The old Bungalow Café on Victoria Road, now a pizza place. Delicious fare, friendly staff, Napoli team photo on the wall.
Almost start telling them about another football club, a better one, the greatest in the world in fact, but I don’t. Maybe later.
So I ask if they do takeaway and they say yeah no problem but I phone later and it’s like no, we’re not doing takeaway and I’m like, bummer man.
My own fault, really. I mean, who orders sausage and fennel at three in the morning? Sorry, guys.
Back in the day there used to be another Bungalow Cafe at the end of Mosspark Boulevard.
Man, the ice cream from that place was famous in our house, big jugs of it. A stop-off there on the way home the delicious highlight of a visit to Auntie Ruby’s in East Kilbride.
Nae luck, Ruby.
The dear green places of the south side when we were kids. Dumbreck, Bellahouston, Pollok estate, all mountains and rainforest and wide desert plains with Highland cattle, brown bears, antelopes, even a sabre-toothed tiger, according to wee Ned McGeown, though he was always a pure spoff.
We came from dark streets with buildings that went on for ever, but here it was vast open space and leafy avenues, the possibilities of it all, how it showed us another world was out there.
Just like Pollok Free State, until they bulldozed a motorway through it.