Friday, 10 August 2012

Ahoy!



Halcyon days indeed, as this gleaming super yacht berths at the new transport museum of Pertyk.
As if to perfect this day of rich, golden sun, the sleek boat has sailed into full view of Govan, and it's our pleasure to transmit an admiring gaze across the Clyde.
Best place to take in its smooth, pristine whiteness is from the end of Stag Street. We slip through the railings and onto the riverbank, crunching over broken glass, rusting bedsprings and tin cans, and tall, thriving, green weeds.
A man in his fifties sits on the wall, can in hand. Well. he could be in his forties, could be.
Hello says he and hello we reply.
He's taking the sun. His face is red and there are beads of sweat on his balding pate. His maroon jersey and dark cargo troosers add to the heat, so it's just as well he's got a full cairry-oot in the unsubstantial blue plastic bag kicking around at his feet.
A silvery gleam in the dust attracts my eye.
"There's fifty p," and I pick it up.
"Good luck tae ye," he says, well meaningly.
 "Ye's lookin at the boat? They're sayin Rod Stewart's in Glesga for the weekend."
"Aw, right? There ye go. Would have to be somebody like Rod Stewart, eh? Sailing, eh?"
"Aye," says he, and takes another good swally.

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