Thursday, 5 January 2012


It's cosy in a tenement. A wild wailing gale has whooshed past the windows and battered the roofs, but wrapped in warm red sandstone, you are protected and secure. Govanised.
And in the morning, the gales have blown themselves out and we awake to blue skies and calm. Out in the streets there are plastic bags wedged into railings and branches of trees.

We haven't quite reached the twelfth day of Christmas, but Govan's Christmas Tree has been taken down, by the wind itself! Tipped up and over and, ha ha, has smashed flat the ugly metal grille surrounding it.
For the second year running, the powers that be have seen fit to erect this railing around our festive tree. What for? No need. So, there you go, take that.
And nobody's knocked the lights off it either.

1 comment:

Sandra PA said...

I remember a night, more than fifty years ago, cooried up in my zed bed with a fire burning in the grate....listening to the winds howling outside and rattling the window panes. I didn't feel afraid, just glad to be warm and snug in bed.