I Love Ramsays
Two local writers shared their pen-scribbles on what the area means to them, in specially commissioned pieces for Greater Govanhill’s Arts, Culture & Subculture issue. This is Isaac Harris’ I Love Ramsays.
Photo by Devon McCole
Introduction by Jack Howse
Sitting by the flagpole that stands atop a mound of earth named after Mary Queen of Scots – perhaps Scotland’s most mythologised character – you can see why Govanhill has become a place where writers congregate. The lookout that spans over streets of industrial pasts and uncertain presents, flanked by the bright purple of heather-laden hills seems steeped in metaphor. And below on Victoria Road are the plotline’s oddball players, where over-the-fence gossip is currency in a nation of 15,000.
For the writers and revellers in the area, there is always an eclectic assortment of groups and evenings on offer. The experimental writing open-mic night ‘Shrill’ at McNeill’s, the queer ecology reading group just across Victoria Road at Glasgow Zine Library and the printing press down at Burning House Books are just a few of the different outlets for writers in the area to flex their literary muscles.
Two local writers share their pen-scribbles on what the area means to them, in specially commissioned pieces for Greater Govanhill.
I Love Ramsays
By Isaac Harris
Stink of melancholy, putrefaction of memories
Conversations that leave ur head as soon as u have em
There aint no sense in my mind, and my knees ache
Its 6am at the day today in mount florida and I just left after work drinks,
alone, I stare at nothing
My cornrows fuzzy as hell, and my ears ringin cus i aint been sleepin right
But in my mind i think i look like such a playboi
Bossman is looking at me like im a loser
The cries of gulls outside fighting over a cheese sandwich(no mayo)
Im stood there looking at nothing, there isnt anything I want here
Ritualistic consumption, spending money is therapeutic cus i aint got enough for therapy
There is no better way to feel alive, to feel part of humanity
Than to blow cash on sumn that gon kill me, than to consume something I aint need
I get a 50g pouch of baccy that I see as an investment,
and think about how much money i saved
Im basically martin lewis
I AM martin lewis
I leave it on the number 6 bus to st enoch two days later
The world is ending, I always think that and it never ends, but to be a doomer
Issa fixation that got no downsides
Either you wrong and thank god,or you right and can be smug while it burns
You can always be smug tbh, but its more fun to be righteous about it
More fun to spite those international customers that gave me hassle when cop26 was goin on
The world ending,
I think that whenever the bin strikes reach those last few days where people just stick garbage wherever and u can hear rats fightin for it outside,
whenever there a match outside hampden n I see a brawl perpetual outside my flat
or
living in a rented room where the ceilin leaked heavy when it rained
to become more Blackmold than human,
U can romanticize being sick every month with a shit space heater as the ‘Glasgow experience’
But it wasnt, Im just an idiot that slumlords get slobbery dreamin bout
You just gotta be delusional at times it makes everything more easy
If you ever find a landlord on spareroom named Jeff just know ur gonna get screwed
Kiss your deposit goodbye because he uses a fake name and will do anythin for a band
There is sincerity in them cities that remember theyselves as sumn that aint existed
for more than half a century
Senile titans that stand as monuments to neoliberalism
Where would we be without Reagan and Thatcher?
Better
What difference is there between anywhere
Nothin
What makes Glasgow
Good people, negro alienation, a nice platter of ramsays chips, an incompetent council
Im Black as human beginnings but got a scottish last name
I get my hair braided by an auntie in plantation
There gotta be sumn funny i can say about that
Isaac Harris is a Black writer from Virginia but has been based in Glasgow for the past two years. They focus on the aesthetics of Black history, radicalism, religiosity, and culture.
Read Govanhill Just Won't Stop, by Peter Mohan