Yeh nor meh fecking daa

The only place apart from Lancaster where I know I could live happily.

In St Enoch's shopping centre, the result of one of the worst acts of civic vandalism in Glasgow in living memory, when in 1977 the Council knocked down some beautiful Gothic Victorian buildings to build an bleak shopping centre drenched in canned music. And "restrooms". What an ugly American word. They're toilets. You don't go there to have a rest.

Glasgow respects women.

Its inhabitants have a strong sense of civic pride and the Council is a keen protector of trees in urban spaces.

This is Kingston Bridge, which carries the M8 over the Clyde. It's the busiest road bridge in the United Kingdom. In an inspection in 1994 the north pier was found to have sunk by twelve inches and the bridge had twisted by six. The only solution was to lift it up, right it, then set it down again. I'd have loved to have seen that operation.

Before.

After. A vast improvement.

Under the bridge near Kelvingrove tube, near the venue where Shelly and me performed Ambush in Wedding. The discarded videos were all pirated Westerns. I was hoping for something a bit more racy.

This unprepossessing pub is great inside. Real fires, boho crowd, young men with beards, girls in secondhand dresses. Average food served by self-loving staff. A vinyl jukebox. It's expensive though and not great for real ale so I gave it a miss this time.

The weavers cottages of Anderstoun have long since disappeared.

St Patrick's Primary School, reduced to rubble, before the site is used for yet another block of flats.

Under the M8, a scar through central Glasgow that that should never have been built.

A lovely pub, but at 3.40 / pint, I only had the one.

There are five other real ales on along the bar.

Not tempted by this one though.

Beware the landlady.

"That's all you're getting. Steak pie, that's all there is now."

My idea of a good afternoon.

But it always goes wrong. This was taken by one of a couple of people who were standing holding those big signs indicating a fish tea for a fiver down an alley off Buchanan St. They I told them it was for my dating site profile, (where it is now), and the man said "If I were a woman, I'd contact you."

I went to see an exhibition at a gallery called Trongate 103. This was in an alley a couple of doors down. What are alice belts?

The Scotia. What a disappointment. They've taken eight of the handpumps out and replaced them with electric lager dispensers. Only beer was a very drab Belhaven Sunset Gold

And at that point my camera battery expired, otherwise I'd have shown you The Blackfriars, (mine and The Architect's pub), where I had a chat with a telecoms engineer who had the rudeness to leave, on the flimsy excuse that the attractive tall blonde Dutch girl who had just walked in was his girlfriend and they were going out to dinner, causing a hot wave of jealousy I could only cope with by ordering another pint; and the inside of the Horseshoe, where a drunk Glaswegian claimed to recognise me, saying I was too pissed to remember it, and where we both started talking at chatting with a Croatian couple; and I got drawn into a heated discussion which seemed to centre around the assertion "Yeh nor meh fecking daa!" It seemed to fizzle out amicably enough. One of the irate interlocutors left most of a pint of Tennent's, so I pinched it.

On the train home, I flaked out. The local bus inspector recognised me and shook me out of sleep just as we were pulling into Lancaster.