#Glasgow central station

[stillunusual]

Glasgow Central Station

[unrealityliminal]

dec 2012

[vox-anglosphere]

Glasgow's Central Station is your gateway to the Highlands & Islands

[mightywellfan]

Clock at Glasgow Central station

[guanyu-in-glasgow]

All Glaswegians know that if you are waiting to meet someone at Central Station you'll be meeting them under the clock, and F1 legend Zhou Guanyu was spotted doing just that!

[llljones]

central station, glasgow.

leica m6 + zeiss biogon 35mm + fuji superia 100 (expired)

[wellenreiterbrett]

[blackbird5154]

Some possible sources of inspiration for Meliora design

It is known that when creating Meliora, Tobias Forge was inspired by the movie "Metropolis" and the art deco style of the 1920-30s. Here I want to share my findings of some borrowed elements in the third era.

The Palace of the Soviets was a project to construct a political convention center in Moscow on the site of the demolished Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. The project was never realized. Zbigniew Bielak wrote in his blog: "Check out the rough concept sketches leading up to this apotheosis of Soviet esprit". Meliora is probably referring to the USSR as a failed utopia.

The building beneath the lustful megalomaniac resembles Boston Avenue United Methodist Church (1929).

This element is taken from the old RKO building (usually known as the General Electric Building) (1929-31). The theme of electricity is given a lot of attention in Meliora.

The lanterns in the hands are made in the style of the Helsinki Central Railway Station (1907) lamps. Papa Emeritus is compared to Lucifer the Light-bringer, and at the same time he is the bearer of the idea of enlightenment.

Another unrealized building, a concept by visionary artist Hugh Ferriss, can be seen in the City's urban landscape from the music video. Hugh Ferriss was an American architect and illustrator who created many images of futuristic New York in the 1920s, he's also the author of the book "The Metropolis of Tomorrow".

This building is the actual Odeon Cinema in Glasgow. It was built in 1934 and was originally owned by the American Paramount movie studio. A prime example of mid-1930s architectural modernism.

The cover of "From the Pinnacle to the Pit" is painted from Nick Gaetano's "Romantic Manifesto." It is a 2006 painting inspired by Ayn Rand's book "Atlas Shrugged".

[toomuchracket]

my whole life, waiting for you: part 1 (ross x girlband gf!reader angst/fluff)

i don't know. i just wanted to write something. it's more pining/missing someone than actual angst, and there's more to come, at some point. loosely inspired by the seminal song super trouper by abba lol. i hope you like it <3

it's sunny in glasgow today. which is weird, especially for february.

but it's beautiful, ross thinks. it's a shame that a city so made up of sandstone doesn't get to see the sun so often; the buildings seem to glow when the daylight hits them, reflecting off the glass fronts of their newer neighbours, the intricate details in the stonework clearer than he's ever seen them before. 

the people on the street below seem to glow in the sunshine, too, which is saying something given that ross's hotel room looks out onto hope street, to the flood of people heading to and from glasgow central station. at half 8 on a thursday morning, you'd expect a certain level of crabbiness (or crabbitness, in scotland) from them, as they make their way to another day of work and school and uni, but everyone's a bit more cheery today. scarves have been unravelled, jackets unzipped… there's even one guy walking about in a t-shirt and shorts as if it's mid-july.

ross smiles at the sight, but it doesn't last long. 

you should be here seeing it all with him.

but you're still in london, hundreds of miles away, and he won't see you until he's back there himself. it's only four days away, but it's been ten since the last time you were together, and ross has decided that a fortnight apart is simply too long. especially after the months spent continents apart at the end of last year.

still, it's not like either of you can do anything about it. he's on tour. you're in the final days of production on your band's new album. there's no resentment, at least, because you've both been in the other's shoes, but there's pining, and a loneliness that no amount of calls and texts and facetimes can fully shift.

a knock on the door briefly interrupts it, though, and a familiar deep voice follows. "ross, mate, s'me."

george. ross opens the door, and is immediately pulled into a hug - a proper one, not a hyper-masculine bro hug - before his friend steps into the room and surveys the view. "nice day."

"yeah," ross nods, moving to stand next to george. "sun's nice."

the two men stand in silence for a minute, side by side, looking out at the city below. george turns to look at ross, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. "you alright today, mate?"

ross nods. "just… well, you know how it is. missing my girl."

"yeah, exactly," george nods too, then smiles. "m'happy for you, though. a bit pissed off that you didn't tell me until last night, but mostly happy."

"wasn't even planning on telling you, mate," ross huffs out a laugh. "the night just got the better of me."

the night, beginning with a two-hour long facetime with you after dinner that only exacerbated your respective lonelinesses. ross loves his job, absolutely fucking adores it, but as the days pass he's less and less reluctant to admit that the nomadic nature of touring is beginning to wear a bit thin for him. when you answered that call, tucked up in bed wearing what was unmistakably ross's slowdive t-shirt, brew in hand and glasses on… he did find himself wishing that the next show was the final one, so he could go home to you. and yet, despite that, talking to you did perk ross up a little bit, enough to make him agree to go for some drinks with the band and the techs and try to have a nice evening. 

but the loneliness soon won out again, and the alcohol took over; forty-five minutes after everyone got to what ended up being the final pub of the night, ross was outside chaining cigs and thinking about your call again. george came out for his own smoke, found his friend near tears, and that's when ross spilled the whole story to him, the whole truth about you and him and your relationship. after eighteen months, your secret was finally released, in the middle of mitchell lane, under the neon lights and the moon and a cloud of marlboro smoke, at one o'clock in the morning.

"yeah, well, i'm glad you said," george grins. "she's great. i love her."

"so do i," ross sighs. "and i really, really miss her."

his friend nods. "only four days, though, for both of us. we'll manage. trust me, ross, it'll fly in. and it'll be good. two nights of glasgow shows, yeah?"

"if we were anywhere else, i'd be so much worse."

"i believe it. now," george picks up ross's jacket from the back of a chair and holds it out to him. "shall we take advantage of the nice day and go for a coffee with the boys?"

ross shrugs. "might as well."

***

"george says it's sunny today."

you slowly crack your eyelids open and look at charli blearily. "in glasgow?"

"i know! i didn't believe it either, until he sent me a pic. here," charli, admirably and enviably well-rested and energetic, thrusts her phone towards you.

"oh, yeah. pretty," you squint closer at the screen, noting the infamous 'people make glasgow' sign framed against a backdrop of clear blue sky. squinting further, you make out adam mid-stride towards the city chambers, turning back to look at an animated (probably making a shit joke about george and george square) matty and a smiling ross. a pang of longing hits you square in the chest as you look at your boyfriend and the crinkles by his eyes, drawing a lovesick sigh from your lips.

charli smiles softly at you, putting her phone down on the pull-down table and pulling you into a hug. "three hours to go, babe."

"i know. god, i must sound so stupid, sighing like a fucking war wife or some shit."

"not at all, it's cute," your friend says. "and i always thought you and ross would be cute. didn't i tell you that?"

"i don't think you ever said 'cute', per se, but you did say if we started an onlyfans together then you'd subscribe. so, kinda the same thing, i suppose."

"and i stand by that statement," charli giggles. her face softens. "were you and him, like, together, when i said that?"

"uh huh. had been for a year."

"jesus christ," she shakes her head. "i can't even be annoyed at you for keeping it a secret, because i'm just so fucking impressed you managed to do it for so long."

you shuffle in your seat to look out the window, the view a blurry patch of trees somewhere between london euston and glasgow central. "yeah, in hindsight, we probably shouldn't have hidden it for so long. i'm worried people are going to be upset that we did, when we tell them."

"by people… d'you mean matty?"

you nod, pressing your lips together in nervousness. it's definitely worse for ross, given their long friendship, but matty and george have become almost like older brothers to you through their support of you and your band, and so the fear of the former being hurt by the upcoming revelation is very real to you too.

"oh, he'll be too excited to be sad," charli grins, then giggles maniacally. "and too busy trying to convince you and ross to have musical-prodigy kids."

you think you wouldn't be opposed to that idea, but it still seems too soon to say it out loud.

"i hope you're right, charli," you say instead, although you can't keep the tiny smile from your face at the sweetly domestic thought. "you really think he won't be angry? or adam? christ, imagine upsetting adam! i'd never forgive myself."

"well, put it this way," charli moves so she can look you in the eye, taking your hands in her own. "i was woken up at 2am by george telling me you and ross were secretly together, and that i just had to drop everything today to get the train to glasgow with you so you could surprise him, and my overwhelming emotion was not anger, but excitement. so yeah, i think the boys'll be fine."

you squeeze her hands gratefully. "you took the 2am phone call better than i did," you snort. "i could've throttled your boyfriend for waking me up, babe. especially after the week i've had."

charli laughs. "just think, though - in a few hours, you'll have ross to kiss it better."

and what a nice thought that is. you're aware of your body sinking further into the plush train seat, but every other sense zones out the present completely in favour of remembering past kisses with your boyfriend; it isn't until charli actually pinches your bare forearm that you snap out of your romantic little daydream about ross's lips and tongue and hands.

she laughs when you frown at her, wriggling in her seat into what you've come to learn is her gossip pose. "your face just lit up there - i take it ross isn't lacking in kissing ability?"

you smirk. "not in the slightest."

"i love that for you. and what about ability," charli's volume drops as her brows lift. "... elsewhere?"

the smirk grows, and you gleefully swing your legs as much as you can without instigating an argument with the person sitting in front of you. "no comment."

"oh, you bitch," your friend lightly slaps your arm. "at least tell me if you're satisfied or not, please!"

your mind thinks back to the last night you saw your boyfriend, and to the beard burn still lingering on your inner thighs. "'satisfied' is an understatement."

"obsessed with that. obsessed with the two of you! tonight's going to go well. i can feel it."

deep down, you know charli's right. it's your friends you're telling about you and ross tonight. they love you. they want you to be happy.

you want that too. you want to be able to be the properly proud adoring girlfriend at the side of the stage tonight, cheering on ross and shouting "i love you"s and doing your utmost to get him to do that crinkly-eyed smile that makes your heart glow. all you have to do is be honest with your friends.

ross's eyes cross your mind again, for the millionth time today. yeah, tonight will go well - you'll make sure of it. for him.

[scotianostra]

Loch Lomond.

Another of my requests fulfilled

@motsimages asked for Loch Ness, or any Loch.

Loch Ness is a bit too far to do on a day trip using public transport, but here I am at Loch Lomond, arguably one of the most accessible of our fresh water lochs.

If you want to visit either catch a direct train at Queen Street Station Glasgow to Balloch, or from Central Station and change at Patrick. More pics to come, as always......🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

[thedreadvampy]

ScotRail are like do you want to get between the two biggest cities in this nation? Well you have three options. There's the fast train which will get you there in great time, the slow train which will let you reach all the towns in the central belt and still get you to your destination at the same speed as driving straight there, and then we also have the Dumb Idiot Shitforbrains train we put there as a joke where sometimes you will look out of the window and see someone overtake you on a pushbike. Choose wisely.

and somehow because I am extremely stupid I will literally always choose the Dumb Idiot Shitforbrains joke train and then get very mad.

got told yesterday to go to a conference in Glasgow today

fine

accidentally got the slow train this morning and was half an hour late

ugh

ok day

fine

ACCIDENTALLY GOT THE SLOW TRAIN BACK AS WELL I HAVE BEEN ON THIS FUCKING TRAIN FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF AND I'M AT LIKE LIVINGSTONE.

and it's like 24° and my friend asked me if I want to go to the beach and i DESPERATELY want to go to the beach. but no I live on this fucking train now and the soonest I could get to the beach is like 8pm which is when SUNSET IS so it will be TOO LATE and they're busy all the rest of this week and I am STILL ON THIS FUCKING TRAIN I'm going to CRY ALL I HAVE WANTED SINCE IT GOT WARM IS TO GO IN THE SEA but NO someone had to run a conference from 9-5 which by the way is INHUMANE everyone KNOWS conferences are meant to be done by 4:30

fuck this I wanna be in the sea 😭

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

This Shouldn't Be as Relatable as It Is

"With the bogey of Sunday rates of pay, the LMS Northern Division ran those Sunday services on a veritable shoestring. Only Glasgow Central station was used, and one locomotive depot, Polmadie. Signal boxes were switched out wherever possible. From Paisley to Kilwinning, there was no box open except Glengarnock No 2, which was kept open for the ironworks. Staffs at stations were the minimum.

In June 1927 the LMS took a really daring decision, advertising a Sunday Excursion from Glasgow to Portpatrick on 18 June from Central station. The G&SW men had been complaining that they were getting no share of the Sunday jobs, so authority said to Corkerhill, 'Here you are. Run this excursion to Portpatrick. Put on two of the heaviest engines which are permitted, and give the job to your two senior passenger men.' So Corkerhill chose two big-boilered Manson 4-4-0s, Nos 14374 (ex-346, ex-157) and 14261 (ex-389, ex-259), of the 18 and 240 classes respectively. They gave them to the two oldest drivers, Sanny Rowan and Dick Gaw, who had been leading a quiet life on the 'old men's jobs'. They did not know the road into Central, but they were told to proceed to West Street and they would get a conductor from there. So they set off from Corkerhill tender-first, and with a big of juggling got to West Street. No conductor there. 'Go on. He's at Larkfield,' said the signalman, 'It's not far.' So they got down to Larkfield, and of course landed in Central nose first! They had to come back out to Eglintgon Street to turn. They got back in to find a train of eleven corridors and a Pullman diner, Helen Macgregor, 366 tons tare and filling rapidly.

They got away eight minutes late and sat for 15 minutes at Paisley waiting on the Largs train clearing Glengarnock. By the time the train left Paisley it was estimated that there were 950 passengers aboard. They called at Irvine, Troon and Prestwick, with a draw-up at each to let all the train get to the platforms. At Ayr, both engines took water. By this time the train was packed. There was an extra stop to pick up a party from Kilkerran. At Girvan both locomotives took water again. Webster was guard and he came forward at Girvan grumbling about the delay. Dick Gaw, flourishing his oil can, chased him up the platform, threatening to knock the bluidy heid off him.

Now came the problem. The scheduled top load for each of those engines, Girvan to Pinmore, was 140 tons, and they had 366! No assistance was available. How they got up, I shall never know. I think the regulators must have been twice round. Stop at Pinmore — another party to lift — missed the tablet at New Luce and had to stop and run back for it, arriving 80 minutes late Stranraer. They then took the whole train down to Portpatrick, rounded it (on a loop which held, I think, eight coaches) and hauled the whole lot back up to Stranraer, tender-first. At Stranraer there was no one on duty except a signalman. They had to turn, water and coal both engines; two big fires to clean. Then they had to turn to and fill finer tanks and lavatory tanks, and by buckets, for the hoses were either locked up or could not be found. Then back down to Portpatrick, with a 40-minute late start on the return journey. They had a special stop at Dunragit, parties at Pinmore and Kilkerran, and had double stops at all stations except Ayr, finally arriving 148 minutes late in Glasgow Central. The engine crews booked off at Corkerhill after eighteen hours on duty!

'Splendid!' said Head Office, examining the passenger returns on Monday morning, and it promptly arranged for another similar excursion [next] Sunday."

p. 31-33, Legends of the Glasgow & South Western (David L. Smith)

[abbiistabbii]

I just automated something using Python for the first time and my brain released the

HAPPY CHEMICALS

in a way I have not felt in a long, looooooooooooooong time to the point I wanted to tell everyone what I did despite it being really fucking nerdy.

Basically every mainline railway station on Great Britain has a three letter code like airports, KGX for King's Cross, EDB for Edinburgh, GLC for Glasgow Central. You get the idea. Anyway I have this thing called Espanso where you can type a prompt and it will replace it with something you set it to. For example, I can type :date and it will write the current date (20/07/2023). You can set up your own prompts by learning the very simple mark up language and setting your own prompts.

Anyway I looked at Espanso and thought "I wonder if I could set it up so I could type a station code as an Espanso prompt and get the station code. So after thinking about how I could write it by hand and realising there were 2575 stations in Great Britain, I knew I would have to automate it.

My knowlegde of Python is basic, but after watching part of a video course, learning how to install Python Packages, learning how to use Openpyxl and reading so many blogposts I learnt how to use Python to take info from a spreadsheet, insert it into Espanso's markup langauge, and put that in a fucking text file and after some trial and error and test runs, I did it and my mind just exploded with the happy chemicals.

My monkey brain was like "HEE HOO PUZZLE SOLVED" and I got so much happy brain sauce. And after telling my Mum, Dad, Friends and an elderly neighbour what I did, something set in. Is this...how they get you? Is this how people get into coding for fun or even a career? Has coding bitten me? Will I ever be able to escape this addiction?

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley in the U.K.

Jim Irvin, 'From Hallelujah to the Last Goodbye' (Post Hill), May 2018

Excerpted from Jeff Buckley: From Hallelujah to the Last Goodbye by Jeff's former manager Dave Lory and former MOJO man Jim Irvin (Post Hill Press).

JEFF BUCKLEY loved British music; the nervous energy in British punk, the wired consciousness of the Clash, the way Siouxsie and the Banshees went from gun-metal moodiness to skies full of fireworks.

He adored the Cocteau Twins, of course, especially Liz Fraser's "impossible voice". He loved how the Smiths called to outsiders and nerds. He loved the textures of Johnny Marr's supple guitar and the mordant presence of Steve Jones's guitar in the Sex Pistols.

Jeff, whose own nervous energy was considerable, became even more wired whenever we went to the UK; he was stimulated by its variety. He also appreciated its compactness – the lack of eight-hour drives between cities was refreshing.

Sony had passed on Live at Sin-é in Europe. We were understandably disappointed, but there was a solution close at hand: Steve Abbott, known to everyone as Abbo, who ran the eccentric indie record label Big Cat and had picked up on many of the promising un-signed bands playing in New York: Pavement, Mercury Rev, Luscious Jackson. He had approached Jeff after Gods & Monsters and Sin-é shows and asked him if he'd like to record with Big Cat, but then Sony stepped in. Jeff felt that he owed Abbo a record, so when Columbia UK passed on Live at Sin-é and Michele Anthony instigated a funding deal with Big Cat, it seemed the perfect opportunity for them to become involved. Abbo jumped at the chance.

Big Cat's small team – Abbo, co-owner Linda Obadiah, Frank Neidlich in marketing, and Jacqui Rice in press – did such a good job that the week it was released in Europe, Live at Sin-é sold over four thousand copies, which was amazing for a complete unknown.

After a Sony conference, where it was clear that a lot of the affiliates were bemused by him, Jeff had a warm-up show at Whelan's in Dublin. By the time he came on, the crowd, several drinks into its evening, had become a little boisterous. Jeff said hello softly, as usual, but no one was really paying attention. Jeff just stood there, waiting. People started to quieten down and watch to see what he would do. There was a pint of his favourite beer, Guinness, sitting on the stool next to him. Jeff lifted the glass to his lips and downed it in one hit. Everyone on the room cheered, and he began the Irish show with the crowd completely on his side.

The audience was more blasé the next night at his London debut at The Borderline, a Western-themed venue under a dubious Mexican diner in Soho, right in the heart of London, a group of local reps for hip American indie labels like Sub Pop and Merge yacking away rather disrespectfully at the bar. In the age of grunge, a lone guy with a guitar softly singing Edith Piaf covers was baffling for some.

"It was an epiphany for me," says Sara Silver, Sony's European head of marketing. "There are some shows where it just feels like you're a voyeur, looking into someone's soul. This was one of those. He was charismatic, but also haunting, and I think because of my particular situation at the time, still suffering from the [loss of my husband], he resonated hugely. This haunting sound was a powerful force, and it was my job to work out how we took it to the world."

A gig the next night in Glasgow meant an early-morning flight back to Heathrow the following morning to catch a session with GLR, London's local BBC station, a slot designed to alert people to the next couple of gigs at the Garage in Islington and at Bunjies, a cute little basement folk club in Central London that dated back to the early 1960s and made Sin-é seem generously proportioned.

Abbo was accompanying Jeff on this run.

"We'd meet regularly at a bar called Tom & Jerry's in New York, hang out and drink Guinness together," Abbo says, "I suppose I became a friend of his, and he didn't seem to have many real friends. I'd only discovered I liked the blues since living in New York, so it was great hanging with him, because he was a huge blues and jazz fan and if there was a guitar around he had to pick it up and show off. He knew every Robert Johnson song, every Muddy Waters tune, Bessie Smith; he introduced me to the physicality of the blues, watching it at close quarters. Everybody talks about his voice, but he was a brilliant guitarist. The guitar was an extension of his body.

"Tim Buckley hadn't really entered my line of vision growing up listening to black music. Singer-songwriters with fluffy hairstyles were not currency on my council estate in Luton! We were in Tom & Jerry's and someone said to Jeff, 'I've been listening to your dad,' and I said, 'Who's your dad?' and he said, 'Tim Buckley.' I knew the name from record shopping; I'd seen the sleeves in the racks, but that's it. But when he came over to Britain there were loads of Tim Buckley fans. And it was a real problem early on, because he really didn't like talking about him."

The traffic from the airport to the GLR studios just off Baker Street was awful. A road accident had slowed everything to a standstill. Jeff's slot on the mid-morning show was fast approaching. "Of course, this was before mobile phones, so I had no way of communicating with the radio station that we were stuck in traffic," says Abbo. "For the last few days on this tour, everyone who'd interviewed Jeff had been asking about his dad. How did Tim write 'Song To The Siren'? Was there stuff in his lyrics that he might have related to? Things Jeff couldn't answer.

"We were listening to GLR while we waited in traffic and the presenter kept saying, 'We're supposed to have this artist, Tim Buckley's son, turning up, but he's late....Will he or won't he turn up?' This went on and on. She must have said 'Tim Buckley's son' about four times and didn't mention Jeff once. Suddenly, he just kicked my car radio in with his big DMs [Doc Martens], just smashed the fascia and then sat back sulking all the way there. I could get another radio, of course, but I was mostly worried he wasn't going to do the performance. 

"We finally arrived about forty minutes late and they were all so rude to us, and yet they knew what the problem was, as they were broadcasting traffic updates and warnings of delays themselves. If I were him, I'd have walked out. The female presenter was a typical local radio DJ, a bit gushy and knew nothing about him and his music. I had a word with the station manager to ask her to stop mentioning Tim Buckley, and he handed her a note to that effect. Jeff just sat there silently and she said, 'What are you going to play?' and Jeff said, 'A song.' I'm thinking, 'Oh god, here we go.' And he started to play "Grace." He did this long guitar introduction, went on for about a minute, like he needed to calm himself down before he got to the actual start of the song, and then he launched into the most electrifying performance. The best I ever heard him do it.

"There were about six phones in the control room, and they all started lighting up. 'Who is this? Who is this? It's amazing!' And all the time, Jeff's getting more and more into it. The presenter went from being this standoffish woman to...I swear she would have thrown herself on him given half a chance, the second he finished singing. You could see she was totally enthralled."

Presenter: "You looked quite exhausted at the end of the song."

Jeff: "I was getting a lot of anger out. Something happened on the way here..."

"The phones didn't stop throughout the next song. The station manager said that in all his twelve years at the station, he'd never seen a reaction like it."

Abbo thinks this performance sparked Jeff's breakthrough. There were certainly plenty of people in line outside the Garage in North London that night. Inside, the first stars were taking note. Chrissie Hynde and Jon McEnroe were in the audience. Chrissie had been a big fan and a friend of Tim's, had actually interviewed him while she was briefly a music journalist with the NME, and she was obviously curious to see how his offspring compared. They struck up a conversation after the show and she clearly said the right thing, because he went off with her to jam with the Pretenders in a nearby rehearsal room. I wasn't carrying anything heavy because of a recent lung collapse, and I didn't want Jeff to pull any important muscles, so I asked McEnroe if he wouldn't mind. He happily hauled Jeff's amp downstairs to the car. The Pretenders' jam with special guests Buckley and Mac went on all night.

Bunjies, as I've said, was tiny, a basement folk club and coffee bar on West Street in Soho, along from the Ivy, with gingham tablecloths and melted candles in wine bottles on the tables and a performance area tucked into a couple of arches in what must have been a wine cellar at one point. It looked unchanged since it had begun in the early 1960s, and had seen a couple of folk booms come and go. It was more of a cafe with an open-mic policy by this point, which felt like a good place for Jeff. There wasn't really any need for amplification, so when we arrived for a sound check there was very little to do but see where Jeff was going to stand in the cramped space and gauge how his voice reflected off the nicotine-stained ceilings. While Jeff did that, I went outside for some fresh air and was stunned to see a line of people already waiting to get into the show.

I took a look at the guest list and realised we'd be lucky to fit twenty of this assembling crowd in the tiny space. Every time I looked up, the line was getting further down West Street. I went back into the venue and found Jeff talking to Emma Banks, the agent. He was saying how great the venue was and that he'd like to do something like hand out flowers to everyone before he went on.

"Jesus, you won't believe what's happening out there," I said to them. "The line goes about four blocks. There's no way these people are going to get in. Is there any way we can do two sets?" Jeff was happy to. Emma spoke to the club owner and was told they had some regular club night happening later on. She came back and said, "They can't do it but I've had an idea!" She disappeared up the steps onto the street, and I spoke to Jeff.

"What flowers would you like?"

"White roses," he said.

"I'll get them," I said, and went back up to the street, where the line had grown even longer.

I walked around looking for a florist and bumped into Emma. "I've booked Andy's Forge," she said. "It's a little place just around the corner in Denmark Street. He can go on at 10:30."

I bought as many white roses as I could find. Jeff handed them to people waiting outside and those lucky enough to get into the club, as he squeezed himself into the corner that passed for a stage. He sang upward, listening to his voice reflect off the curved ceiling into this hot, crowded, and attentive space. There must have been a hundred people stuffed in there.

When the show was over, Jeff walked up the steps to the huddle of patient people that Emma had gathered, plus anyone from the first show who wanted to tag along, and led this crowd like the Pied Piper toward Andy's Forge. Abbo was alongside me. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" I said.

"Never!" he said. And we laughed liked idiots at the wonderful absurdity of hanging out with Jeff.

© Jim Irvin, 2018

[mightywellfan]

Glasgow Central Station

Glasgow Central station is one of two large terminuses in Glasgow.  It was built in 1879 on a level above the surrounding streets.  It was  tastefully restored, retaining many of the architectural features, in the late 1900s.

This view looks across the platforms through the large expanses of glass towards some of the nearby buildings in the centre of Glasgow.

[fully-functioning-pigeon]

Glasgow Central Station in Scotland advertisement for Percy Jackson 💙