Last Day at my Granny's

Jamie McIntyre

Whatever I had been doing earlier that day I can't remember now but at about two o'clock on that Saturday I was standing on the platform at Glasgow Central, waiting for the train to take me out to the wee town where my Granny lived. Twenty-seven years old and I was dreading it like a child in the dentist's waiting room. The train came and I got on sitting in a sort of daze while folk got on and off until it was my time to get up.

I took my time wandering up the hill. It was hot and the sun made everything glow, the trees, the hedges and the clouds were all radiant, even the dust in the gutters could have been gold. It felt surreal, my eyes bursting with colours when inside I felt so dull. ... (continues)