If you were to ask me what a festival was I would probably reel off some stereotypical rubbish about a muddy field full of thousands of people that like music, lots of portaloos and a bunch of people that rub a face wipe under their arms and then consider themselves to be clean.
Well, Glasgow taught me that that isn't so.
We happened to stumble across a festival whilst we were there last week and there were no muddy fields and everyone seemed quite clean.
For me, the merchant city festival was....
Watching two men throw punches at each other.
A very oddly dressed kid (is he, or is he not wearing pyjamas?!) having a go a weight lifting.
(Said lady weight lifter was wearing red lycra that pulled really tight across her bum when she bent over. She was wearing black underwear.
Did you want to know that?)
Sweets. Mainly fudge.
A kind of flash mob of people wearing lots of bright colours that looked like they were doing the cotton eye Joe, but to Scottish music.
A statue of a man on a horse with a cone on his head.
(I couldn't figure out if it was meant to be there or not.)
Beautiful Glaswegian buildings.
The lunch of champions - smoothies and sandwishes.
Ross' smoothie was called ubbery booberry.
Say that in a Scottish accent and it's the most fun you'll have saying words.
And lots or other things I didn't take photos of.
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