I should take it as a slight but I’m not one to hold a grudge. Anyway, I wouldn’t know who to phone or e-mail. If you wanted to write to someone in charge of your native city it would probably have to be, in the case of my beloved Glasgow, The Lord Provist. But he’s just a figurehead. A guy in a robe and a bit of ceremonial bling hung round his neck who attends shop openings and the like. One of the previous incumbents of this post was a guy called Kelly who was a fervent Celtic supporter and let everyone know it. In a city carved apart through the last 100 years by the sectarian divide dressed up in scarves of blue or green, this, in my opinion was a monumental mistake. But as usual I digress but only slightly this time.
The problem you see, is that for the first 30 years of my life I lived in all that was bad about Glasgow. The slum tenements. The smog created from the industries encircling the city and which belched out black smoke. The overspill housing estates with no public amenities other than betting shops. The rampant aggression and violence, where to be on your own in an unfamiliar part of this once second city of the British Empire, was to advertise that you were fed up with life and wished to depart. The callous disregard for quality of life which soaked its way into every fabric of working class society.
And then I left. Heading for bright lights of London (well the suburbs) where the sun shone and you could own a car without being called ‘posh’. But it wasn’t this backward look which caused the angst, it was the fact that as soon as I left, as soon as I’d got on the A74 and headed south, they started to remodel the whole city! First they took the city centre and revamped it, turning once manic streets into tree-lined pedestrian precincts with coffee shops on the pavements. Coffee shops! Glaswegians didn’t drink coffee. It was tea or booze, usually the latter. Wonderfully familiar department stores had their insides ripped out and replaced with mezzanines and exotically planted atriums. Glasgow may once have been the second city of the empire but this was the first time it’s inhabitants had ever seen a palm tree in the flesh – so to speak!
The east end, where I was born, was completely flattened (unfortunately they did not include Celtic Park) and once it was rebuilt with shopping centres and new, wide roads, was completely unrecognisable apart from the newly refurbished off-licences which still had grills inside the shop through which the shopkeeper would peer at you and then pass you your bottles of booze in exchange for cash – no cheques or credit cards here. However, the improvement in infrastructure did not wholly translate itself into an improvement in people’s lives – the average male life expectancy is still only 54 – below some African and 3rd world countries! But hey – let’s not quibble. The new roads were great!
So what is causing this sudden look back in anger. Actually it’s not anger, just misplaced pride. You see yesterday a deal was signed which will give Glasgow probably the finest hotel in the whole of the UK. Forget the Grosvenor House or the Intercontinental on Park Lane, this place will be fantastic. Six stars they say, which is quite an achievement since the UK hotel industry only recognises a maximum of five but then Glasgow always did overplay its hand! It's being built by the people who own that fantastic sail-shaped place on the Gulf of Dubai. Maybe they heard there was a gulf in Glasgow - the sectarian gulf more like!
It will have roof-top cocktail bars and an infinity pool and its restaurants will no doubt present the highest levels of cuisine to all those Glaswegians who prospered after I left. Am I bitter? As they say in Glasgow - is the Pope a Catholic?
http://thescotsman.scotsman.com/scotland/New-6-star-hotel-announced.4590750.jp
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