Of all the things I have seen and you wish me to speak about that cesspit of a city? Very well my darling, take a seat and stop slurping, it is most unbecoming of a young lady. There, that is better; we will make a rose of you yet my sweet. What was that? Oh yes, Glasgow.
When I first stepped foot in her soiled streets I was filled with the naivety that I walked in the land of opportunity, that in this wild, wild west that I might make a name for myself. To some extent, I suppose I did, however I very quickly discovered that nothing stays the same for too long in that ever changing city. In my time I lived under the rule of three different Princes’, each one more different than the last. In places like Edinburgh and London Prince’s rule for centuries, in Glasgow they are considered to be lucky if they make it to the end of a year. Ambition is the one constant in the domain of Glasgow, as is betrayal. They claw and scratch their way to the top, fighting and plotting over the scraps that the once titled ‘Second City of the Empire’ has left
However, they all miss it; you cannot see it until you leave it. You do not claim the city, it claims you. The more you try to make it a better place the more the grime of it seeps into your blood like brown sludge that meanders down The Clyde. That putrid city becomes a part of you to the point where you come to the realisation that you need it, that you want it, that you have come to depend on it like the many drug addicts of its street depend on their heroin.
I got out though, before that damned place could darken me any further. I watched from afar as it fell further into its vice, perhaps I helped it along a little; I had no love left for it after all. Then, I found you. I made you.
And my sweet precious darling, if you continue to slurp on your human in such a manner you will not need to hear my stories of Glasgow for I will send you there and we shall see how long you last.