10.3.11 - Home Sweet Home (Glasgow, Scotland)
And so we returned. The flight was long and unveventful, Dubai Airport predictably shiny and busy with its multinational hubub. The plane touched down about twenty minutes late into a sunny, green spring-kissed Glasgow. Three of our six beautiful grandchildren were there to meet us - Molly (2) holding a bunch of daffodils wrapped in pink paper, which she consented to present to me on condition that I gave them back at once. The rest of the day she continued to carry them carefully everywhere she went. Ryall (8), bursting with pride, announced that he can now swim. Baby Rosie (5 months) was grown into a dimpled, giggling little girl, changed so much in only eight weeks.
And so we drove to Queens Park, and spent the afternoon laughing, talking all at once, eating ice cream, sailing Ryall's model boat and pushing Molly on the swing. The park was a brilliant emerald green to eyes accustomed to Australian dryness. Drifts of daffodils carpeted the ground beneath the spreading trees, whose branches were tipped with the early promise of leaves. A beautiful spring day, which rivalled the weather we had left in Perth the morning before, had drawn crowds of children, climbing and swinging in the play park, running, jumping, playing football, while the adults stood in clusters, chatting beneath the brilliance of the blue sky. Glasgow looked her familiar best, the red sandstone of her tenements warm in the sun, her parks studded with daisies, her leafy boulevards shading mums as they walked with babies in prams, toddlers dragging their feet behind, as buses trundled past. The Glasgow University Tower showed off its delicate stone fretwork, pierced by the blue of the spring skies behind.
Later, crammed into our Glasgow flat, we ate a Chinese takeaway - a homely, loving and laughing family group. It's good to be home.
And so we returned. The flight was long and unveventful, Dubai Airport predictably shiny and busy with its multinational hubub. The plane touched down about twenty minutes late into a sunny, green spring-kissed Glasgow. Three of our six beautiful grandchildren were there to meet us - Molly (2) holding a bunch of daffodils wrapped in pink paper, which she consented to present to me on condition that I gave them back at once. The rest of the day she continued to carry them carefully everywhere she went. Ryall (8), bursting with pride, announced that he can now swim. Baby Rosie (5 months) was grown into a dimpled, giggling little girl, changed so much in only eight weeks.
And so we drove to Queens Park, and spent the afternoon laughing, talking all at once, eating ice cream, sailing Ryall's model boat and pushing Molly on the swing. The park was a brilliant emerald green to eyes accustomed to Australian dryness. Drifts of daffodils carpeted the ground beneath the spreading trees, whose branches were tipped with the early promise of leaves. A beautiful spring day, which rivalled the weather we had left in Perth the morning before, had drawn crowds of children, climbing and swinging in the play park, running, jumping, playing football, while the adults stood in clusters, chatting beneath the brilliance of the blue sky. Glasgow looked her familiar best, the red sandstone of her tenements warm in the sun, her parks studded with daisies, her leafy boulevards shading mums as they walked with babies in prams, toddlers dragging their feet behind, as buses trundled past. The Glasgow University Tower showed off its delicate stone fretwork, pierced by the blue of the spring skies behind.
Later, crammed into our Glasgow flat, we ate a Chinese takeaway - a homely, loving and laughing family group. It's good to be home.
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