Folk are always asking how it happened. How did a city with the worst
record for everything in the world, turn itsel round in such a short
time? How did Glasgow become the hottest tour destination ever?
Let’s start at the beginning. Ten year ago, when Edinburgh looked set
tae take over the world and Glasgow was appearing bottom of every
league table under the sun (except for membership of Gamblers
Anonymous) there we were, clocked in the middle of wanny they endless
meetings, throwing ideas around. Might as well chuck a ball about for
all the good they done.
Ah hated it. After a lifetime in the Parks Department, when they’d
finally built over hauf the parks and computerised everything, ah’d
been shunted intae some Micky Mouse organisation whose mission
statement was improving quality of life for the socially challenged
(i.e. neds). Funny, ah thought growing plants and trees was improving
the quality of life, but naw, ah was surplus tae requirements, and had
tae put up and shut up tae get my enhanced pension. Which meant
sitting in a windowless room wi Archie, who’d been sumpn tae dae wi a
Heiland Dancing Roadshow, and Shug, a retired plumber who’d run his ain
business for years and couldnae staund being idle so he’d got hissel on
the Regenerate Glasgow Committee.
We were supposed tae be finding some way tae put Glasgow back on the
map, some new slogan or theme that would have everybody and his auntie
flocking here. But everything we came up with was a no-no.
Glasgow – Green City?
No since they built hooses on hauf the parks and ran a motorway
through what was left.
Glasgow – Clean City?
Graffiti City mibbe.
Or Chuggie City.
Aye you cannae walk doon a street wioot gettin it stuck tae yer shoes.
How come folk don’t just chuck it in a bin or stick it on their mobile
for later?
Let’s face it, said Archie, Glasgow’s pants.
That’s it. Shug’s eyes were shining.
What?
Pants.
Aye but you can hardly attract tourists by telling them Glasgow’s
pants.
Naw, but you can get them tae buy Glasgow’s pants. Shug leaned his
elbows on the table, looked round us.
Look, it’s a waste of time trying tae get folk tae come here by
kidding on we’re like Edinburgh. Everybody knows it’s got a castle, a
festival, all that stuff.
Archie bristled. We’ve got festivals too. Hunners of them – Jazz,
Celtic Connections, the River Festival …
Aye but Edinburgh’s got it sorted; three weeks during the English
school holidays, when all the Scottish scruffbag weans are back at
school so they won’t annoy anybody
Archie still looked pissed aff but said nothing.
All the media types fly up fae London in a wanner – for three weeks
they review everything in the Telegraph and BBC2 and you cannae get a
cubbyhole tae stay in for love nor money. Edinburgh folk make a
fortune then sit back on their arses for the resty the year while the
tourists dauner round the castle and buy Scottie dug brooches and
tartan scarfs.
Ah thought ah’d better move things on a bit so ah dug out sumpn I’d
been taught in the ‘Reflective Skills for Committee Personnel’ course
last year.
So you don’t like Edinburgh, Shug. But perhaps there’s something we
can learn from them.
It’s no a question of liking or no liking. Ah’m just saying it’s a
waste of time for us tae compete wi them on culture.