Glasgow Two and the Road to OBan

In the morning I met Ann at Central Station; we found Renfrew Street and our new hotel, and also the Glasgow School of Art.  Conveniently on the same street.

Visited the wonderful Tenement House; made Ann join National Trust;

Walked about a bit. Had meringues in Willow Tea Rooms, tearooms designed by Rennie Mackintosh; had a kip; ate in Wee Curry House which I last ate in last year with Morgan. Delicious. Filling. Took a doggy bag to have for breakfast. Ann was threatening to disown me.

Went for a pint in Sauchiehall Street; got asked to get off the seats in the street by 10pm. Decided against a drunken riot, went back to McClays to fight the wifi again. Sat outside in this balmy evening while Ann eyed up the curious antique shop opposite, apparently still open – till 10.30pm!

On Tuesday morning Ann phone up the Antique Shop and went round it. Then we had a tour round the Glasgow School of Art. Our guide, fourth year architecture student, Lillya [I think] was great. Taxi to Queen Street; train to Oban; bye bye Glasgow. 

The taxi driver asked, is it heavy. I opined it was. He said you can carry it. The door closed behind him as he put my heavy bags in the back of his taxi. It's okay I said, I'll drive. It's Queen Street to Oban. Five simple words to describe a very long journey. 

Getting to Oban Tuesday afternoon,  met by Carolyn who drove us the very short distance to our lovely ground floor accommodation on Cawdor Street. This was to be our home for the next three days. Both of us used to being in roles of responsibility we decided to alternate who was to be mother. In general I was ic tickets; and Ann was ic keys.  Also I was ic cooking the salad, and Ann washed up.

In the evening sat on the front at Oban in Pub X, had a pint, then over to Pub Y; then home to Cawdor to feet up ready for the day ahead.

Glasgow on Sunday evening

Rick was a bit surprised when I said I was about to go to Glasgow. I had only just got back from Manchester the slow route, and I was about to travel again. I was on a mission. Here's a clue [in the picture on the right].

I stayed at the Rennie MacIntosh Hotel which is attached to Central Station. This would have been extremely convenient had my train not come into Queen Street Station. But I navigated my way from one station to another with maps. Yes, Amy, it's an app on my new and much reviled phone.

The lady at Central Station's M and S said I couldn't drink the cider on the train. I was planning only on collapsing in front of the Olympics closing ceremony. In the end this required me to re-attach the scart leads to the various digiboxes. This wonderfully idiosyncratically designed building includes these windows. I was at the very top of the building, the velux window opening out to the world. From here I could commune with the seagull, and, as I had not planned, listen to the early morning traffic.

I watched the ceremony; was pleased to see Ray [singing one of my all-time favourite tunes], disappointed not to see Adele. I think it may have become a national sport: which acts should and which shouldn't. I guess, in the end, it may have come down to, which acts could.

Very friendly hotel. Loved the uneven floors of tartan carpet; nice atmosphere. Long may it remain so.