I had already decided to walk to the B&B. Again, it's just over a mile - albeit uphill. I knew it was simple, find Sauchiehall Street and follow it until it connects with Gray Street. Ta-daaa!
Only problem was, the silly directions I printed out advised me to head West.
What?
Oh let me get my handy travelling compass out... Oops, I don't have one.
Still, I knew it was uphill and I do actually have a good sense of direction, although I mostly keep this a secret, so I started plodding away.
At some point on this walk Glasgow broke my umbrella. Blew it inside out more than once and eventually the struts gave. I shall be sending a bill to Alex Salmond.
Squelch, squelch up the hill. I knew I was still on Sauciehall Street because of the occasional roadsign, but I was slightly wary that I was heading the wrong way. I wanted to ask directions, but I daredn't, because I did not know how to pronounce the name. I was pretty sure it wasn't Saw-chi-hall, but I couldn't even take a stab in another direction. Limey later confirmed it is Socky-hall.
Still, I should have had more faith in myself. A bus stop confirmed I was on the right route for Kelvingrove, and knowing that I lost my fear. Sure enough, Gray Street turned up and I was at The Alamo.
Now for the tricky part. I was there at about 08.00. Smack bang in time for their busiest time of day - breakfast. Nowhere else was open nearby and anyway all I wanted to do was collapse. So I entered the lobby and just sat dripping quietly, reading my book.
__________________
Life's hard you know, so strike a pose on a Cadillac
|