It’s the late May Bank Holiday Monday and for once I’m blessed with light. Grabbing my chance and my camera kit I return to Queen’s Park in the evening to shoot video of the Scottish Poetry Rose Garden and the viewpoint from the hilltop close to the flagpole where a sign points out the landmarks radiating across the city.
Parked illegally at Goals, I unload the kit, passing the 5-a-siders. From here it’s a short walk to the Rose Garden. The late sun throws its beam over trim lawns, burnishing the ancient conifers and lending the scene a fairytale surreality….
I’m in King Street framing up the clock tower at the back of Rutherglen Old Parish Church when Tommy sidles up, an Olympus compact in his hand, eyeing up my tripod and camera. You’re a photographer? It’s 7 o’clock on a Friday night and I’m here because the Glasgow weather doesn’t stick to timetables. Not really, I reply as I take the shot. Tommy, short, wiry, probably in his late 50s, shifts from foot to foot, eager for more information than I’m prepared to give him.
In this narrow street it’s hard to catch the last of this rare light….
It’s not every day you wake to the sound of unfamiliar voices in your house. This morning I discovered two police officers in mine, come to investigate – well, nothing as it turned out because as the officers later conceded, no crime had been committed. This episode serves to show how we citizens going about our lawful business are under constant surveillance, our identities, movements and whereabouts held on myriad files and databases increasingly managed by private – i.e. unelected and unaccountable – outfits. It’s one thing to be accused of criminality, but in a corner of Glasgow where…