Lots of breakfast options in Govanhill. Greasy spoon, avocado, eggs benedict, tea and toast.
So I went to McDonalds. Sorry, diversity. Sorry, idiosyncrasy. Sorry, human nature. Too tired to protect myself.
I’d been to a McDonalds before, years ago, in town, after work, lining my stomach before meeting the lads to watch the football down the pub. European tie, early rounds, solid away win.
The McDonalds in Govanhill sits next to KFC and right between two primary schools, including Hutchie grammar for young princesses, no less.
Felt like I was on holiday. Eating out for breakfast, bright sunshine, wearing the stupid T shirt I bought for going to the beach that time.
Familiar, invisible, open 24 hours, machines doing most of the work. Could be anywhere. Argentina, Tennessee, Helsinki, Cumbernauld.
Same brown almost food. Same salt and fat and sugar. Same corporate graffiti outside and minimalist decor inside.
Same customers eating in the same silence, celebrating our common humanity and shared self-destruction.
Cheers, devastating environmental impact, mind blowing ubiquity, global obesity, insufferable marketing.
Bacon rolls and coffee no worse than anywhere else.
I am not from here, or there, but nowhere.
I will come again.