Growing old disgracefully



To the Mitchell for the start of the marvellous Aye Right Festival (you need to speak Glaswegian to get that title). Heard the wonderfully witty and gently irreverent ex Bishop Holloway talk on his new memoir, 'Leaving Alexandria' - another double entendre best understood in the West of Scotland. There is so much to quote from this man whose humility belies his massive intellect, but I think my favourite is his account of how in a charismatic fervour he travelled to London to get the gift of tonques, but then couldn't stop speaking - had to sit in the toilet on the train speaking in tongues all the way from Euston to Edinburgh, arriving with a 'halo round his arse'.

As for the Mitchell, we have a great affection for it as our first date was at the Mitchell Bar next door. As it sadly no longer exists, we have transferred our affection to the Library, which, like so much of Glasgow, was founded on the wealth created by tobacco.
And now for a wee bit of useless but enchanting knowledge. The lady atop the bronze dome is Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, but the likeness of one Theresa Mackenzie. I wonder if we are related.

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