It’s eighteen years since my husband (then fiancé) rented a top floor room on Polwarth Street while he worked a contract in Glasgow’s Atlantic Quay. I’d visit every few weekends, firstly from Aberdeen then, after the flitting, from Eigg.
We’d walk hand in hand into town taking in houses, flats, shops, pubs, trees, Kelvingrove Park and museum.
In my memories, there are days when it’s always crisp and sparkling with frost and December fairy lights in Glasgow. I walked the walk again last week, just to check I was still me.