed through the eyes.
c) squirm in embarrassment as Angelina Jolie's magnificent pixelated bust gets the close up treatment (repeatedly)
d) wince in discomfort as their child asks questions about why all of the above happened upon exit from the cinema.
Our stomach's were roaring like the aformentioned Grendel, so we made for a great chinese restaurant, then the pub. Two of Ant's friends joined us, and we talked of Glasgow in comparison to my next desination - Edinburgh. The conclusion was reached that Glasgow's niceties were scattered all over the landscape and rewarded persistent rooting out, whereas Edinburgh's were packed into a small, unchallenging radius.
We wave goodbye to Ant's lovely friends and hop in a taxi - exhausted but satisfied after a hard days touristing.
posted by Ultra Toast Mosha God @ 4:11 PM
14 Comments:
That incident in the bog doesn't surprise me. The Scotch lack the shame of other humans. I once saw two Scottish children examining their parents' contraceptives.
Yes, that's right - the bog incident was nothing unusual in Scotland. I'm surprised Toast mentioned it in fact... :-)
However, there was one missing quote from this day that had me giggling for ages: as I was gesticulating wildly about some *very important point*, I nearly hit a child in the head, to which Toast tells me "Now Ant, no hitting children - you remember what the man in the funny wig said about that..."
>The Scotch lack the shame of other humans.
A gorilla might get away with it. But humans might not want to call Scots after a type of whisky. The ones I know don't appreciate it. ;-)
GB: You might want to see Mandy's comment. Children examining parents contraceptives?
"These are called condoms, Johnny. If your mummy and I had remembered to buy them, you wouldn't be here right now".
Ant: I had forgotten that. Thanks again for a stirling time.
Mandy: I remember being at a wedding in Tasmania and some tiresome old bore wouldn't shut up about his fantastic relationship with 'the Scotch'. Another (scottish) guest finally lost his rag and approached the man:
"Scotch is a drink, not a nationality, and you've had too much of it", he said.
The old drunk just stared at him.
Ahhh... wee tikes in the movie theatre.
Like when I went to see "Training Day", and the two boys of around 11-12 yrs giggled everytime Denzel Washington as evil-and-psychotic-cop said "Fuck".
Which was a hell of a lot.
i preferred glasgow myself, though i may be biased by my roots, it was far friendlier, if more difficult to discern english words from mouths full of cotton. good haggis.
Beowulf is high on my to see list. And on that subject, I highly recommend reading Grendel by John Gardner. Grendel is the narrator, so it's really not the same story at all, and he explains the drive to pillage the makings of mankind in some dark, uncomfortable but highly entertaining ways. I sped through it in about six hours, one sitting. He was a fantastic author, who could write modern fiction, as well as easily adopt the point of view and sensibilities of old English. Died in a motorcycle accident on his way to tame Joyce Carol Oates's shrew. So it goes.
You should come up to Perth.
Give us a shout if you do. You theiving bastard!
Okay, then. Is "Scotch Tape" politically correct?
Or howzabout "hopscotch?"
I'm not trying to be an asshole.* I really want to know how the Scots feel about this.
*Okay... I really am trying to be an asshole. :^)
Or butterscotch?
Good God. I fear I have been demeaning to an entire group of poeple in the candy aisle once again.
sounds like an amazing adventure..
i can't even imagine the beauty you see there.
Enjoy!! and Have a very Merry Christmas
Pooping in the middle of a bog? Well, I guess it's better than pooping in the middle of a stream or well.
Beowulf was one of those movies whose 3d animation looked truly unbearable.
Merry Christmas, lord Toast.
--the humbug
Irn Bru! Yes!
I was wondering about Beowulf, I really liked the non-action extravaganze rollercoaster thrill ride that came out a few years ago.
On behalf of my mom, boo to Edinborough!
Post a Comment
<< Home