A Highland Lad
But I was drawn out again after dinner. A pipe band was screaming 'The Haughs of Cromdale' under the walls of the hotel, and the streets had been abandoned to Glaswegians on the loose. 'Gies a reel, fur Goad's sake!' Glasgow at play is a sight worth study. So I walked slowly along the roaring street. A gust of wild music belched from the entrance to an hotel and I went in. Inside there must have been a hundred people, boozing, smoking, arguing and bawling to the music of two pianos. I was soon talking with a group of seven men seated round a table. Sonic
were Highland and some Irish, farm or forestry workers having a boozy Saturday night-out together. They were all amiable; and none more so than the Highlandman on my left, a big OP"- faced fellow of about forty, who talked about flY" fishing, the effects of afforestation, the difference between Morar Gaelic and that of 13°E.I°gal' Salvador Dali's Sr. John of the Cross in Elle, • Glasgow Art Gallery and the relative merits 01 'The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre' and 'The Ould, Orange Flute.' I would have said that he had haul two or three drinks, perhaps, butno more.., enjoyed his small-talk and joined him in a giarl of whisky. But it was late and when 1 Wen. '` return the compliment the waitresses were ealbilig, 'Time!' along to the bar in the hi', said I, 'and have a drink before you g° ° 'Where are you, then?' At the Pibroch.' 'DO f think it will be all right?' he asked. I said that ° course it would be.
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