When we woke this morning it was raining. It seemed to rain on and off all day in Glasgow. It rained when we came home and it rained almost all evening. It’s not raining now. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s empty.
We decided to go in to Glasgow. We had decided during the week that it would be a good idea and Scamp suggested that we go in by train which is quite quick and convenient – I don’t have to drive, so that’s 
a bonus. What we forgot was that the Grand Orange Order of Scotland or whatever they call themselves were having a party in George Square in Glasgow to celebrate ….. the fact that it was raining or anything else. When we got to Queen Street Station, the party was in full swing. The banners were blowing in the wind and the marchers were having a great time, marching. I watched for a while to see if there was anything the new Oly would like to take a picture of. Eventually it chose to photograph one of the drummers trying to stick the drum sticks to his nose, to make a kind of wooden moustache. Why do these marching drummers always attempt to force the drumsticks up their nose? I’ve never understood that. The other thing I’ve never understood was the Orange Lodge. However, they seemed to be enjoying themselves today marching up and down George Square in Glasgow … in the rain! Oh, then some bloke, the Grand Poobah or something started into a long speech about something, but as he was speaking to ‘friends’ and we didn’t know him, we left. We went to see what was happening in the old fruit market. The answer was ‘not much’. It seemed that the stall holders were outnumbering the punters, so we left to go to a wee cafe Cranberry’s (I’m not sure why that apostrophe is there. Maybe the owner is Mr or Mrs Cranberry). Great coffee and jam scone. That may be unimportant to you, but to us, soaked to the skin (slight exaggeration) it was the highlight of the day so far.
We walked down a canyon leading from the affluent Merchant City to the realism of the east end 
of Argyle Street and around the City Centre for a while Had lunch in the quite excellent, but also very quiet Charcoals. You really have to see the number of awards this place has had. All authentic too. It is the best and most consistently good curry shop I’ve been to in Glasgow.
On the way back to the station, we passed this bloke with the guitar who was playing grungy thrash metal. The man in the hat casually walked right up to him and stared 
him straight in the eye. There was a standoff for a few minutes, then they both relaxed and the conversation started.
I wondered if they knew each other.
Did they have something in common?
Was the man in the hat interested in learning how to play thrash metal guitar?
Was the guitarist asking the man where he got those cream chinos?
That’s what a photograph does, it shows one microsecond of life and allows you to decide what was going on.
Deep or what, eh?
Train back and it was still raining. The fairies say it will be dry tomorrow, and the fairies always tell the truth.
The day started with a final attempt to cover the rogue canvas in glory, if not paint. I took Scamps advice and ditched the greens and greys and went ahead with bright reds and oranges. I also did most of the work with a painting knife rather than brushes. A much better, looser result. Not brilliant, but an improvement on what was there before.
