Strathclyde Country Park Caravan Club Site, Bothwell, Glasgow

Political tragicks that we are, we welcomed the return of the Andrew Marr Show this morning willing to sacrifice some of our morning’s touring to catch up on the week’s political comments and opinions; oh, how we have missed this over the summer holiday months! However we were organised enough to still be away at 10 am, heading north on the motorway into the centre of the city of Glasgow, finding our way to the Cambridge Street car park, advertising a flat Sunday parking fee of £3, a far cry from that charged the other six days of the week. It was a bit of a hike into the centre of town, but we counteracted that by filling our faces at McDonalds with an unnecessary morning coffee and mini-feast, despite the fact we had the day’s picnic lunch packed in the rucksack. This and other stories of greed are the reason why my jeans are fitting a little tighter than before.

Without a map we wandered from one signpost to another, finally making our way toward the Information Centre. I am not sure how long ago the Centre relocated to GOMA (Gallery of Modern Art) but I suspect it was some time ago given the well-established eateries along the street where it is supposed to be according to the signs. Obviously the tourist budget is a little stretched and signage down the list of priorities.

The confusion took us into George Square which today was hosting an event, One Big Picnic, more than ten different charities and community initiatives having set up stalls and handing out food and refreshments to anyone passing or in need of nourishment. My husband was offered an egg sandwich which he accepted with good grace, I turned down a ham sandwich; I have to be very hungry to succumb to ham. There were also a group of Sikhs who were demonstrating the winding and wearing of their own special brand of turban which was creating much hilarity for everyone involved. Duvet inners were scattered about the square and various family and friendship groups were settling down to create a patchwork of multiculturalism. On the four corners of the square were buskers of varying ages and musical styles. All in all, this heralded warm and fuzzy feelings for a city that has a long history and reputation as being a rough and tumble place.

George Square is surrounded with imposing Victorian architecture, and on the southern side the equally imposing City Chambers stand awaiting further inspection. We have learned that during the week, one can take an escorted tour through the hallowed halls and if time and schedule allows, we might well do this in the ensuing days.

The Gallery of Modern Art is close by, and after discovering the tourist information in the basement and picking up a good city map, we explored the exhibitions on the floors above. As per normal, there were many works of “art” we did not appreciate however I was delighted to find a Stanley Spencer and a couple of Beryl Cook’s work, the latter not considered a serious artist by the academics, but certainly enjoyed by an ignoramus like me. It was also amusing to join a large group of visitors watching a rather odd film where the artist had set up a chain of events including tyres and fire, a little like watching a thousand lined up dominoes falling. Such odd things capture the attention of humans, and we were no less than the rest.  

The art gallery is housed in what was once a grand mansion built in 1775 for the tobacco lord William Cunningham, obviously on the back of slave labour, which we will pretend we know nothing of.  Later it served as the city’s Royal Exchange and does seem to have been better suited to a commercial use rather than a private residence, however there is no accounting for taste. When it was built, it was then on the most westerly point in the city, something that seems quite incredible from this end of history, even armed with only the visitor central city map.

The gallery was opened in 1996 with six galleries, and today we were able to view three galleries full of an eclectic mix of modern art and could have taken part in CPR training in Gallery One had we wanted to experience something a little different. I do not mean to dismiss this un-artistic happening; it is something I have been thinking about doing of late, but the timing was off and hopefully any need to use such knowledge will fit neatly with delayed instruction.

Scotch mist had arrived by the time we emerged from the gallery; we were glad to have our raincoats on, but then they have become part of our everyday wear since we arrived in Scotland. We walked up through the city, past the Strathclyde University undergoing major new construction, and up to St Mungo’s Cathedral. 

Like most religious structures in Britain, it has had its share of construction and de-construction, first built in 1136, then destroyed in 1192, partially rebuilt thereafter but not completed until the late 15^th century. St Mungo, aka St Kentigen, was once interred in the basement of the church, but his relics were removed in the late Middle Ages, and have since disappeared, although I am sure there are some odd balls who profess to have little bit of his remains here or there.

These days it is part of the Protestant tradition, although the layout is very Anglican. Chris reckoned it to be one of the most attractive churches we have visited in Scotland, although added “But that is not saying much”.

I rather liked it, although do accept that I was probably influenced by the fact there was music as we stepped inside. An organist was practising and had managed to cause the many tourists to seat themselves quietly in reverential listening pose. We did likewise, although I did think the music was rather dark, a bit like the stonework of the building. I prefer church music to be more uplifting, or even joyful; this was more dirge-like. Later we wandered down into the crypt in search of St Mungo’s remains, admiring various aspects of the architecture, and finally left to more joyful strains from the organ.

Behind the Cathedral, now of course not a cathedral at all, the Necropolis dominates the landscape.  This is an elevated grassy mound crowded with an assortment of crumbling and tumbling gravestones, ornate urns, gloomy catacombs and neoclassical temples. Inspired by the Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris, the garden of death was established in 1832, and quickly became a popular place for the great and good of the wealthy 19^th century Glaswegians to indulge their vanity; some 50,000 burials have taken place since the first, and there are 3,500 monuments. My husband found it all rather distasteful, I found it fascinatingly crazy and did love the views afforded from the summit, albeit through rain now much heavier than mist.

We descended from our viewpoint and made our way back to the car park, and finally arrived wet and tired, ready to head back to Strathclyde Country Park via the Tesco at Bellshill, a journey that should have been quite straightforward but was complicated by the fact that the M8 has been altered since we bought our Tomtom. The Chauffeur was no amused.