They say the streets of London are paved with gold (presumably removed now to pay the expenses claims of our elected representatives?) but tonight the streets of dear old Glasgow were paved with multicoloured vomit. The season of the amateur drinker is truly upon us. Watch in wonder as your pint gets knocked over by some festive fool as he attempts to pick up a work colleague - maybe that's what happens when men drink girly cocktails? Watch in awe as an old guy takes a piss on Woodlands Road whilst texting - who said men can't multitask?
There are times when I (almost) feel sorry for musicians and tonight was one of those nights. Dinny went up against the crowd first. She's a fine, soulful singer and can belt out a song with a confidence and power that belies her small stature. In fact, given the nature of her own songs, she'd make a fine torch singer. Pity the audience were suffering from a terminally short attention span.
Davie Boyle was next into the ring. A buoyant performer, he fought bravely for the audience's attention and he succeeded - for a few songs at least. However, even with a clever, downbeat take on some Christmas classics to complement the season, he barely scored a points victory. Still, a creditable performance considering what he was facing.
First Tiger carried on regardless. Two guys, two guitars and plenty of talent would normally do the trick but their subtle musical pleasures fell on deaf ears. Full credit to them nonetheless as they ploughed on and they even managed to do a somewhat surreal bit of incredibly laconic Christmas crooning to end their set. So right and so wrong all at the same time. I doubt the audience got the joke but I did. Pure class!
Time had marched on. Time to go for the last train. Not the smartest move as it was little short of carnage. But that, as they say, is another story.