going to the dogs

The present Mrs. Cyclo and I are undergoing something of social renaissance with the warmer weather coming in. We have thrown off the heavy cloth of winter to embrace the floatier fabric of spring

Our dizzying social whirl commenced on Friday last when Mrs Cyclo was “at home” to a squadron of shrieking hens. I cleared out for the night. Having thought to myself “What would Don Draper do?”, I realised that my best move was to book into the best hotel I could find at the least expense I could manage. Of course being Scottish and therefore of a fiscally careful nature, this involved bashing out a special rate at the desk. The Crowne Plaza was most accommodating and provided a corner suite with super kingsize bed. The Masters on telly and the contents of the mini bar provided late nite entertainment. Dinner was taken in the Chip, where glasses were raised by all to the late Ronnie Clydesdale, who sadly passed last week. He’ll be sourcing the best manna in heaven even as we speak.

Ronnie Clydesdale, RiP

Saturday evening saw us at the dog track in company with Mr S. Scott his burd, Joan and assorted Masonic types. A very acceptable dinner was provided by Mr S, indeed a very substantial dinner was eaten by Mr S. Suitably attired for an evening’s racing in mid April Glasgow (RL tweeds and chinos) we decamped to Shawfield stadium (now just the dog track but until recently the home of Clyde F.C. whose nickname “the Bully Wee” is only slightly more bizarre than Cowdenbeath’s “the Blue Brazil”). Due to an administrative error on the part of our bus driver (she got lost) we arrived after the first race had begun where (annoyingly) our pick had streaked home at 5-1. The rest of the evening was the traditional betting disaster with no dog really living up to form. Chips and gravy were consumed. Refreshments having been taken before, during and most notably after the racing, we headed home tired and emotional to a good night’s sleep and a relatively early start on Sunday.

the dugs

Our two wee daschies enjoyed a long romp on Sunday morning and a big lunch while the mem-sahib and I headed to town for lunch and a little light shopping. We were after birthday pressies for various relations and chums and were only partly successful. Mrs. Cyclo’s maw will be receiving beautifully packaged Guerlain make up, a major shift for La Cyclo as previously she’s always been a Chanel gurl, make up wise. We’d had a nosebag before hitting the make up counters. Drink having been taken as they say in the police reports, we were orf home again for a take away curry and the last round at Augusta. Got to me scratcher at half past midnight, I’m bleedin’ knackered today.

Next up is the Ralph Lauren preview on Tuesday night. We had bumped into the under-manager of the store on Sunday and were pressed to attend. 10% off and free champagne. Thursday night sees another RL event, this time with staff from the Turnberry Golf Resort giving putting tips and light massages. Can’t say I’m that bothered about either but hey, I’d turn up for the opening of a bag of crisps. Champers and canapés you say? – I’m there.

This coming Saturday we have 6 for dinner and no clue as to what to cook. Anyway, here in Glasgow the sun is shining and it really is shirt sleeve weather. I’ve broken out the white chinos and lightweight cotton blazer from guess who...first time this year! Roll on the summer!