Glasgow Letter – September 30 2021

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The pubs, clubs, and venues of Glasgow have been in full swing for a few weeks now and, subsequently, the type of funny stories that these kind of places foster have started doing the rounds for the first time since before lockdown.

It seems there have been a great many party animals using the last month to make up for lost time.

One such socialite was the gentleman from Lewis who came down a couple of weekends ago to stay with his Argyllshire pal (a mutual friend of mine) in a Partick tenement flat.

The pair attended the Barrowlands on Saturday night for the big Trail West soiree; but, the evening before, decided to pop out to the ‘Teuchter Triangle’ just to find out ‘how much they could take’ in preparation for the following night.

This, of course, is a rookie error to make in relation to the triangle – a place that rivals its namesake in Bermuda for numbers of people missing in mysterious circumstances.

They are not the first to make this mistake; and they won’t be the last.

As these brave lads walked along Dumbarton Road, over the Partick Bridge, past the Art Gallery, and onto Argyle Street, they had no idea the sheer number of fellow Highlanders and islanders who had also embarked on a similar journey that day – all of whom were ready for plenty more libations than the boys originally had in mind.

Fast forward to 8am the following morning. The Argyllshire lad awoke in his bed to the sound of the buzzer going for the main close door.

Worried that it would similarly awake his guest on the couch in the living room, he shouted through ‘sorry about this – it must be the postman,’ and proceeded to press the buzzer before heading back to bed.

No sooner had he settled back down than his own doorbell went.

Rising from bed again, he shouted through to the living room: ‘I’ve got no idea who this can be at this time in the morning!’

He opened the door and was stunned to be met with his Lewis lodger – who he believed he had just been shouting to in the living room!

Neither lad appears to be quite sure how this happened but, after an internal enquiry that would put Scotland Yard to shame, their best guess is that they became separated at some point between The Park Bar, Islay Inn, and Snaffle Bit, and had returned home at separate times.

This was no problem, of course, for the lad who owned the flat and, naturally, had the keys; but it provided a bit of an issue for the Lewis lad who had no way of getting into the close – either because his companion was asleep; or had not yet returned home.

The saving grace for an islander visiting these parts of Glasgow is that there are always plenty of offers of alternative accommodation so he was not without a place to lay his head.

He did, however, have a great story to tell at the Barrowlands.