Menhirs - Glasgow style

“But Caesar, those menhirs are the proof of my success! The Gauls are too busy making menhirs to fight, so...”

Kinghorn to Glasgow by train via Haymarket. I look out over the dark sea as the six o’’clock service pulls into the station, wishing I was somewhere else.

I’m working in the BT building today - identified by a collection of decorative fibre glass menhirs outside the entrance. As well as a huge puddle which I notice only once I’m in it. In the atrium Jack’s giant beanstalk has begun to reach for the distant aluminium ceiling.

I’m staying in a AirBnb on St Vincent Street west of the M8, but Megan has suggested trekking back into town for tea at the Atlantic Brasserie. Walking there, I fall in with a London dentist whose phone battery is flat, so needs directions. He’s also short of a jacket, by my reckoning.

Meg’s & I have a great dinner, then walk back through nighttime Glasgow, strangely bereft of drizzle. At the motorway we part company and I return to my flat and laptop.