Going Underground
Mrs Z. is a student again, albeit in a part-time, distance-learning capacity. She's studying for her and hopefully, by September, she'll be fully qualified and able to drive a computer down the fast lane of a motorway without breaking the law. In reality, she came back from the induction session at the other night, flashing her matriculation card and explaining the intricacies of her study timetable. I felt like Julie Walter's husband in with Michael Caine. I should have stubbed out my fag on the ironing board, stormed out of the house and gone down the boozer with my mates. Except that I'm not drinking at the moment, have never smoked and, oh yes, I have no mates.
So, today, I decided to take the two Zedettes out of the house for a couple of hours so that she could get started on her first online module. We went to the Transport Museum at the Kelvin Hall. Our favourite part is the old cobbled street that has been made to look like a night-time scene in Glasgow from seventy years ago. You can wander into an old Underground train station and even watch movies in a miniature cinema festooned with Shirley Temple posters. Hey, and it's all free!
I noticed that there are plans to build a new home for the Transport Museum down by the River Clyde and that the designers hope to use the riverside location to tell more of the city's maritime history. It all sounds very exciting, but I'll miss visiting the Kelvin Hall. As I've said before in this diary, the Kelvin Hall once played host to the Scottish Promenade concerts and was the original venue for the Modern Ö÷²¥´óÐãs Exhibition. (I've never quite understood why you have to pay good money to watch lots of people trying to sell you stuff you don't need.)
The Kelvin Hall was always where me and my big sister came to watch Neil Reid in concert. He was the Motherwell teenager who got to fame on singing Mother of Mine. In an era when every other young girl was daft about Donnie Osmond and David Cassidy, my sister took a shine to Neil Reid. She dragged me to his concerts across Scotland and even persuaded me to wear outfits that resembled those worn by Neil. I have a vivid memory of a beige safari suit and I kid you not. Can you imagine what this did for my street-cred?
And you wonder why I have no mates?
