Here’s a photo from the archives; one of my favourites. I especially like the soft light in this pic. Here we see mid-August morning sun stream through the great stretch of high windows squintifying the weary, mostly hungover band of friends. [apologies to Sister Wendy: I may've ripped off her commentary/patter there].
The picture was taken a good while ago by an obliging wait person at my favourite Cafe Gandolfi, Glasgow (well, there’s only one, but it is a favourite place to eat – and be – in Glasgow). The occasion was a post-World Pipe Band Championship breakfast-brunch-lunch thing – the first food after the long night before: call it what you want.
From left we have Julie Wilson (who today looks very much like this young girl), Andrew Berthoff (Julie’s hubby and resembling, here, a Simon Le Bon wannabe), me (in turn, resembling a corpulent sort of forshadowing of the Harry Potter character), a bearded Jim McGillivray, the ever-smiling Lillian Livingstone and Bill Livingstone, showing just a hint of hockey hair.
Forget T S Eliot and his crappy April, I say November is the cruelest month – at least for us in the northern hemisphere. We’re surrounded by nothing but grey (and not the good kind): short days, long nights, and not much in the way of shimmery snow and invigorating crisp cold. Cheery? Not so much.
So, rotten November, my mucky motivation for today posting this happy pic; I’m sure November exists as it does to encourage our yearning for times like long August days and for places like Cafe Gandolfi (and, by the way, for their unsurpassed Stornoway black puddings – avec champignons [of course - just sayin']).
We know you can’t have your peaks without your valleys and November – and, um, early December – counts as a valley!
On reflection, I’m reminded, too, in part from this photo, that friends and family are everything.
Bring on the Yuletide season!
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