Elf Blood

Hello all, hope you’re doing well! I just thought I’d share with you my last Saturday, and hopefully it’ll brighten your lives just as it brightened mine. As Mansonbot (Who is, you’ll be pleased to hear, safely tucked back up in his cage) mentioned, I went back to Glasgow last weekend for Mother’s day. I always take the time to visit with some of my friends still living there, many of whom I still keep in touch with regularly via internet. It’s always much better to meet in person, especially if you miss the banter and friendship of the people who mean so much to you.

There’s something magical about Glasgow, even discounting the nostalgic filter I must see it through. It sets itself apart from all other cities in the UK through urban character, distinct architecture, and a warmth to the people in the city that you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else. And while we will often mock the (admittedly frequently poor) weather in Glasgow, when there is a fine day in Glasgow the sun shines bright indeed on the dear green place.

Saturday was one of those fine days. Bathed in glorious golden light, I set off to meet up with some of my friends for lunch. Ever since our favourite restaurant burned down, we’ve been at somewhat of a loose end these days for a place to go for lunch. Usually we would hit up the noodle bar, but this time I felt a proper Yamcha was in order since I didn’t get to see my favourite people as often as I would have liked. It’s the kind of long, slow lunch that’s filled with conversations about everything, and often nothing at all; The zen kind of nothing, in the same manner that conversational silence between friends in an enclosed space is so much more comfortable than the awkward chit-chat one gets between acquaintances. We stayed for far too long in the restaurant, savouring the discussion over pots and pots of tea. Jasmine, not Bo Lei. A gentle tea for a gentle afternoon. By the end we were given only hot water, which we mused for a good half-hour was a less than subtle hint that we should leave. We didn’t care; The sun was smiling down on us through the window, and we had all the time in the world.

Saturday was, of course, St. Patrick’s day, and the city showed up in emerald style for it.  As we took a leisurely stroll back down Sauchiehall Street in the pleasantly strong late afternoon glow, pubs and bars all round could be seen swimming in green-shirted men, shouting loudly at the rugby match on TV. Scotland vs. Italy, but we could have cared less. Not so much in lack of national pride, no. But it just wasn’t our style. No, our style was more self-consciously intellectual, lofty, elevated; While others supped pints of dyed-green beer and roared at screens, we elected to discuss the subtle horror that the novel Lolita inspired. And yes, it was a little pretentious. But damn if it isn’t awesome to discuss the finer points of Nabakov with your favourite people in the face of the setting sun.

Life. Is awesome. Savour these moments.

M.