After a long dreich winter, we see the sun, shining down through banks of rolling clouds and patches of blue.
I stroll along the cobblestones of Water Row and nod benignly to a rough looking man who emerges from the hedgerow by the fairground encampment. He's carrying a rolled up cloth pack. He nods to me and crosses the grassy field towards the Govan Road. I wonder if he's been sleeping rough or in one of the caravans. We're all feeling quite uplifted by the pleasant change in the weather.
At the Post Office in the Govan Market the lady before me in the queue goes forward to be served.
"Oh, hullo Missis White," says the post office girl, "How's you the day?".
"Och, a bit cheesed off. What else can you expect when you're ninety." she says quite brightly.
I look at her. She's old but very sprightly for 90 years. Well done.
The post office girl replies, "Ah know. Ah'm only 27 and ah'm fed up an' a'."
I look at her. She is thin with dirty fair hair, a dull complexion and tired eyes.
The old lady lets out a cry, "Oh, come on hen, ye cannae be fed up at your age. Can you no' go to the dancin or somethin'?"
"No' withoot a babysitter."
The transaction is over and they say their cheerios. It's my turn to buy stamps.
Back out on the Govan Road, I notice buds emerging on the trees and muted hues beginning to transform the black and grey of this urban landscape.