midnight motorway noises
07 February 2006
the dream team
I'll remember a number of things from the process of preparing for STaG Nights...
If you ask me, I'll tell you what they are, for hours and hours, because I love to talk about it. But tonight, my lovely STaG Nights team has just left. We drank the last of the champagne and toasted off our old friend. We probably wont be all in the same room again, celebrating the same thing again.
But that's good.
Tonight, I remember walking home in the Glasgow fog last week. I remember being in love with Glagsow again, laughing at how much my festival was a childish declaration of that love and thinking "if I can love you without being able to see you at all, then it must be real". I remember seeing the stripes of light from the orange street lamps, I remember looking for the stars so I could try and make up some sort of convoluted metaphor - but not finding them.
I remember feeling foggy, and finding the metaphor where I always find it. With my friends.
Even thought I know how boring it gets when bloggers write too personally or referring constantly to people they know with no funny anecdotes or sad tales to recount, I must just say, I appreciate them so much and I am glad we are friends.
Celebrating and striping the foggy Glagsow sky with their own shade of bright orange.
If you ask me, I'll tell you what they are, for hours and hours, because I love to talk about it. But tonight, my lovely STaG Nights team has just left. We drank the last of the champagne and toasted off our old friend. We probably wont be all in the same room again, celebrating the same thing again.
But that's good.
Tonight, I remember walking home in the Glasgow fog last week. I remember being in love with Glagsow again, laughing at how much my festival was a childish declaration of that love and thinking "if I can love you without being able to see you at all, then it must be real". I remember seeing the stripes of light from the orange street lamps, I remember looking for the stars so I could try and make up some sort of convoluted metaphor - but not finding them.
I remember feeling foggy, and finding the metaphor where I always find it. With my friends.
Even thought I know how boring it gets when bloggers write too personally or referring constantly to people they know with no funny anecdotes or sad tales to recount, I must just say, I appreciate them so much and I am glad we are friends.
Celebrating and striping the foggy Glagsow sky with their own shade of bright orange.
gillyscribbles, at 2:11 am
