Who belongs to Glasgow?

I was in Glasgow on Thursday, and couldn't resist a look in the window of the shop I used to work in. It's always amusing to see what tat - oops, I mean top quality merchandise - they're trying to flog to a gullible public.

And this is what I saw:



No, not the overly-orange slapper, I do of course mean the ever-so-tasteful Candy Bikini. Isn't it beautiful?

A trip to the Big City can be a slightly disturbing experience. It's five years since I left, and every return visit highlights that Life Moves On - shops have changed hands, pubs closed, restaurants disappeared. It's getting so every sentence I utter starts with the classic phrase "In my day...", as it dawns on me that yet another old haunt no longer exists. Apparently cities aren't like parents of dead teens, preserving for eternity all their old possessions as though denying that change is even a word in the dictionary.

Well, never mind, I'll just have to start treating it like any other town, though as the coaster in the shop put it so wisely, you can take the girl out of Glasgow, but you can't take the Glasgow out of the girl...