All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.
It was Ronnie’s birthday and in true Ooters fashion a celebration was called for. Ronnie’s idea of a cultural visit in the metropolis was accepted when it was realised that there was a pint going along with the play. So it was that nearly a full compliment gathered in the cafe of the Royal Concert Hall at the top of Buchanan Street in Glasgow on another bright and sunny March morning. Rex was the only missing one, holidaying in different climes. I almost said warmer climes but it was doubtful if Italy would be any warmer than the unseasonable weather we have been experiencing over the last few days, days when the mercury touched the low twenties, days meant for the hill. But we had other plans for today and once the bus from Cumnock arrived bringing those from the far flung corners of the county, we were ready for the off.
Our first port of call was to be the Glasgow Group’s exhibition in the Kelly Gallery in Douglas Street. Peter is a member of this group and had some work – paintings and pottery – on display so it was only right for us to visit. The wee lassie at the desk was absolutely amazed, shocked, horrified as thirteen old geezers piled into the small space that acts as the gallery, but she was somewhat relieved when Peter introduced himself as an exhibitor. The exhibition contained a variety of styles of painting though Peter was the only artist to display pottery as well as paintings. There was no doubt in our minds that Peter’s pottery is of the highest standard even if his painting is slightly too esoteric for some. Some of the other pictures appealed to some of us while others had no appeal whatsoever to any of us and after some learned discussion and suitably meaningful comment, we left the bemused wee lassie to get back to her slumbers and moved on.
There was a new exhibition in the Glasgow School of Art so this is where we made for next. Already the philistines had had enough of art and a quick wheech round the exhibition was enough for them. But others took their time and appreciated what was on display before coming out to find the uninspired lot waiting impatiently on the pavement.
Now a gentle saunter brought us through Park Gardens to Kelvingrove Park. Even on this Wednesday, the park was busy. Dog-walkers threw balls for enthusiastic pets to chase. Folk of all ages in summer clothes walked and sat and lazed about on the grass. By the side of the Cyprus-shaped pond a chap had set up an easel and was daubing quietly away trying to capture the scene through to the university. ‘Go an’ tell him tae keep aff the grass, Peter’, was a suggestion from one of us. But Peter didn’t and we left the artist to his work and carried on.
Half way up Byres Road we lost Ronnie. Normally this would be no bad thing but today was – he had the booking for our Pie, Pint and Play. When it was discovered that he had gone into the Oxfam bookshop, we waited in Oran More with varying degrees of patience. Eventually Ronnie appeared and the tickets were duly bought. The pie was good but the pint was something of a disappointment to the ale drinkers for there was just Guinness, cider and various lagers. The play, though hardly of Shakespearian standards, was perfectly okay and was very funny in parts. Altogether, the experience was just that, an experience, one that one or two of us might repeat but that most won’t. However when the play was finished there were pies left over. There wasn’t even a crumb left over when we left though.
Alan announced that he would have to buy us all a drink to celebrate the birth of another grandchild, Zoe. So back up from the bowels of Oran More we came, back to the sunlight and the upstairs bar where Alan stood the round. Here’s health and prosperity to Zoe, her parents and proud grandparents. Two, including the scribe, left the party early for they had to get the bus to a remote corner of the county so it is not known as yet how long the remainder remained. But, if recent events are an indication, it could have been some time. The scribbler awaits a report.
This was a different sort of outing for the Ooters. See us! See culture! See that stuff they grow in Petre dishes in labs? That’s us.
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