My second night in Glasgow was shocking. I was happiest reading, crosslegged on an old trunk in the corner of a bar. The people were beautiful from a distance.
Sometimes, going out clubbing is a wonderful Brownian motion of giggles, booze and Kylie. And sometimes you're always being trodden on, elbowed, and beaten to the bar. Sometimes I meet wonderful best friends for an evening, feel sexy, and float above it all. And sometimes you feel left out, hate everyone, and feel oddly, nastily drunk.
Last night was, sadly, the latter kind. I should have stayed curled up on the trunk - instead I tried to join in the fray. Mistake.
PS: Got back to the hotel. Slept a bit. Then the wedding party in the room upstairs started to groove at 3am. I could hear their nasty music, their loud giggling - and the frantic banging from people next door begging them to stop. I could hear people pleading desperately for some sleep. I phoned reception, grabbed some earplugs and opened a bottle of whisky.