It's misty and grey all the livelong day. It's the kind of weather that makes you think of the nights fair drawing in, so when I get on the subway at Buchanan Street and alight at Govan Cross, I am fully prepared to ascend from the bowels of the earth (like the Chilean miners today) into the darkness of a Scottish autumn night. But it's only half five and daylight still reigneth, with a soft brightness.
I reckon that plaza thing in front of the shopping centre is complete now. It's a bit of a let down if I'm honest - ok, better than the giant manky planters full of pigeons and papers, but nothing to ooh and aah over. Just a snaking stainless steel bench; dead uncomfortable, cold, no back on it to rest against. The paving slabs are nice stone though.
Two wee boys are having fun jumping over the bench. They are small, maybe 7 or 8 but they can take a running jump and easily clear the bench, and they race back and forward, bouncing over it before disappearing into Farmfoods, which is where I'm heading myself.
One of them has scaled a refrigerator unit and is gripping on to a ledge at the front door.
His harassed ma shouts, "Git doon you," and then, "Thiv no got yer Jamaican stuff."
An old man with a droopy Western outlaw moustache calls out, "Naw, ther's nane a the gingerbreid in. That's whit Ah'm efter an'a'."
I get a coupla loaves, Hovis, two for a pound and go to the checkout. The wee boys are loading bananas, bread and a big boattla irnbru onto the conveyor belt. The checkout guy takes the ma's money and hands out seven pounds something in change. The wee boy's hand darts forward and snatches the fiver and the coins.
"Riiiiggghhht," growls his ma and he reluctantly holds his hand out for her to lift the cash.
The checkout guy and me have a wee laugh and the ma shakes her head and tightens her mouth. We're only half way through the October holiday week.
The wee boys are off like streaks of lightning, running pell mell along the silver seating.