Well. That was weird.

Ambulance!
The ambulance arrived about an hour after it was called – it had been dispatched to the correct road, but the wrong building. In the interim, I had been chatting to a First Aider from the St John’s Ambulance, alongside an event steward, who did their best to calm me down.I arrived at hospital, waited in A&E for about twenty minutes, when I was then “triaged” (where a nurse asks some questions to determine the seriousness of the condition, and to see whether a doctor is necessary or whether a practitioner nurse can help, or indeed whether the condition can be remedied at home.)
This triage determined I should see a doctor, so I waited, alone, in a room at the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital, for two hours.Eventually, a doctor came, we discussed the events that had led up to this meeting, and it was decided then that I should go home, albeit with a GP referral and a further consultation then. I got home at just before 3am this morning, with having spent seven hours or so in the care of health volunteers or professionals.
Earlier…
Friday, 21 June 2019. The longest day, so I’m told. The eqninox. The day where the sun rises at the earliest time of the year and sets at the latest time of the year. Aside from that, an ordinary day for me. I woke up at about five in the morning, groaned, got out of bed, went to the kitchen, had a small handful of valerian root extract pills (they help me sleep), and back to bed, with Rick and Morty on Netflix as background noise to get me to sleep.
Next thing I know, it’s one in the afternoon.I checked the news and various websites that I check, then had a bath. The DAB trial multiplex in Glasgow, radiotoday.co.uk reported, had been boosted! I realise this will mean little to 99% of you but, in layman’s terms, it means I can now get a load more stations. With this in mind, I rescanned my bathroom DAB radio and had a bath. It was a day off work for me anyway, and I had little to do.
Having bathed (and dried, it’s important that you dry yourself properly), I considered my options for the day. My power bank had recently become faulty – its at that annoying stage where the USB port is loose, and as a result, my phone/tablet/radios/vape thinger would only charge on the go if I held the cable in at such an angle that all the smaller wires in the cable were in alignment – and even then that only seemed to work for 20 seconds.
Speaking of vape thinger – I was running low on vape juice, which necessitated a trip to Poundland for some supplies. I tend to get the “menthol chill” and the “morello cherry” flavours and mix the two; the result being tasty cherry menthol vapour! It’s like a Halls soother that you can inhale.Most importantly, I needed to eat. Checking my watch again, it was just gone 2pm. This meant I could go to Platform and get the “Fiver Friday” deal. Platform is a street food event, which is open every Friday to Sunday, in the old Arches nightclub underneath Glasgow Central station. Between 12 and 3 on a Friday, you can get any main and a soft drink for £5 – so I went for a kebab. (On my other site, shawarmapolice.com, I did a review…) So I did.

Beer!
Then, there was the small matter of what else to do with my day. My route was taking me towards Stockwell Street Argos – I had some Nectar points to use, so I figured I’d go there for my power bank, save a tenner in the process. Around the corner was a beer festival.
The Glasgow Real Ale Festival has been going now for 6 years, which is impressive considering it started from pretty much nothing. It had been asked in the years running up to the festival why Glasgow was the only city of its size didn’t have one, when the neighbouring town of Paisley had successfully run one for two decades. The will wasn’t there, it seemed. Any time I mentioned the possibility it was deemed an impossible dream – the powers that be wouldn’t allow it, I was told. There aren’t any suitable venues, I was told. Seven years ago, something changed. Suddenly, a very suitable venue was found – the perfect size (I’m not sure of the exact figures, but the Briggait can hold, at a guess, somewhere between 500 to a thousand people) – it’s a 10 minute walk from the main station, and the powers that be didn’t mind at all – if anything, they were happy for Glasgow to have another attraction, pulling in the punters.
For the first three years of GRAF (do you see?) I volunteered at the festival. In the first and third years, I was given reception duty (welcoming, taking entry fees, and preparing festival packs which included festival beer glasses and programmes – see above), and in the second year I was placed behind a bar. All good events – however having enjoyed my time Bar-side, and having done a good job, I wanted to return in the 3rd festival. I wasn’t allowed. Stewart (in head of staffing at that festival) confirmed this but said that it wasn’t his decision. The coward who was has yet to make him-or-herself known.
As a result, I stopped volunteering – but I still went. I still enjoyed it – it was a bit of a laugh, and featured beers that you don’t get in Glasgow at all. The same happened this year – absolutely zero interest in getting mugged off as a volunteer, but as I had a day off, I fancied a beer or 12.
4pm
Having bought a phone bank, bought some vape juices, and eaten brunch, it was time to hit the beer festival. The plan was to go in, find people that I knew (I had gone in on my own), sit down, have a few, then go home when my budget had been depleted. I deliberately brought in £26 – £6 for the entry fee and £20 for beer – in order that I didn’t get completely smashed.
It’s an easy job, is front desk – be friendly, be courteous, and make sure you hand out the correct change. Can’t go wrong.
Ken*, who was on front desk as I entered, may not have got the memo. “Hello Ke..”, I said as I prepared to hand over money.
*name changed to protect the guilty.
“CAMRA member?” came the abrupt res… Well, it wasn’t really a response, more an interruption that completely ignored the fact that I was trying to act in a human manner.
“Err… I *am*, but I can’t prove it”, I reply.
To those who are reading this who don’t know, the CAMpaign for Real Ale, abbreviated to CAMRA, are the UKs leading consumer movement for beer quality. CAMRA offer discounts to their beer festivals for members.
“Are you a CAMRA member???” – it was the same question, only this time voiced slightly more aggressively. It was unclear if poor old Ken (not his real name) had heard me, or if he was uneasy with an answer which wasn’t straight forward.
“YES!”, I exasperatedly replied, having just fucking said this, “…but I can’t prove that I am”. Having recently moved, and my renewal being around the time of my moving, I suspect that my membership card is at my old address.
“Oh. I’ll have to charge you full price, then. Sorry. £6 please. ”
Well, this is fine. I look through my pocket, get a pound together out of silvers and coppers, and say “there you go, that’s one…”, and return to my pocket to dig out the remaining five.
“DURR”
Durr? DURR?
“SIX pounds”
Unbelievable. I think he might actually be deaf. Or stupid. But certainly very rude.
“Yes,” I reply, barely concealing my rage at this point. “Six pounds. I’ve given you one. Here’s the other five” – and I hand over a fiver.
No thank you. No response.
“Do you need any more money?” I enquire.
The question wasn’t answered. “Over there” I’m pointed towards a guy called Tom who gave me an entry wristband, and a beer glass.
How.
Fucking.
Rude.
7pm.
I’d had a bit to drink. By myself. The plan was to meet other people, and other people were there, but I had three problems – 1) the initial rudeness had put me in a bad mood, 2) I had a bad back, and was in quite a bit of pain, and 3) – I was at a beer festival. The three hours or so with limited human interaction, ironically in a room full of people, and I was getting very irate. A bunch of bad emotions were going through my head – anger, because of rude Ken (not his real name), loneliness (I was at a beer festival by myself), jealousy (I resented the fact that I was lonely and in a bad mood when everyone else was having a good time with company), but despite all this, I managed to keep it all together. However, towards the later end of the evening, I got increasingly angry, anxious, lonely and depressed and turned to Twitter.
I went outside for a vape.
Gary* (*no, not his real name) came to talk. I erupted. “I’ve had enough. I can’t go on. This is a complete waste of time. Bye.”
I am remarkably grateful to the emergency services. I am happy that this story has a happy ending.
As mentioned at the top, I have a GP referral as a result. I will keep you informed with developments.
The bit I want to end on, however, is loneliness. I’ve been lonely as far as I can remember. That’s the killer, figaritively and literally. If you see someone like me, *try*to engage. Don’t ignore it. Don’t think that the GP has a magic wand – they don’t. They are a part – a very important part – of the solution. They are not the solution.