Share this:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Whether you work in a stuffy office or in  cramped conditions in a noisy factory, please spare a thought for our poor  politicians who have to work  in Victorian buildings filled with junk. (see photos)

The City Chambers initially housed Glasgow Town Council from 1888 to 1895, when it was replaced by Glasgow Corporation. It remained the Corporation’s headquarters until it was replaced by Glasgow District Council under the wider Strathclyde Regional Council in 1975. The City Chambers has been the headquarters of Glasgow City Council since 1996, when it replaced the District Council with the abolition of the Strathclyde Region.

The council had also sat  in  the old Tolbooth at Glasgow Cross until it was sold in 1814, but not the steeple which still remains. After that it moved to Jail Square in the Saltmarket, near Glasgow Green, then Wilson Street and Ingram Street.In the early 1880s, City Architect John Carrick was asked to identify a suitable site for a purpose-built City Council Chambers. He identified the east side of George Square, which was then bought.

The City Chambers boasts a marble staircase, the longest of its kind in Europe. A  ceiling decorated in gold leaf and a stained glass dome.  Now, who would want to work in a place like that?

 

Share this:

Typically, the battery in the camera went flat so I took this on my mobile. It makes an unusual photo with all the colours. Sometimes blurred photos are better than focused ones. This was taken in the Pyrenees in late evening while we watched a dog sled race. Any blurred photos worth looking at?

Share this:

We come here in August to escape the sweltering heat down in Lleida. This peaceful hamlet is perched atop the Pyrenees, overlooking the Manyanet Valley.  It is far from ski stations and towns, has no shops, bars or crime. I often take photos of the area as you’ll notice from my posts or write about it in my stories. It is a  great place to clear the mind, paving the way for new ideas for stories.

Now I’ve told you my favourite place for ideas, where is yours?

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/117964

 

Share this:

No, according to this Guardian article in which it states that 2012 is far too late to be building memorials to those involved in a war that ended nearly 70 years ago. When the writer says  ‘ a war’  he is referring to World War 2 in which millions died giving their lives fighting against Nazism. And let’s no forget those who died in concentration camps. The focus of the writer’s attention is the war memorial to Bomber Command which will be unveiled in london.

What seems to irk this writer is the ‘myth’ as he calls it, that England stood alone as the last bastion of freedom. There were other nationalities, he says. This is true, namely, soldiers from the rest of Britain, the commonwealth, America, and other nations in Europe.  But the rest of Europe was under Nazi occupation, leaving the land mass known as Britain, on its own.

Those brave people who died fighting against Nazism, including Germans, should always be remembered in one form or another, and their stories told to future generations – Lest We Forget.

 

http://www.bombercommand.com/the-memorial

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/may/18/unthinkable-no-more-second-world-war-memorials

 

 

 

 

 

Share this:

The Scottish Cup is the oldest national trophy in the world and was contested in season 1873-74. Queen’s Park beat Clydesdale in the final  at Hampden Park (Scotland’s national stadium) on the 21st March in front of a 2500 crowd. Goals by Mackinnon and Leckie in the 60th and 80th minute respectively thrust Queen’s Park into the history books.  The Referee was James McIntyre.

This year (2012) Edinburgh rivals  Hibs and Hearts will play in the final at Hampden Park on the 19th May, the first time the clubs have met in a Scottish Cup Final since 1896. It will be Hibs 12th final and Hearts 14th.

Hearts Football Club was formed in 1873 (or 1874 – the date is disputed)  by a group of friends from the Heart of Midlothian Dancing Club.  The traditional story is that the group of friends bought a ball before playing local rules football at the Tron from where they were directed by a local policeman to the meadows to play. The club took its name from the Heart of Midlothian jail,which was demolished in 1817 but was kept fresh in the mind by Walter Scott’s novel The Heart of Midlothian.  They play at Tyncecastle Stadium and are nicknames the Jam Tarts or the Jambos.

Hibernian Football Club was founded in 1875 by Irish immigrants. Although the demographics of the area has changed, it has kept its heritage in its name, badge and colours.  They play at Easter Road and are nicknamed the Hibees. Its name Hibernia is derived from Hibernia, the Roman name for Ireland. They were the first British team to compete in Europe after Alan Hardaker persuaded Chelsea, the English champions, not to enter that year.

Who will you be cheering for?

Share this:

With a few days off between Constitution Day and Immaculate Conception Day (December 6th and 8th respectively)  Nuria and I decided to head for Aigües Tortes National Park  in the Lleidatan Pyrenees.  We spent the night at a hostel in a picturesque village called La Guingueta D’Aneu, and then the next morning we  drove  to  a hamlet called Espot. From there the park can only be accessed by local taxi – a jeep. The taxi driver waited until he had six passengers before letting us jump in. The taxi trundled up the mountainside for thirty minutes to a spot by Llac de Sant Maurici, a lake.

The moment we got out Nuria smothered my face in suncream. The sunlight here  is very strong and being Scottish, my skin is prone to sunburn even on a day as cold as this. When she’d finished I put on my sunglasses and together we  gazed at the ice-capped mountains, kissed by morning sunlight. The perfect backdrop to a beautiful day.

Ten minute later, we  went down to  the frozen  lake.  A sign warned tourists not to walk on the thin ice. So we trudged along the west  bank, knee-deep in snow, stopping occasionally to have a snowball fight.  After a photo session, we returned to the spot where the jeep had dropped us off and clambered up a steep, winding path through the forest. It was icy and covered in snow. After half an hour we decided to return. That was when we saw the warning sign: Danger – path inaccessible.

We tried another path which was far safer and meandered up the mountainside through a forest. We saw birds, but had no idea if they were kites or buzzards; eagles or vultures – we’d forgotten our binoculars.  We never saw animals, although we did hear rustling in the undergrowth. I think they were animals!  My chest hurt after twenty minutes. Nuria said it could be due to the altitude as I wasn’t used to it. Hardly surprising, the highest mountain in Britain – Ben Nevis is only 1300 metres high. We were 2000 metres. When we came back down I felt better. We explored other areas lower down and then caught the taxi back.

A fantastic day!

Share this:

The Puerta del Sol square in Madrid.

With austerity measures in full swing and unemployment rising, the number of protestors are growing, as indeed is their media attention. Known as The Protest Movement in Britain and the Indignados in Spain, they have been protesting up and down the country,  occasionally clashing with police, resulting in injuries. Their demands are shouted out in every city, written on placards, leaflets or in newspapers.

Will governments eventually meet these demands, considering they implemented the cuts in the first place? I think not, especially as they were elected after previous administrations collectively caused the banking crisis and the recession. However, the Protest Movement won’t replace them using buzzwords, trendy slogans, and regurgitated quotes. They will have to form a party with a written manifesto, outlining their objectives and how to achieve them. Better still, stand for election as independents.

Now who should these people be? As someone who helped form a union in the workplace,  I can tell you this will be tricky. Personality traits such as snobbery, self-righteousness, envy and arrogance will come into play in the fight for power.  Friends become enemies and vice versa if they have a common agenda. Do you go for brains or popularity. It’s not always the two mix. And talking about mix, the protestors are mostly young and middle class, if the news coverage by those interviewed is anything to go by.  There needs to be an age and class mix: labourers, factory workers, cleaners, as well as lawyers and doctors, students and the unemployed.

These are a few things the movement will have to think of if it is to go forward. Can anyone think of any more?

 

Share this:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

On the same weekend we went to Aiguestoretes, Nuria suggested an alternative to hiking in the mountains – watching a mushing race in Port Aines. She read from the guidebook.

“Mushing is a general term for a sport or transport method powered by dogs and includes carting, pulka, scootering, sled-dog racing, skijoring, freighting, and weight pulling. More specifically, it implies the use of one or more dogs to pull a sled on snow or a rig on dry land. The term is thought to come from the French word marche, or go, run, the command to the team to commence pulling. “Mush!” is rarely used in modern parlance, however; “Hike!” is more common in English. Mushing can be utilitarian, recreational, or competitive.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said. “How far is it?”

Not far,” she replied.

Alarm bells rung in my head. In Scotland ‘not far’ means twenty miles. But in Spain it’s anything up to 200 miles. “Okay,” I said, preparing myself for along journey.

“You drive,” she said.

This was a good idea as I was hopeless at reading maps.

We set off as the sun descended the sky.

Half way up the mountain, a chink of sunlight blinded me, forcing me to drive dangerously close to the edge of the road. A glimpse at how high up we were added to my nerves. From then on, I slowed to a snail’s pace. If the young driver of the Cabriolet behind me was anything to go by, the forty or so drivers behind him were a tad annoyed. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

At Port Aines, we wandered around, looking at the dogs. I’d never seen such a variety of husky cross breeds. We took photos of them and of the surrounding area. Then we had hot soup from a kiosk and carried it to the starting line. Howls, barks and yelps filled the air as the first team of dogs got ready to pull their sled. The announcer told us about the owner, types of dogs and the results of their previous races.

The gun fired. The owner snarled. The dogs barrelled their way up the mountain to the cheers of the crowd. One particular dog team caught everybody’s attention. They lay still and in silence. It was extraordinarily weird to see dogs behave in that way, especially after the racket the previous ones had made.

After the last team had gone, we walked across to the finishing line a hundred yards behind us. Cheers went up as each team arrived. The eventual winner of the 19 km course was Tom Andres, a German. He came in under 18 minutes.

On the drive down I suggested we buy a dog.

“And who would take it for walks?” she said. “Besides, leaving a dog stuck in a flat most of the day is cruel.”

I was strongly tempted to say we do the same with the cat. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned at the university of life, it’s this: a man should never bring a woman’s cat into the argument. So I smiled sweetly and nodded. “You’re right.”

“As always,” she said and turned on the radio.

Share this:

 

Saints lived in times of legends, so it’s hardly surprising that miracles are often attached to them. Take St. Mungo for instance. He was founder of the city of Glasgow in the late sixth century and now its patron saint. He performed four miracles for which a verse was later written to remember them.

Here is the bird that never flew

Here is the tree that never grew

Here is the bell that never rang

Here is the fish that never swam

• The Bird — Mungo restored life to the pet robin of Saint Serf, which had been killed by some of his fellow classmates, hoping to blame him for its death.
• The Tree — Mungo had been left in charge of a fire in Saint Serf’s monastery. He fell asleep and the fire went out. Taking branches from a tree, he restarted the fire.
• The Bell — the bell is thought to have been brought by Mungo from Rome. It was said to have been used in services and to mourn the deceased. The original bell no longer exists, and a replacement, created in the 1640s, is now on display in Glasgow.
• The Fish — refers to the story about Queen Languoreth of Strathclyde who was suspected of infidelity by her husband. King Riderch demanded to see her ring, which he claimed she had given to her lover. In reality the King had thrown it into the River Clyde. Faced with execution she appealed for help to Mungo, who ordered a messenger to catch a fish in the river. On opening the fish, the ring was miraculously found inside, which allowed the Queen to clear her name.

In the modern world we tend to rubbish such legends, but few know that they carry messages of hope, such as the one here of  the fish, and justice, as in the story of the bird.

How can we rectify this?

 

 

Share this:

I love writing in different genres. It gives me the opportunity to use characters from all walks of life. This story collection has cyberquins, satan, murderers, prostitutes and many others. You can read a part of the first story – What’s Your Poison? I hope you enjoy it.