Glasgow

Glasgow is never short on madness, but when you combine sunny weather, an Orange Walk, and one half of the Old Firm winning the league—well, you might as well cancel Monday. It’s not a city anymore, it’s a full-blown carnival powered by lager, drumbeats, and sheer audacity.

First, the sun comes out—a rare and suspicious event in itself—immediately causing thousands of Glaswegians to burst into the streets like mole people seeing daylight for the first time. Shirts are off, SPF is ignored, and someone’s already sunburnt by 11 a.m.

Then comes the Orange Walk, bringing a soundtrack of flutes, bass drums, and highly questionable conversations. Streets close, tempers rise, and every dog in Glasgow is nervously wondering why the drums won’t stop.

Now throw in an Old Firm league win? Absolute bedlam. Half the city is singing, the other half is swearing under their breath, and somewhere a guy in a traffic cone hat is riding a shopping trolley down Sauchiehall Street like it’s a victory parade float.

It’s beautiful chaos. Glasgow becomes a swirling mix of triumph, tunes, tans (well, burns), and tradition. If cities had moods, this one’s having a full-blown identity crisis—and loving every wild second of it.