Late Nigh Walks

There can be nothing to make you feel more ancient than young people who had out flyers for city centre night clubs avoiding you in the street.

These pretty long legged sexy chicks saw husband and I approaching and almost got hit by a speeding car to make sure we weren’t getting an invite to ‘Hard Rock Sexy Night at The Nice’ n’ Sleazy’.

We laughed, wrapped our warm woollen coats around us and carried on regardless. Young people were hanging out in groups in what can only be described as beachwear, on a dark September night in Glasgow. I don’t ever recall wearing a skimpy pair of knickers and a tiny bra without a coat, in the freezing cold.

As we walked further down the road we came upon a couple of big fat Romanian women selling pink glittery cowboy hats and some cheap cellophane wrapped roses. The fat Romanian woman took one look at husband and offered him the chance to buy a cheap tacky pink hat.

“Do I really look like a man who wears pink plastic cowboy hats? He asked politely as he stuck both hands into his long black cashmere overcoat.
The woman begged for money and we both walked on, I have no issue with Eastern European beggars or hat sellers but if we don’t get offered the nightclub tickets then we surely don’t qualify for the pink hats either. The Romanians need to get some marketing tips from the sexy club promoters.

It had been a good night out; we had gone to a lovely restaurant called The Rogano in Glasgow for our wedding anniversary.

We used to eat there many years ago but since our incessant travelling and busy lives we haven’t really had time to enjoy our own culinary delights in our own fair city for such a long time.

It was lovely and the meal was awesome.

We both decided to take the surprise menu.
It consists of the latest fresh produce and seemed a good idea.

I asked the waiter (who must have about 18 years old if he was day)
“Does the chef come running out the kitchen dressed as a cat, carrying a huge silver platter and as he meows loudly does he pull the lid off the platter and reveal a stuffed mouse?”

The young man, in the very posh restaurant looked at me with frightened eyes and said “No, I think it might be fresh fish” without a smile or any hint of humour.

“Well cats like fish as so that would work also” I added, still trying to be funny, as other diners craned their necks to see who the mad person was.

“She is always trying to be funny, ignore her and please add a bottle of Rose to that order please” husband sombrely spoke. The waiter liked him and hated me and my ‘whacky’ ways.

The food was fabulous. After dinner I decided to go outside to their heated seating area and have coffee and a ciggie, husband brought out his after dinner brandy to join me, it was our wedding anniversary and so we should be together he told me.

Outside there was a small drunken debacle going on with various Glaswegian punters who after too much expensive wine, were going a wee bit mad. Just shouting and staggering about, nothing violent.

The restaurant waiters, who were all dressed in their starched black and whites, were nervously trying to contain the madness.

We sat beside two women in their mid-fifties who were slightly merry and nice, if not slightly beaten down a bit. They had the air of two women who had seen their fair share of shit lives. Just as we sat down with our coffee and drinks, one big fat drunk man stumbled away from their table.

The gas heaters pressed down warmth through the frosty Glasgow air, out door tables are popular since the smoking ban and are always crowded at night.

“That drunk man would not leave our table, but we did get rid of him eventually, he wasn’t bad, just a bit crazy” the blonde weary woman said to us. I think she was concerned that we assumed she and her friend were part of the drunken rabble.

“Well I am sure he meant no harm” husband added and smiled.

Two male waiters milled around the small steel topped tables and started clearing up as the drunks moved out.

The two women explained they were sisters and then just as we were about to toast 27 years of marriage the blonde one blurted out “My son died last year, our mother died this year and my husband died when I was young and our cousin died” she pointed to her sister and added “her husband just got put in a home with a long illness and is never coming out again”

We all sat there is complete silence, the staff shuffled their feet and didn’t know where to look, I didn’t know what to say so I blurted out “My mother was murdered!”
The two women stared at me; the atmosphere was thick with awkwardness and husband burst out laughing and said “It wasn’t a competition; you don’t have to shout out deaths Janey!” He laughed more and clapped his hands with amusement at my odd statement.

The two women laughed as well and I giggled under my breath, the posh starched aproned staff stood uneasily and then they started laughing as well.

“Here is to all the dead people we both know, and to many more years of enjoying the living” I said and lifted my coffee cup, we all clinked glasses and sat smiling.

“Yes, cheers!” said the two ladies.

We all sat chatting some more about life and other stuff that strangers do when they meet, we traded backgrounds and past address’s and spoke about jobs and places we both knew and have been.

“We haven’t been out in years, this was nice chatting” the blonde woman added and smiled broadly.
“Yes, it is nice” I said and it was nice.