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About Glasgow

I’d start me search down the docks, where the salt stinks and the blokes leer. “Life is a mystery,” Amélie’d say, “you must untangle it!” – and ain’t that the truth here? All these lasses got stories, mate, hidden like her bleedin’ gnome. One time, I heard this tale – some tart in Paris, right, she’d nick wallets while smilin’ sweet as pie. Sneaky, that! Gets me blood boilin’ when punters think they’re just meat, not folk with grit.

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As the night rolls in, I’m walking back, feeling all sorts of emotions. I’m tired, but it’s a good tired. I think about the kids, the old lady, the rain, and the music. It’s been a wild ride, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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