Glasgow, steal my sunshine.

Another day in Glasgow where the sun has decided to shine. A rare occurrence for sure, some claim it to be apocalyptic, but whatever your take on it is you’ll be sure to find some sights throughout your day. Yesterday was day three of me taking in some of the sporadic spurts of sunshine we’ve had this week and it was glorious. Not only because nothing quite lifts your mood like a dose of D (the vitamin I mean) but simply because I don’t have to pay £8 for 12 minutes of it. However, this weather is not without its flaws. As the sun beats itself upon the pasty back of the Glasgow population, the masses flee from their hiding places and take up residence in the nearest beer garden, park, woodland area or pavement (we aren’t fussy.)

Armed with the intent of soaking up as much of summer as possible in the few days of sunshine we have been awarded by the Gods, I went to George Square and parked myself on a nice bit of green, basked and took in the sights. But relaxing is never that easy. On the first day a small street urchin tried to steal my phone. I’d placed down on the grass next to me and before I knew what was happening this little mongrel has whizzed over, snatched it up in is grubby little hands and screamed “iPhone 6s, iPhone 6s” but before he had a chance to make his escape his dad appeared, took the phone off him and handed it back to me. Ten minutes later some other poor sod planked him on the grass and the same would-be thief was back in the game and made a beeline for this guy’s phone. The kid was four. Glasgow train them young.

My second venture to George Square wasn’t as fraught with juvenile criminal activity, so I simply took in the sights – and trust me on a sunny day in Glasgow there is many a sight to behold. A circle-jerk of masculinity booted a football back and forth to each other, every sweaty kick increasing their testosterone levels *eye roll.* Small children bolted around screaming about ice cream or having shat themselves. Luckily I didn’t see that sticky fingered runt this time, so my possessions felt safe… well, safer. Wee pugs skipped across the square, elevating my temptation to become a dog-napper (where’s that wee thief when you need him?) and of course those weirdos who insist on wearing full goth-attire regardless of the weather trudged by, all sweating like a punctured dinghy.

Oh what monstrosities you’re subjected to if you decide to join the masses and go outside. The most expected, yet you’re never truly ready for are you, on the Glasgow streets on days like this is a hoard of pale, pasty topless men cutting around, more flab than ab, accessorised with a beer can and a beetroot face. Singing slurred praises to the Weather Gods, their beer bellies preening and jigging like an obese desperate animal trying to get attention, carrying a 27 pack in their bloated poo bellies. Then there’s the other type you’re subjected too: The pallid, malnourished Casper looking fuckers complete with bucket had and four teeth, chewing their face off whilst their colourless bodies slowly simmer to a lobster red in the prickling heat. Jesus, what I’d give for a tall glass of ripped water to swoon by, abs glistening in the sun. Fuck I’d take anything remotely attractive, just stop burning my retinas with your man-boob and lack of self-respect.  C’mon, everyone loves a window shop at someone you’d give a handwritten innovation to your bedroom.

Enjoy the sun. I won’t be any more as I’m away to row with the other slaves. Till tomorrow.


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