The Why
I arrived in Glasgow two-and-a-half years ago with my two young sons. I moved at the request of my husband, a West of Scotland man yearning to go home. I’m originally from England, to say I came kicking and screaming would not be far off the mark.
I knew if we were going to live in Scotland it would be in Glasgow; you can’t take a West of Scotland man and stick him in Edinburgh. What would be the point? But people in England didn’t quite get it – on hearing I was moving to Scotland they’d reassure me that they had friends who’d moved to Edinburgh and never looked back.
Magical floating heads of Kelvingrove Museum
When I told them I was moving to Glasgow there was a silence – a look of fear would flash across their faces and then the fixed smile would appear. Of course none of these people had actually been to Glasgow.
Rescued in the rain
My first visit to Glasgow involved my husband dropping me and the boys off at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum while he went for his job interview. We arrived to find it was shut due to industrial action. We were stuck in the pouring rain, god knows where and my husband wasn’t answering his phone.
I asked an old man at the bus stop where the nearest cinema was, he suggested Cineworld on Renfrew Street and directed us towards the bus he was getting on. As I went to pay I realised I had no change. From his small purse the old man promptly paid for us to go into town; he refused to take any money from me. We got off the bus and he walked us to the cinema that was when I discovered one of the most wonderful things about Glasgow… the people.
Get ready for your first tip!
Check us out on Friday to get your falafel fix on!
– B
About a City 