Last days

Memories from a year in Glasgow

13 years ago this week I moved to Glasgow, where I lived for almost exactly one year.

Intimacies from this time:

The strange grey and white cube of the flat, the red plush throw that I got from Primark to put upon it, on my first day, in an attempt at cosiness. Cheap tea-lights. First try at homemaking. Pesto pasta. The throw tracked fluff everywhere.

How I would jog, spooked, in my uniform in the early dawn of the burgeoning summer on my way to my 5am shift at a coffee chain in the city centre. It was so quiet for the first two hours. I was there as the city curled into life, into being, as the first people came in the door. It was a slow waking, my favourite shift.