Orphans (1998)

 

High Times (2004)

 

Simple Minds: Everything Is Possible (2023)

 

Grim . . . but beautiful.

 Close in Blackhill, Glasgow, early-1970s. Pic: Larry Herman.

The Gorbals Story (1950)

 

My Old School (2023)

 

Heavenly Pursuits (1986)

 

The Book Group (2002)

 

Play For Today: Just Another Saturday (1975)

 

High Times (2008)

 

High Times (2004)

 

Sir Alex Ferguson: Never Give In (2021)

 

Comfort and Joy (1984)

 

That Sinking Feeling (1979)

 

In the All-Night Café: A Memoir of Belle and Sebastian's Formative Year by Stuart David (Chicago Review Press 2015)

 

At the end of the last day we had a play-through of everything in its finished state, and Stuart, Chris and 

Bel got up to dance behind the mixing desk during the playback of ‘I Could Be Dreaming’. They all had their own dancing styles. Chris was Northern-Soul-Boy, Bel School-Disco, with her pigtails and white knee socks. Stuart was somewhere between Punk and gym hall jogging.

It was joyful to watch, a shy celebration of what we’d achieved, but there was a bittersweet quality to it too – everyone knowing that our tenure at Cava was over. We’d packed our instruments away, all the microphones and patch leads had been dismantled and the live room had been tidied up and prepared for whoever was coming in next. All the mixes had been bounced down onto two-inch tape, and when the playback was over there was nothing much left to do except say our sad farewells to Gregor and Geoff and then go home.

Chris, Bel and me also had our respects to pay to the water-cooler at the bottom of the stairs, the symbol for us of everything that had been great about the week. Then, with that done, Chris said to me, ‘This has been the best week of my life. But I’m not sure if it’s just because I’ve had a shite life up till now or not.’

He disappeared up the stairs, while I went back along the corridor to pick up my bass, and before I got outside a rumour had begun to circulate that Chris was crying.

The Accidental Footballer by Pat Nevin (Monoray 2021)

 

Another room was swiftly bypassed on the stairs with a flick of the wrist and a ‘You wouldn’t be interested in that one’ comment. Like hell I wouldn’t be interested, that was the one I wanted to see most, now that he had dismissed it with just a little too much disdain! I was already envisaging a picture of Dorian Gray, but with an ageing Morrissey in the frame. He changed his mind and then relented again after some gentle persuasion. He turned the key in the lock so sluggishly and opened the door to the room so slowly that it was even more obvious that he was embarrassed about its contents. I just wanted to push past him at this point, it was such a painstaking palaver.

The door finally opened to reveal the very last thing I expected to see: a fully kitted-out multigym with all the most modern equipment.

Divided City by Theresa Breslin (Random House 2005)

 

Footsteps.

Running.

Graham didn’t hear them at first.

He was walking fast, eating from his bag of hot chips as he went. Taking a detour via Reglan Street. The kind of street his parents had warned him never to be in. The kind of street where your footsteps echoed loud, too loud – because there was no one else about.

From either side the dark openings of the tenement building mawed at him. It was the beginning of May and fairly light at this time in the evening. But even so . . . Graham glanced around. The sky was densely overcast and shadows were gathering. He shouldn’t have lingered so long after football training.

Graham dug deep into the bag to find the last chips, the little crispy ones soaked in vinegar that always nestled in the folds of paper at the bottom. He wiped his mouth and, scrunching up the chip paper, he threw it into the air. When it came down he sent it rocketing upwards, powered by his own quality header. The paper ball spun high above him. Graham made a half turn.

Wait for it . . . wait for it . . .

Now.

‘Yes!’ Graham shouted out loud as his chip bag bounced off a lamppost ten metres away. An ace back-heeler! With a shot like that he could zap a ball past any keeper right into the back of the net. He grinned and thrust his hands in the air to acknowledge the applause of the fans.

At that moment noise and shouting erupted behind him, and Graham knew right away that he was in trouble.

Footsteps.

Running.

Coming down Reglan Street. Hard. Desperate.

Pounding on the ground. Beyond them, further away, whooping yells and shouts.

‘Get the scum! Asylum scum!

30 Day Song Challenge - Day 12

A song from your preteen years.

As a kid, it was such a big deal that they mentioned Glasgow in the lyric. The glamour . . . Agnetha . . . Be still my beating heart . . .

Abba - Super Trouper (1980)

Ya stoater

A triple score and 77 points for 'Steamie'. Thank you, Mr. Tony Roper.

I bet my American opponent is scratching his head in bemusement right now. "A fucking what? He just made that shit up".

The Glasgow School (2016)