Author: Kris

I visited London last week,  and my day had started off a bit rubbish, and the week leading up to it hadn’t been much better, so I went a leisurely walk round the city centre on Friday in my free time, and I visited lots of the landmarks off tea towels that you sometimes forget to appreciate, and I drank… Read more →

So my commute this week’s a lot fancy-shmancier than my usual trip on the number 9, and I’ve been dropped off at the airport in a Rolls-Royce, and I’ve been in the executive lounge with the hobnobbers and suits, and I’m standing in the queue waiting to board a flight back to Glasgow. And the lassie from BA makes an… Read more →

So I’m standing by the bus stops in Paisley outside the Piazza, and I’m wondering what the commotion is amongst a wee crowd gathered at the next stop along, and I realise all these folk are looking down and that there’s apparently someone on the ground in the middle of the scrum. And then someone calls something out, and then… Read more →

Overheard on the Number 4 (otherwise known as the 44, pre-‘simplification’, and not to be confused with the 4A or 44A). “An ah’m no jokin, like, neither ah um, ah says tae her, Look, Naw Tracy hen, ah’m no pittin it away fur ye. Nuht. Ah’m no. Naw, ah’m no. Umurnae. Ah’ve telt ye ah don’t ken how many times,… Read more →

In total, I’ve had four different sets of plans for my Friday night, but in the end every single one of them’s been cancelled for one reason or another, and I’ve ended up not catching buses or trains or going anywhere other than my wee local cafe and sitting with a cuppa tea and wondering what the hell went wrong… Read more →

I’m on the number 9, and I’m minding my own business (but listening to absolutely everything everybody’s saying, obviously) when this late teens/early twenties couple bundle on and sit in the seat in front of me. And it’s all very dramatic, and she dumps all her bags and bowks at him lots and speaks in a very loud voice like… Read more →

I get on the number 7 at the Pavilion and there’s a man gets on behind me lugging a huge big giant silver ACTUAL 80s GHETTO BLASTER the size of a Vauxhall Corsa, and he sits doon the front rummaging about in his backpack until he pulls out an ACTUAL OLD SCHOOL CASSETTE TAPE (if yer under 21—Google it). He… Read more →

I jump off the bus and turn the corner and realise Her Upstairs is stomping down the street in front of me with a proper stride on, hands flailing at her side as though she’s ON A MISSION. And she keeps turning and gawking at me over her shoulder, full on growling at me as if I’m some kind of… Read more →

Had to nip to the chemist this morning, and after giving her the fright of her life (“Creeping Jesus!!”) followed by a bit of embarrassed shuffling and whispering behind hands, she gave me a jet black carrier bag for ‘privacy’ so nobody can see what I had been in buying. I started rummaging in my pocket for 5p, but she… Read more →

On the bus into town and a pair of fully uniformed Mormons board at Cardonald—white shirts, black ties, name badges—the works. A ned up the back shouts down with a curious drawl: “Haw, are you’s in the Sally Army?” The handsome, tanned, all-American group leader turns round and, proudly beaming his perfect pearly white teeth, declares: “No, Sir. We’re in… Read more →