A splash of sunshine and warmer temperatures tempts us out of doors for a bit of recreation at Elder Park. It's not quite warm enough for a saunter, so we press forward on the sunny south side of Govan Road. At Fairfields, the honourable shipwright has been suffocated with a blue plastic bag, a strangely sinister version of the Duke of Wellington's traffic cone hat, up the town.
There are a few little blondie children playing on the chute. Their mothers sit close by, chatting in Polish and snapping at the kids when a disagreement breaks out. The Govan weans sit astride the roundabout, spinning it round, rocking it up and down as it goes. Two guys are pushing a curly, specky wean in a swing. "Don't go that high," says one in a nasal whine, "That's a' ah wid need. Him 'i fa'. Ah canny huv that oan ma conscience man."
At the community garden, by the Farmhouse, we hear voices, an English man's and some squealy children. We peer through the fence and see them building a treehouse.
There are two boats out on the pond today, gently blowing from one side t'other. The sun is warm, so maybe this is a good day to verify our Govan Baby's status by dooking him in the Elder Park pond. Splash!
The park gates require a bit of attention. I believe Fairfields is being attended to.