I’m in bed at a Campanille by the airport. I can hear the M8 thundering past me and in a way that can only be when solitary, I find it quite relaxing. Comforting almost. I’ve always loved wedding adventures but as Gary and I are booked on so many of the same dates this year my heart struggles to be away from my family.
Glasgow. Scotland’s equivalent to the city that never sleeps. I seem to have spent nearly as much time here now that I live 400 miles away as I did when there were only 50 miles between us, before I became a photographer.
The Glasgow in my mind has been formed by Ian Rankin’s Rebus novels; a more cosmopolitan space than Edinburgh yet full of dark back streets in an almost Gotham city sort of way. The Glasgow of the real world, the one I will be experiencing at the wedding tomorrow in much more depth, is not that at all. It’s the friendlier city. The one with the artisan coffee. The one with the better music scene, shopping experience and often warmer climate. The edgier big brother of its academic little sister.