Hosting the Commonwealth Games is only ever a great idea for people who don’t live in the city.
Glasgwegians living at opposite sides of the city have had to endure what can only be described as “carpet bombing” many nights between 11pm and midnight. No, the Israeli’s aren’t bombing them, and it isn’t Russia downing Easyjet planes.
It is fireworks.
But these aren’t your ordinary fireworks. These are like living in the middle of Gaza. Like being under constant shelling. They don’t go whistle and bang. They explode like a nuclear detonation and can be heard miles away.
The first night it happened, the opening ceremony at 11.30pm, residents 10 miles away thought that there was a thunderstorm at first, although it didn’t quite sound right. Then they thought a plane had crashed or bombs were going off. Then, because in typical Glaswegian fashion, those that live in Glasgow couldn’t care less about the Games, had an inkling that there might be some big event going on.
But, seriously. One night it was midnight when they went off. And, secondly, what happened to a simple Catherine Wheel? Do residents really have to feel like they are being carpet bombed?
Never mind having to spend a couple of weeks avoiding most of Glasgow because the buses are full, and late, and there are no taxis, and the shops are hot and sweaty and heaving. No, we need to wake up several million people with a nuclear strike.