Monday 18 May 2009

Sunday 17th May 2009 – Sunday Brunch in Glasgow

As I turn into Glasgow Center, under the railroad tracks, virtually the first thing I see is the Montana Bar. In the shooting tragedy back in January, the inquest on which is on Tuesday, an early source of information for reporters was a barmaid there. I have a note of her name. Since it is Sunday lunchtime, and very hot, that will have to be an early visit.

Almost the next thing I see is a sign with a large piper on it, declaring 'Campbell's Lodge', the very place I had decided, from internet searches, was the place to stay, at least for the first night. Almost without any further thinking, I find myself washed and dressed and sitting in the shade of the Montana Bar, with a beer and the Twins playing the Yankees. The Twins are doing very well. (The Yankees are the ManU of Baseball: they have just built a new stadium next door to the old one, attempting to make it, in a baseball sense, an exact copy of the old one.) It's 2-2 at the top of the eighth, the bases are loaded: could this be the big upset? Well, no; but it went to the tenth, and was settled by a single homer from the Yankees.

But why, I hear you cry, am I talking about Baseball on TV when I'm actually in a bar in Glasgow? Well, apart from there being a Twins emblem behind the bar, that's one way to strike up conversation in a bar. Soon the baseball fans are exchanging pleasantries, and soon they are asking after my accent, and soon the story is out: "gee, Glasgow Scotland?" The barmaid is more interested in me than the baseball (She may well be more interested in anything than the baseball). We exchange pleasantries. I ask if she is the barmaid from the shooting stories, but she is not.

I admire her beautiful cash register, a definite antique. She said it had to be replaced in the 1960's, because someone shot its predecessor to pieces. She rushes off and comes back with a piece of the old register, to show me the bullet hole. "Why were they shooting at the cash register?" I asked.

"Oh", she said, "they weren't shooting at the cash register, they were shooting at my mother".

It is not often I am lost for words, but I was, I was lost for words. How do you ask someone why their mother was being shot at in a bar?

Of which, I hope, more next week.

1 comment:

daiquiriking said...

dad
Congratulations on arriving at your first glasgow (of this trip). enjoying the blog, if slightly concerned about the effect you seem to be having on various barmaids.
yels