Well, the ones at The Lemon Tree (not the arts centre and venue, the cafe at Aberdeen station) certainly aren't. And I had a most peculiar bacon baguette, which I swear shrank by at least 25 per cent during its sojourn in some form of microwave oven. Still, they do reasonable coffee, which is the only reason I did not breakfast at my beloved Baker's Pantry, in the bus station. The coffee there is the kind that gives dishwater a bad name.
To the Fast-ticket (or is it Fasticket? It certainly shouldn't be) machine to collect my, well, you'll never guess, tickets. This machine always strikes terror into me, for some reason. I hate being beholden to a dumb metal box with the seconds ticking until departure. Still, It spewed out the requisite briefs, along, thank goodness, with a seat reservation. And so to Glasgow.
I eavesdropped for some time on a fascinating conversation between a man and a woman sitting across the passageway. It concerned the difference between systematic and practical theology, how to teach ethics to doctors and much else. What distressed me was that all these interesting subjects seemed, in this number crunching age, to come down to the study of statistics. Presumably theologians can now calculate the number of the beast to five decimal places...
Come Montrose, the train filled up and it was time to hide from conversations rather than try to listen in. So I immersed myself in the rather good new album by JJ Cale and Eric Clapton, thanks to the iPod and my new headphones, which, gadget fans, are Sony MDR-V500 pro closed-back items. They shut you off from your surroundings very nicely indeed, but alas, provide that occupational hazard for BBC types, headphone hair. I feel a number two crop coming on...
In Queen Margaret Drive now for the show, then a flight to Belfast tonight, storms permitting. Hope to post some pictures tomorrow.
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