Glasgow.

We stayed overnight after the Daughter concert last night. It was brilliant. And the premier Inn doesn't expect you out of your room until noon, which is probably the most civilised chain of hotels I've ever encountered, if you can forgive the purple colour scheme and purple velour strip thingy that they put over the end of the bed. Being an advocate of a good blanket, these things insult my sensibilities. We found breakfast at a very efficient bistro/cafe called Cranberry's, then we went to GoMA. There's a retrospective of John Sampson's film works. We ended up watching both Dressing for pleasure, which was all about rubber and fetishism in clothing, and the beautifully touching The Skin Horse, which covers sexuality, love and relationships in people who have some form of disability. It was beautifully done, and still very relevant 40 years later. There seems to be very little progress in this field. There was an incredibly powerful message that the care focus is on what they can't do, and not what they can. Then we walked to Glasgow Green. The Winter Gardens and people's palace were closed, but we stopped to admire the very grand Doulton terracotta fountain built for the International exhibition of 1888. Imperialism at its finest. Slightly distrubs me still. Then over to the Necropolis to visit the great and good. And dead. S and I then got the train back to the East. I left him at Waverley, and I got a train home. I'm now sitting blipping, ignoring the pile of dirty dishes I left and the grumbling in my stomach. Both of which will be attended to shortly.