God help me if I even manage to find a Scottish man who’s not pasty or ginger.
I love their accents so much I must just abduct one, get him back to New Zealand and force him to marry me.
I can’t say I’m altogether suprised to feel like that – Scottish does run through my veins.
So that said, I was pretty pleased to have hit it off with the first true Scots I met.
I found their accents as funny as they found mine and in exchange for teaching them such kiwisiams as ‘yeah-nah,’ ‘aye’ and the definition of the word ‘puned,’ they taught me this brilliant new vocabulary:
‘That’s so Ken’ = that’s so shit.
It was ‘ample’ = I had an awesome time.
‘Foos yer doos n hoos yer coos?’ = how are you and where are you from?
‘Out to get my winch on’ = out to get some action from a member of the opposite sex.
‘Dingied me’ = as in you left me up shit creek without a paddle.
And last but not least – ‘Yawn rape’ = the phrase used to describe, quite literally, putting your fingers inside someone’s mouth when they yawn.
As for the sights of Glasgow, it’s not really a tourist destination and even the Glasgowigians (yes I know they’re called Glaswegians but I honestly thought they were called Glasgowigians to begin with and it just stuck) struggled to think of things for me to fill up my three days with.
So in lieu of better ideas I went to the necropolis (morbid I know) but it is reputed to be one of the most important cemeteries in Europe – where the wealth and vanity of the bygone era is shown, quite literally, by how impressive their tombs are.
My favourite tomb was that of actor John Henry Alexander, who died on the 15th of December 1851 and I found his tomb inscription to be particularly moving.
Apart from that, I spent my days eating a lot of soup and sandwiches, soaking up the mint central city apartment my sister’s best friend ever so kindly shared with me, and after many near misses (thanks to my ongoing issues with left and right) I finally managed to locate what the locals affectionally call the ‘Squinty Bridge.’
And, as much as I’m museumed-out, the weather was so terrible on my last day I headed for the sanctuary of the Kelvingrove Museum, which I soon discovered is home to an eclectic collection of art, Scottish heritage and these giant taxidermic animals.
Of course, a trip to Glasgow wouldn’t be complete without sampling its famous nightlife.
The night started out normally, over drinks at the pub watching the football, but it soon dissented into the downright bizarre, when we went to watch a friend’s friend in a burlesque show.
I’ve never been to one, so I didn’t know what to expect.
But I can tell you now, I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see a show packed with gothicky, vampiry, Twilight-gone-wrong acts and creepers in the audience to match.