Aaron & Jane

Some of you may remember reading about my colleagues Aaron and Jane (yes, their identities have been protected) who were getting up to all kinds of tricks last year, like going to parties dressed as Smurfs, or ringing each other up from adjacent offices to do the 'eh-eh-ehhh' noise from Little Britain and then hang up. You know the ones.

Well, we're coming to the end of an era. I feel an update is needed now, as I nurse a very sore head from going out to Aaron's leaving party at one of South London's 'premier tiki bars' last night. 

The leaving party marked the dawn of an altogether unfamiliar new age: next week, the office is losing Aaron to Glasgow as he embarks on a career with the Civil Service. Lord help us. In fact, Lord help Glasgow. 

Aaron's had a lot of ribbing about what a life-shortener it will be to live there, but I have rallied resolutely for its charms, telling him about everything from the amazing eateries like Stravaigin, The Left Bank and The Ubiquitous Chip and the lovely little watering holes there like Tchai-Ovna (they sell tea, not whisky, before you ask) and The Lismore (they sell some amazing whisky) to the general friendliness, wit and spunkiness of the people there. 

Tchai-Ovna, Otago Lane

The Left Bank, Gibson Street

The Ubiquitous Chip, Ashton Lane

I feel nothing but love for Glasgow, it's a vastly under-rated place and at its best that way. I'm sure Aaron will feel at home in no time at all. He's full of tales of misadventure and craziness to regale the good people of Glasgow with. And if there's anything I've learned from living with someone who left their heart in that fair city, it's that Weegies love a good yarn. Also, any city whose statue of the Duke of Wellington is continually (and repeatedly) enlivened by the addition of a traffic-cone hat has got to have a wicked sense of humour. 

I am going to miss their double-act though, Aaron and Jane. Just last week they came back from the Benicassim festival, and Aaron was predictably a fetching shade of cooked lobster, having fallen asleep open-mouthed in the sun on more than one occasion. He was also sporting a new head of hair, having sun-in'd his mop to within an inch of his life. Because said new hair has been stripped of its bounce and shine, and is looking rather straw-like, Jane has taken to affectionately calling it "Ken hair".

In a city that doesn't take itself too seriously, I think he's going to be just fine.