A Word Of Caution

Golden September, and the view from outside farmfoods at Govan Cross is quite continental. The mast of the tall ship anchored on the river and the dreaming spires of our charming Victorian parish church evoke the ambience of a bustling Mediterranean sea port.

Colourful blooms and verdant greenery cascade from the council planters on the Squerr. The Govan Baby is comfortably shaded by the canopy of the Aitken Memorial Fountain. An azure blue sky overarches the grandeur of Water Row's fine tenements and Govan's residents recline, as best they can, on the utilitarian and uncomfortable, hard metal benches.

And uncomfortable may just be the word to describe a fed-up fellow and HM Constabulary.

'Sick to death o' them' seems to sum up many Govanites' point of view; going by the look on the chap's face and the complaints around me.