On the Govan Road, there's a long line of film unit vans and security men at the top of Stag Street. Queues of luxury cars and mini coaches bring cast and crew into Govan for a day of indoor filming.
At the far end of the street a few ladies from the hairdressers, towels round their wet hair, have walked down to catch-a-glimpse of the stars.
Across the roof of the Big Shed, a man in khaki is tiptoeing gingerly. He dreepies down to the ground, asking if we've seen any big cars driving by.
"I'm Press," he says, brandishing his camera. We cast him a disparaging look. A wee digital snapper hangs round his neck, nothing like the two super long lens cameras the man fae The Sun was carrying earlier.
He continues, "Aye, I've seen right inside the Shed, it's made to look like the Far East. No seen Brad yet," and on further questioning he admits he's the correspondent from Castlemilk's local rag.
Cast stroll through Govan - yes, it's Brad at the back.
This lad will sort out the zombies
And if he cannae, this wumman wi the dugs will
Brad says Hi as he returns from a trip up to Coffee Joe's.
A while later The Sun's photographer appears again, loooong lens slung over his shoulders.
"Watch out for a dark blue beemer. He'll be in it," he tells us.
Aw, right . . . we say in our most blasé tone.