Today I started my internship with Timorous Beasties, purveyors of the most blitzingly brilliant wallpapers and textiles in Scotland. (However, I’m massively biased: with vivid colours and animal-based patterns, they tick all my boxes).
On Saturday night, when I arrived in Glasgow, I was overwhelmed. New city, new country, new flat, new job: even the hardiest soul would be a little bit apprehensive. Sunday was spent exploring and today learning my way around my local area, Anniesland. I’m now a tad in love with this city.
Some of my first impressions of the city: it’s cold (I went to university in Manchester: I’m used to awkward weather). Everyone has strong accents (again: Manchester). Lots of beautiful, cheap vintage clothes shops (again…), and gorgeous Gothic architecture everywhere you look, the skyline filled with slate spires. Ample opportunity for knitwear, also. It’s cold enough to wear huge, woollen jumpers even when sitting in front of a roaring fire. This is my dream city, perhaps. I’ve already invested in a new jumper. Approximately half of Glasgow’s traffic light men are skewiff, as if they’ve had a little too much to drink. I adore this fact. I asked a co-worker if this was a Glaswegian quirk or a sign of disrepair. The latter, she said. I still find it charming.
It seems to me to be the Manchester to Edinburgh’s Oxford: smudgier, rougher round the edges. Less chocolate box, more real. However, maybe I should stop comparing it to other places and enjoy it for what it is. These are, after all, a tourist’s impressions, and I intend to become a bona fide resident.
I live with two house-rabbits, hopping round my feet as I type.
It’s new, but it’s not bad.