My wife and I decided to take a city break in Glasgow at the end of last month.

Now, we’re not great travellers..Iin 44 years of marriage, most of our holidays have been spent travelling around Ireland.

It was only last year, 2025, that we ventured as far as Salou in Catalonia. We enjoyed it so much that wewent bac k this year.

So we’ve decided that, from now on, we’ll try to have at least one proper holiday a year, along with a city break or two.

And we decided on Glasgow.

Not necessarily my first choice, but Glasgow it was.

We’d originally intended going in August, but sadly a close family member passed away, and our plans were postponed.

So off we went at the end of October.

Two of our grandsons took us to Aldergrove Airport early one morning.

The first thing we discovered was that our suitcase was too big to travel free.

That’ll be £60, thank you very much.

My wife wasn’t terribly pleased. I took it reasonably well, considering.

We’re now at the stage in life where we need assistance at airports. My wife has considerable mobility difficulties and uses a rollator.

I have to say the staff at Aldergrove were wonderful. Very helpful people in their yellow gilets, making sure we were comfortable and helping us through the airport.

The flight itself was only about thirty minutes.

Hardly enough time to get frightened.

At Glasgow Airport I encountered another modern technological marvel.

Uber.

My son had installed this fancy app on my phone, and somehow I managed to summon a car to take us into Glasgow.

And quite reasonably priced it was too.

I’m still not entirely comfortable with all this modern business of electronic tickets, self-service machines and phones that apparently know more about where you’re going than you do.

But we arrived safely.

At the hotel, we decided to check in early because we needed a rest.

Naturally, that cost extra.

Our room was several floors up, and there were notices everywhere reminding guests that, in the event of fire, they should use the stairs.

Excellent advice.

Unless, of course, your wife has serious mobility problems.

We discussed the situation and eventually agreed that, should a fire break out, I would throw my wife out of the window and then run downstairs in time to catch her.

Admittedly, we hadn’t thought this plan through in any great detail.

Anyway, we settled in and went shopping.

My wife bought a cardigan.

This was the beginning of something.

We wandered around the shopping centre, where I was astonished to discover an actual shop selling merchandise from the Scottish comedy programme Still Game.

I hadn’t realised there was such a thing.

We ended up in McDonald’s, as you do.

And my wife bought gloves.

So, running total: cardigan, gloves.

The following day I decided to find a toy soldier shop.

I had the address and one of those clever direction apps on my phone.

Unfortunately, it kept telling me I was three minutes away, then seven minutes away, then six minutes away, then nine minutes away.

Eventually I discovered that I’d set the directions for driving rather than walking.

Idiot.

When we finally reached the shop, near Glasgow Sheriff Court, we discovered that it had closed permanently.

Another Uber back into central Glasgow.

Meanwhile, my wife had discovered more shops.

Boots were purchased.

Cardigan, gloves, boots.

Then there was Holland & Barrett, scarves, various little trinkets to bring home, and a lovely 1960s-style woollen cap.

I have to say my wife looked stunning in the cap.

The next day brought Warren James the jewellers.

And then the big one.

Marks & Spencer.

A coat.

A very nice coat, admittedly.

Now, I’m all in favour of my wife enjoying a little retail therapy.

And believe me, she enjoyed a considerable amount of therapy during those four days.

You may have noticed, however, that I hadn’t bought anything.

Not a thing.

Until I discovered a pound shop in Sauchiehall Street.

And there, to my delight, were unpainted resin toy soldiers.

Scottish pipers.

A pound each!

I bought nine.

There were also Highland coos and a rather splendid cone-headed Duke of Wellington. Also one pound.

The display coo was only three legged. So I offered 50 pence. Then the shop girl dropped it and another leg broke off.

“20 pence’ I said but I got it for free. Result.

what is the point of a two legged Highland Coo? Well I am a humanitarian. The Coo.was a “rescue”. If I had not taken it home, the resin coo would have been euthanized.

Basically as a Toy Soldier collector, it’s a case of no (plastic) man left behind. Or resin coo.

Now, there’s a problem with painting Scottish pipers.

Kilts.

At 74, my painting skills are simply not up to producing convincing tartan.

And tartan paint is notoriously difficult to find.

Guy, my new AI technical adviser and wingman, also informs me that left-handed paintbrushes are increasingly difficult to obtain.

Guy is proving to be a very useful member of staff.

So I may paint my pipers in the colours of the Irish Defence Forces instead.

Green and saffron, perhaps.

Historical accuracy will have to take a back seat.

But here’s the thing about Glasgow.

It wasn’t the shopping, the hotel, the Uber rides or even the toy soldiers that made the trip enjoyable.

It was the people.

The people of Glasgow were lovely.

Friendly, helpful, funny and welcoming.

Now, I’m an old man, but I still enjoy a bit of banter with shop assistants, particularly the ladies.

And if a woman wants to have a laugh and a little harmless flirtation with me, I’m certainly not going to object.

My wife, meanwhile, tends to roll her eyes.

“Oh God. Not again.”

But that friendliness was everywhere.

We were in a Pizza place and the lady at the next table (to the bewilderment of her companion) pushed the tables together. Turns out she was a tour guide and knew a lot about Culloden and we sat for a good hour discussing the battle and the Jacobite deployment.

Before we came home, we visited a little café or restaurant which also provided meals for homeless people twice a day, including at five in the afternoon.

I thought that was wonderful.

A city with a heart.

And there was one final thing I noticed.

In Buchanan Street stands a statue of Donald Dewar, looking rather solemn.

Dewar, of course, played a central role in establishing Scottish devolution.

You could argue that he helped save Scotland for the Union.

But I wonder how many people passing his statue know who he was?

How many will know in fifty years?

Perhaps he’ll be little more than a footnote in history.

And then, just around the corner, there’s a new statue.

Unveiled only a few weeks before our visit.

Nelson Mandela.

Now there’s a man who certainly won’t be a footnote in history.

And there’s something rather wonderful about Glasgow honouring him.

A city thousands of miles from South Africa, which stood up for Mandela when he was still a prisoner.

I came to Glasgow expecting a few days away, a little shopping and perhaps some toy soldiers.

I left with a great affection for the place. Scotland has an ETHOS. Like the young woman protesting USAs Cuba policy. Or in St Aloysius Catholic church statue of martyr John Ogilvie.

Glasgow belongs to me?

Well, perhaps not.

But for four days, it certainly made me feel that I belonged to Glasgow.

The last Uber to the airport.

and the six Westlife ladies with their cowboy hats coming to Belfast for a concert. Perhaps their affection for me was fuelled by WKD.

And when my wife was offered a spare Westlife ticket….she refused to part with me.