Actually, at the time of writing this, I’ve already moved on, changed address, left no trace. I moved to Edinburgh. Yea, that happened one week ago. You must have noticed by now. Yea, I’ve been a coward. And yea, I hear you, I escaped to the rich guy. I didn’t have the heart to tell you before.
I know there is a fight between you two. You have a certain reputation, Glasgow, and I loved everything about it, from the very start. When you ask people around, they will tell you that you, Glasgow, are the authentic one and Edinburgh is the postcard-like one (if they’re on your side). If they’re on the other side, I’m not completely sure what they’d say about you. No, I’m not trying to be nice and sugar-coat the truth, you know I don’t do that. And I’ve so much appreciated when you didn’t do that with me either.
I went to the rich guy. I went to the pretty guy. I feel so bad. But see, things weren’t going to end well: this has been going on for a while just now (you knew) and honestly, going back and forth between you guys is exhausting. I have to have a life, you know. Don’t let me expand too much on the reasons why, I already feel too bad and you wouldn’t get any benefit out of it.
So, I’m going to shut up here and just remember a bit of the many good times we’ve had together.
You’ve been very good to me during the (about) year and a half we’ve been together. I’ll always remember this time of my life, it’s been grand!
People say you’re “rough”. No offence (I know you care for your manly reputation), but I think I’ve seen rougher types. Or maybe you only ever showed me your gentle face.
People say you’re “ugly”, especially because they (maybe unconsciously) compare you to Edinburgh, but under the right light, you look just majestic.
Look at the Main Building tower of the University (of Glasgow). This picture of you I’ve taken on the very first of our dates, remember that?
We both know the “right light” is not something you can take for granted at yours, but hey, when it’s there, it’s just fantastic.
And when the sun starts to set after a good day, it’s just magic at the Kelvingrove. You have to value what you have, and it’s sadly true that you appreciate stuff more when it becomes scarce.
The affogato at your Avenue Coffee is just great. I loved it every time, to the point that it’s been the only thing I’ve ever had in that place. You know I stick with the stuff I like.
You know how to make someone smile, like when you just made me find this small pearl in the Manfield Square, near where I used to live and where I passed every time when going to work.
We always had a problem, the drinking. You drink too much, Glasgow. You made me try the finest beers around but see, I just don’t have a taste for alcohol. It’s not my fault. I’m not sure I’m going to solve this problem now (something tells me that I won’t), but look, you definitely had too much of a habit for me.
Nevertheless, the Shilling Brewing Company in the city center is a great place, lots of space, nice people, good environment, even for the weirdos who don’t drink like me. Also, you make a mean pizza (as you know, I know something about real pizzas), at Paesano Pizza. It’s well worth the wait you have to endure on a typical Friday night to get a table (no booking allowed).
There’s dozens of other very high-quality places for food and drinks in Glasgow. In fact, everybody knows that your reputation is multi-faceted and you are well known for your restaurants and bars . I’ll let you know if Edinburgh compares.
Speaking of language, I’m afraid I have to admit we always had a problem there. True, my comprehension of you has improved, and quite sensibly, but I’m still far from mastering the nuances of your rich jargon vocabulary and the intelligence of your multiple idioms. Plus, the accent. Ah, let’s not forget about the accent. I’ll always end a taxi ride with a headache from the effort to grasp the driver, I think. This problem seems quite softened here. But it was fun, I’ll miss it.
You’re always ready for a laugh and when strolling around you it’s not rare to spot something peculiar. If it’s not an object, it’s someone. You, Glasgow, are really full of life (especially on Friday nights, but this might be a little alcohol-induced, as I told you before).
If there is not much to explore in you from the superficial point of view (I’m talking about the see-and-go, superficial tourism), there is lots to do and fall in love with when someone gets to know you a little deeper.
Of course, it would be unfair to claim that you’re only good during summer. In fact, winter is when you reveal landscapes like this, which makes me think of Alcott’s Little Women, not sure why as there’s plenty of other books with snow, but so you know.
Thank you Glasgow, for giving me lots of memories. Good memories.