Wrest & Be Thankful

You know me, I’d go to Glasgow for the opening of an envelope, so when Shelley pointed out that her latest indie heroes Wrest were playing Barrowlands on a Saturday night, I signed up for the deal immediately. I’d heard the band and regretted we hadn’t seen them last October at Northumbria University, so this was a chance to put things right. Or Wright if you prefer. Geddit?

Being honest, the weekend didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped for but, looking on the bright side, we had smashing weather, a great meal out, a superb gig and a tirade of some of the finest swearing that the West of Scotland can offer.

Being in receipt of my 60+ railcard, I booked the tickets from www.thetrainline.com  and followed a link to www.booking.com where I secured us two nights at the Best Western Glasgow Argyle Hotel on Washington Street, which I thought was the one Shelley had spotted when surfing for a place to stay. Big mistake on my part. Shelley had actually told me about the Argyll Hotel on Sauchiehall Street. I’ve no idea how much that would have cost, but £160 a night, without breakfast, we shelled out for a billet in a barely adequate dosshouse was not what we’d had in mind.

After a smooth journey by train, we saw that our hotel was literally minutes from Central Station. Despite the usual Google maps eccentricity of both our phones, not to mention our latent cartographobic tendencies, we soon found ourselves clambering over mounds of debris from on-going roadworks, only to encounter a gang of bevvying NEDs in the hotel car park. This was not the welcome we’d hoped for. Worse was to come when we tried to check into our allegedly upgraded room. It had literally just been painted that day and reeked of gloss and emulsion, despite two dehumidifiers going full pelt. You couldn’t sleep in there because of the smell and the chance of staining your clothing. After much harrumphing, the woman on reception eventually changed our room to one on the floor below. Despite the windows not opening, the shower rail hanging dangerously loose and the fact our keys didn’t work properly, this was a decent room, in terms of smell at least. Or at least it was before I moved in.

For dinner, we headed uphill, courtesy of a cheap taxi, for the Butterfly and Pig (https://www.thebutterflyandthepig.com/ ) on Bath Street. On the way we passed the nearby Night Shelter where a visibly refreshed habitue greeted us with a cheery what the fuck you looking at you fat cunt? Glasgow is miles better…

Despite initial issues with Shelley being sent the wrong main course, replaced free of charge I’m delighted to say, I was delighted to enjoy the best meal out I’ve had in 2024. The crumbed black pudding, smoked bacon, apple, shaved parmesan and rocket salad was absolute heaven. I don’t have the vocabulary to write descriptively about food, but the next time I’m in Glasgow, I’m coming back here and having the same thing. For post-prandials, we’d been suggested The State Bar, and it didn’t disappoint. Who could have predicted we’d go all that way to find a superb pint of Byker’s own Almasty Green. The suggestion to visit there was from Alex Neilsen, now up and about after a recent accident. He was playing Queen Margaret’s Union on Saturday night as part of Will Oldham’s band. Of course we couldn’t make that, nor could we take in Lavinia Blackwall at Nice ‘n’ Sleazy’s on the Saturday either. In fact, checking out the latter venue around midnight Friday, it seemed a very strange place for a talented folk songstress to be playing. In the end, we found a late evening bolthole in the shape of a Wetherspoon’s of all places and saw the war through in Switzerland, so to speak.

Arising with a serious hangover on a hot Saturday, we eventually got moving to take in my compulsory part of the itinerary, football. With the Old Firm game on the Sunday, the other game on in Glasgow in the SPFL was Partick Thistle 3 Queen’s Park 0. As I’d been to Maryhill, that was off the agenda. In the lower levels of the pyramid, St Roch’s v Ardrossan Winton Rovers was alluring, if difficult to get to. Instead, we headed to the Scottish Cup second preliminary round tie between Rutherglen Glencairn and Lothian Thistle Hutchison Vale, which must be two of the most verbosely named teams around. In retrospect, what with heat, hangovers and health problems, we should have gone to Kelvinside or Byres Road and I’m sad we didn’t.

It wasn’t a bad game or bad experience, just a waste of time. We got the train from Anderston to Rutherglen, which was a bit delayed, then jumped a cab (no card payments, sorry) to the game (no card payments, sorry) at the functional Hamish B Allan Stadium. The Glens, formed in 1896, currently sit fourth in the West of Scotland League First Division, while Hutchison Vale are fourth bottom of the East of Scotland Premier Division. Theoretically, this should have meant a fairly close contest, but The Glens won 2-0, without breaking sweat, and could have tripled their goal tally as the visitors from Edinburgh were completely and utterly outclassed. Still, sometimes that isn’t enough for some, as the local terrace wit kept up an unending tirade of abuse at the referee (you can stick that yellow card up yer erse, you half-wit and that no a bookin then, ya dafty?), until announcing with the scoring of the second goal on the hour, right that’s me away on the swally.

We waited until the end, along with about 150 others, then took a bus to the centre of Rutherglen (card payment accepted!!) and a train back to Central. After tea, an unnecessarily complex walk back to the hotel and a shower, we headed for Barras and the biggest underground Scottish sensation of the year. Sounding like a cross between Big Country, Teenage Fanclub and Stornaway, Wrest had sold out the Barras on a Saturday night, which is a phenomenal achievement for an unsigned indie band. And they’re really good, if you like melodic, anthemic pop rock with a Caledonian tinge. The audience certainly did and the band were almost overwhelmed by the reception they got. We’ve already got tickets to see them again at The Grove on 6 December.

Gig over, we had a last drink in Mono, where 14 Iced Bears had been playing, took an Uber back to the hotel and ordered a takeaway. It had been a tiring day and we slept well. The hotel wasn’t great, and they basically shrugged their shoulders at our complaints, but I always enjoy Glasgow, though we did get out before disgruntled Huns started eyeballing anyone with Irish blood after their usual 3-0 humiliation at Paradise. Instead, we took the first part of the journey home to Edinburgh and had a nose along Princes Street. God it was cold, and we were glad of a quiet, near empty, train home and a chance to see Newcastle’s annual home win over Spurs on MotD2 before bedtime. For that, we could Wrest and be thankful.