Well, today (Saturday) I'm packing my bags and tomorrow I'll be on my way to Glasgow and trying to settle into being on my own for much of the time. I'm excited and nervous at the same time but there will be many many reports over the year on this page, that's for sure.
In preparation I'm loading a whole load of 'Glasgow music' on my iPod, or at least the stuff that isn't already on there. In particular, the entire back catalogue of Belle and Sebastian and the first two albums by The Blue Nile.
I absolutely adore Belle and Sebastian, and in case you're thinking that it's odd I don't already have them on my Pod, the fact is that they were on my old 'Early Adopter' model that I left on a plane sometime around this time last year and I never got round to redigitising them on my new one.
Maybe I'm just being a teary old nostalgist here, but there is something about the sound of B&S that says Glasgow to me, something in that slightly weary, resigned delivery of theirs, or at least up until recently when they appear to have discovered a bounce that was lacking before. My particular favourite song of theirs is a B-side called Slow Graffiti, a fantastic track that half steals the melody of the old country song 'Tennessee Waltz'. This is doubly odd because as you may or may not know country music is hugely popular in Glasgow's traditional working class population, and they even have a country club called The Grand Ole' Opry. (An aside - one of the oddest nights of my life was filming a traditional country and western club "shoot-out party" in a Glaswegian suburb, with everyone dressed in full western regalia, including a child of around nine or ten with cowboy boots and spurs whose mother took off her false leg at the end of the evening and spun it around her head like a lassoo. This is not a lie!)
Tennessee Waltz was also a huge favourite song of my dad's, and whenever I hear it it reminds me of him, and in particular the power cuts in early 1970s Britain that would plunge the streets and houses into absolute darkness as the utilities workers went on sporadic strikes. We'd light candles at home and play a brass band recording of the song in the dark from a scratchy old record on my battery operated child's record player.
My ultimate Glasgow nostalgia music though is The Blue Nile. Their first two albums 'A Walk Across The Rooftops' and 'Hats' are sonically and lyrically an unbelievable evocation of the mood and feel of Glasgow, or at least a particularly cliched version of it, a cliche though because it's true. Grand but a bit knackered, stoic but nostalgic, upbeat and alive despite the rain and the cold. Standing on a bridge looking at all the old victorian buildings as it gets dark or walking around the Trongate late at night (an image used on the cover of 'Rooftops'). One of their song titles puts it perfectly: Tinseltown In The Rain.
Time will tell if this is still how I feel about dear old Glasgow after months of being there, but there certainly is a part of me that's looking forward to communing with my home town again. By the end of next week I intend to have had a pint at the Variety Bar, a pizza in the King's Cafe and a long walk in Kelvingrove Park. And I'm even seeing Belle and Sebastian on Tuesday to add to the magic.