Glasgow. Not for the faint of lung.

I think I might go to bed rather early today.

After work on Friday, I hurried to London Bridge Station and from thence to King's Cross, braving the dreaded Northern Line to get there in time to get my ticket from the fast track machine and catch the train that would take me to Glasgow (via York and Edinburgh).
In this train, I found out that Yorkshirewomen actually do talk like Monty Python do in the Four Yorkshiremen sketch. Those Yorkshirewomen were also slightly tipsy, having shared a bottle of Shiraz between the three of them, and their humour was so infectuous that soon half the carriage was talking and laughing with them.
Arriving safely in Glasgow at rather close to midnight, I was greeted and picked up by friend A., and we made our way to his flat (nice and spacious!), down one hill and up the next, and even more up... London is a flat place. Glasgow isn't. But if I had a brewery on one side of my flat, a Necropolis on the other, a Lidl on the third, and an absolutely breathtaking view on the fourth, I wouldn't mind the hill. In fact, after getting my breath back, I didn't.

On the frosty Saturday, after a good night's sleep and some Biathlon-watching (I still think having a live-skype-conference would be a good idea), we went to the Necropolis. By that time, and the season being what it is, it was almost sunset. Again, the only word I know to describe it is breathtaking. The many-hued evening sky, the golden light, the celtic crosses, semi-Egyptian obelisks, the semi-Roman and -Oriental monuments, the crisp, chilly air and the crunch of frost underfoot, a half-moon in the sky and the bustling city below, all this conspired to create a magical atmosphere. I took some pictures and will probably upload a few tomorrow, but I hope so will A, because not only does he have better equipment, but also a better eye.

With the evening came contrast: We went down to the Barrowlands to see Runrig in concert, which was the lure used to get me to Glasgow in the first place (as if I needed one). It would have been worth going for the opening act alone, which was a four-piece group (piano/vocals, bodhran, guitar, and flute/bagpipes). I hadn't heard that kind of music in a long time (and isn't it great to have someone who understands why). Runrig too were fantastic, they had a lot of fun onstage, and the musicians knew their stuff. Goosebump songs. And I freely admit that when they played "Loch Lomond", a piece I used to play with my band, I had tears in my eyes.

Sunday began again with Biathlon. Oh how I had missed the sound of ski on snow and shot on target. We then went into the city for some window-shopping and christmas market-looking, and the evening ended with the Strictly results show, Heroes, and a spicy and very yummy Indian experiment.

Today was an early day, since my train back to London would leave the station at 6:50. I don't quite know how I managed to get up at 5:30, but get up I did, and slept most of the way into King's Cross. Standing outside the entrance to the King's Cross tube station, I was greeted by the sounds and smells of London, and the tought came unbidden: I am home.

Not for long though, because I'll be leaving for the Czech Republic and my grandmother's 90th birthday party on Thursday.