This is going to be a short entry because I am drunk.
Not even the sort of drunk that leads to a three page ramble. I am so very drunk that I can hardly see the screen for yawning and rubbing my eyes. Actually those bits are because I am tired, which I am as well as being drunk.
We have had the most ace of ace days. We set the alarm for some stupidly early time of the morning and then ignored it. Eventually we managed to crawl out of bed and pack, which we had forgotten to do the night before, and which actually involved hastily shoving some clean clothes in a bag along with an emergency supply of tea. Then we heartlessly abandoned the dogs with Mark’s very patient sister and set off for adventure.
We set off to follow the road taken by the people in my not-yet-a-book. In fact this turned out to be brilliantly interesting. I have not really been up to this part of the world before, and I was charmed and enchanted.
It was exactly the way I hoped it might be. There was a thatched house just like one I imagined, and a drovers’ road, just like the one I imagined, and all sorts of things that fitted just perfectly into my imaginary characters’ adventures. Also the sun was shining which helped, although it won’t be when they visit there.
There wasn’t a castle where I wanted one. I thought this was tiresome first, and then as if by magic I discovered that in fact history had not been inconsiderate after all, and actually once upon a time there had been a castle, and in the exact spot where I needed it to be.
It had fallen down, so all I needed to do was resurrect it. This was a very happy discovery indeed. I can now imagine my own castle without needing to be troubled by anything as inconvenient as evidence.
Greatly heartened by this, we journeyed on to Glasgow, where Elspeth and her husband were skiing in the Snow Dome due to the absence of real snow, and had very kindly booked us all into an hotel as a present.
The hotel is actually very good. I had my dark suspicions about it, because of it being not just Scotland, but Glasgow, which is not renowned for being the Disneyland of the Western world, but actually it is not only warm and comfortable, but shiny and clean and smart and tidy, and we are having a lovely time. We got into our bedroom and instantly fell asleep. This is what happens when you are our age and do something exciting in the morning.
Elspeth woke us up to tell us that they had arrived, and when we went to visit them in their room it turned out that they had opened a bottle of gin.
We followed the gin with a bottle of Prosecco, and then we went out to dinner and had two bottles of wine, after which we had another bottle of wine, and now I don’t feel very well
The not very well may be due to us having eaten out. We asked the receptionist which was the best Indian restaurant in Glasgow, and she recommended a place called Mother India.
Goodness me, it was good.
On the whole if a very drunk person makes a recommendation it is usually worth ignoring, but in this case you can take it from me, for ace Indian food it was ace Indian food.
The very drunk person in this instance is me and not the hotel receptionist.
it was up a flight of stairs in a darkly panelled dining room with tall windows and chandeliers and a high ceiling, and candelabras full of tall candles on the tables, and comfortable chairs. The food was not at all like Indian food. It was a lot more Indian than Indian food usually is, even in India. There was smoked lamb and buttered chicken and spiced onions in tomato and chunks of sweet mango, and naan bread which showered almonds all over the table as we tore it.
We ate loads, then had a little break, and ate the rest. It is wonderful to go out with friends who have been your friends for so long that you don’t need to be polite.
It was one of the nicest dinners I have had, partly because it was ace food, but also partly because of the warmth and ease of being with old friends.
We walked along the banks of the Clyde afterwards and looked at the lights reflecting in the water and talked to the late night doorman at the BBC.
Sometimes I can hardly believe the niceness of life. If it is possible to be happier than this I don’t want to try it in case I burst.
It is extra nice because of being a present. It is lovely in itself but twice as lovely because every minute says that somebody else is kind and generous and thoughtful, and I feel so glad to be alive that I can hardly bear to think about it.
I am having a lovely time in Glasgow. It is a splendid place.
I fibbed about not going on for ages.
