Friday, 29 May 2009
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Has anyone ever asked you, ‘how do you know if you are in love?’ The question was asked of me by a friend when I was much younger, and I am quite sure that it has been in the mind of many people over the years, perhaps, in most cases, thought - but left unsaid. I don’t remember giving more than a mumble when it was asked of me; could it be described as one of life’s ‘imponderables’, like trying to describe the taste of salt to someone.
A strange way, I suppose, to introduce ‘My Latest Blog’. But having been asked to write a bit about playing football in my young days in Govan got me thinking about my obsession with ‘the beautiful game’.
On with the game then. Apart from the selecting of teams there were times when, if there were only a few boys around, a game would start with 3-a-side, and then as others appeared they would be allowed to join in -’cock or a hen’ - one for each side, the two newcomers would have decided who was ‘cock’ and who was ‘hen’. This procedure could also be fraught, since the ‘hen’ might be a much better player than the ‘cock’ - but, of course, it was just the luck of the draw. Nevertheless, it justified a few moans - either way.
What do you know? I’ve just remembered some of the reasons why I love football so much.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
I walk out of the Royal Bank in the morning and into the eye of a storm. A big black 4x4 is stopped in the middle of the road and the driver has the window down, leaning across the passenger's seat, screaming at a fella who's getting money out of the cashline. And I mean screaming. His face is twisted and he's bawling obscenities, the likes of which I won't repeat, and the man at the cash machine is roaring back, cursing and swearing, threatening abuse.
One is accusing the other of starting it. The other says he will rip his head off. The first says he will cut the other's throat. They are both middle aged men. Neither of them looks like they'd be fit to fight. The one at the bank's got glasses on and looks mild mannered but his replies are vicious.
Take it this is a 'road rage' dispute and the big black jeep driver has chased the other offender who has since left his car to go to the bank.
What a state they get themselves into. Can't be good for you. I don't feel it's doing me any good either.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Funny that, how I was just thinking about the fountain at Govan Cross about 2 or 3 weeks ago, googled it, and found out all about the good Dr. Aitken.
Then yesterday, I saw two men inspecting the fountain and measuring it and discussing it and I thought, oh no, please don’t be dismantling this now.
And then, today, I sees a crowd mingling around the fountain and banjo and fiddle music playing out of a white marquee against the wall which divides the waste grun from the slabs wherein the fountain and the public lavvies are set. There’s a giant mobile screen with rolling captions which says this is done in partnership with so and so and such and such and this one and that one.
A dog walking buddy is wryly watching on the periphery.
“Another waste a money likely “ says he, curtly.
“Is this for the fountain?” says I.
“Ah think it’s for the church,” he says. “That bit a grun belangs tae them. That’s how they pit that tarmac doon, so’s the market couldnae get oan it.”
Two guys are footering nearby with a tv camera and a big furry mic.
“There’s the telly,” I say, “Go’n on it.”
He snorts. “Aye right, Ah’ll get taken away in a van”.
On the bench behind the marquee sit a few gents, enjoying a swally. They wander round to the main event and I ask one if he knows what this is for. They all join in with, “Don’t know”, “We jist put up the marquee”, but one, knowledgeably says it’s cos there used to be a baby in the fountain and then the council lost it or something.
A lady comes up to me with a basket of shortbread cherubs and I take one out, which is unfortunately broken, but I just keep it anyway.
“What’s your wish for Govan?” she asks and writes down my answer on the back of a card.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Here are a couple of fairy cakes on sale in Watson's Bakery, Shaw Street, Govan in 2009. They are light in texture with a covering of white icing and chocolate sprinkles. The one on the left is a variation: the top has been sliced off and cream smothered inbetween.
These are the top cakes. A pineapple souffle and a raspberry souffle (pronounced soofle). I have recently seen these called 'tarts', but we always, rightly or wrongly, referred to them as soofles.
Today in Watsons, for a change, the one on the right has an added ornamental swirl.
Here they are from a sideways angle so we can see the very delicious shell. It's the combination of the crispness of the shell and the soft fondant and the sweeeeeeeeeeeet cream inside that makes this cake so perfect.