This trip started off with a booking for a Boo Hewerdine gig and then expanded to take in a game and go for a walk. The gig was at a pub called The Doublet in Glasgow and took place in an upstairs room with a capacity of around thirty people. The band was Hotel Art, which is a duo made up of Boo Hewerdine and a Slovakian bloke half his age. We tend to see Boo quite often and I think the Hotel Art songs are the best he’s done for a while. Perhaps it’s like when you have an old dog and then you get a puppy which gives it a new lease of life.
The walk was on the West Highland Way. I had no idea that a national trail would start so close to Glasgow, but I suppose one of the good things about the UK is that you are never too far from the countryside. We walked north from Milngavie, covering about ten miles in total, along a route that was well enough signposted for us not to have to worry about getting lost.
I don’t suppose highland cattle count as wildlife, so the highlight was seeing a hawk. Or something like a hawk. I’ve no idea really what it was but it didn’t look like something that small rodents would feel comfortable being around. It was initially sat in a field and then, on seeing us, it flew into some trees. Next time we are up in Glasgow, we’ll pick up the trail where we left off and see how far we get by doing it in sections.
I hadn’t intended to go to the Scotland game at Hampden Park. I’d been there before and so would usually have selected a game at a new ground. However, I’d hatched a cunning plan to try and make getting tournament tickets easier by signing Paul and I up to the Scottish Supporters Club. We’d collect points by attending games and on the off chance that Scotland ever qualified for another tournament, we’d be in pole position for Tartan Army tickets.
The trip was with Jen, rather than Paul, so Jen had to attend the game to accrue Paul’s point. She much prefers small fixtures to sell outs in national stadiums but was happy to come along. We walked from our hotel on the other side of the river, passing the old Third Lanark ground. It looks as if there is some construction work going on, perhaps the installation of an artificial pitch. I look forward to seeing a game there someday, ideally from the old overgrown terracing.
The highlight of the game for Jen was a macaroni pie. Mac and cheese is seen as a ‘side’ in the US, so the peculiarly scotch experience of eating it in a pie was a welcome novelty. I doubt it will catch on stateside, or even south of Berwick, but I enjoyed it. Next time I might opt for the traditional scotch pie or a donner meat pie. Yes, really. A recent DNA test revealed that I’m 39% Scottish and maybe that explains why I’ve a tendency to eat such delicacies.
The game was pish, as us part-Bravehearts say. Scotland held a one goal advantage from the first leg but were soon two down on the day and a third Greece goal seconds after the break put the outcome beyond doubt. My main interest was in seeing how the Boro’s Tommy Conway did. He was only given the last fifteen minutes but put the effort in and was always looking to be available for a pass. As we accumulate our Tartan Army points I’d hope that he gets more time on the pitch.
The stadium was just about empty by full-time and most of those fans who had remained had done so only to have the opportunity of booing Steve Clarke and his players. It was a little odd pretending to care who won when chatting with the people sat around me, but who knows, maybe I’ll develop an affinity with them. If not, then I’ll just have to go for the pies.
Trail of the Lion King 