Bagpipers ensure city can party on after the Games

The first indications in George Square on Saturday were not good. The large white temporary building put up to sell Games merchandise was empty - every scrap of clothing, shelving and posters removed. It was like looking in on a disused factory, stripped bare by the bailifs. A woman with a young child in tow stopped at the locked door. "Tell me it's no' shut!" she wailed, presumbly on a mission to buy one of the green, slightly eerie, Clyde mascots for said child. Disney has been selling Mickey Mouses for years, so surely Clyde could have lasted a bit longer.

I headed towards Glasgow Green which had been a daily venue of big screens and entertainment while the Games were on. The rain was coming down, not in a thunderous cloudburst, but in that determined persistent way that soaks you through no matter what you are wearing. The route goes through the Merchant City where, when the Games were on, bustling stalls sold food from around the world. You could have stood in the street eating curried goat if that was your thing. Now it was just full of hooded shoppers dodging each other as they grimly sought their destinations.

Then at the Saltmarket I looked in on the Fish Plaice, respected sellers of seafood up a dingy lane who, during the Games, put on their finery and turned the lane into a temporary restaurant, lit by candles and fairy lights, where the famous and everyday citizens of Glasgow queued for tables on rickety cobblestones to eat paella and langoustines. You could have been in Barcelona.

Now you have to dodge the black bin bags where the queues once were, although the sails, rigged up to provide a temporary roof, are still there, so at least you can stay dry while buying your fish, but the restaurant is gone.

The Lampost and Empire Bar still seem busy - old men's pubs which took little notice of the pageant of the Commonwealth Games, other than for their bemused fag-puffing customers to stand at the doors as a reminder to the passing crowds of how unhealthy lifestyles can ravage you.

Forward towards the McLennan Arch, fancifully described in tourist guides as Glasgow's very own Arc de Triomphe, and the entrance to Glasgow Green. There are no cheery foam-finger-waving guides to show you the way, but one suspects the foam fingers would have collapsed with the weight of the rain if they had been brandished on Saturday.

The crush barriers are still there though as the Green has not reverted to its often bleak emptiness. Instead the World Pipe Band Championships are taking place, and the barriers have been set up in zig zag fashion to accommodate the expected crowds. The crowds did not turn up or are sheltering elsewhere, for there is no queue, but you still have a dizzying walk to the right, to the left, and then repeated as you follow the route through the barriers.

Inside the park is the large, floral version of Games mascot Clyde. The glass fibre versions around the city were removed after the Games as one near Ibrox was nicked - nothing green is ever going to last near Ibrox, sages argued.

This Clyde though, far larger than the others, is still in place, but like many a Glaswegian who has been to a great party the night before, he's looking a bit worse-for-wear. A few of his clumps of shrubbery have been pulled out. But their removal has taken place below his knees, suggesting enquiring toddlers rather than rapacious vandals.

The rain is relentless. The merchandise caravans at The Worlds - it's what everyone in piping circles know the championships as - have big signs saying ponchos are for sale for three quid. During the Games I sat on the grass enjoying the spectacle of determined folk racing against Usain Bolt on a giant screen - one councillor even injured himself in his enthusiasm to attempt to match Usain. But today there is no grass-sitting, only a search for shelter. Some of the bands have pitched their own tents which are now crowded with well-wishers the bands never realised they had. I head for the People's Palace which is providing temporary relief from the rain. Striding in beside me is a giant of a bandsman. He spots an old lady with one of these three-wheeled walkers you clutch onto to help you walk, and he breaks off to make sure she goes to the front of the queue to enter the Palace.

Not for the first time I muse that pipers, yes they might drink a lot, but they are among the most decent of people. Actually the pipers are faring better than most. You don't appear at pipe band contests across Scotland in the summer without encountering rain at times, and all the bands have great waterproof capes over their outfits and have no fear of inclement weather.

And the sound is glorious. Forget the tiresome old gags about bagpipes. When the best bands in the world are playing, the music is uplifting, moving, and enjoyable. Not just the pipes, but the drum corps too. For a few moments you easily forget the rain.

And that's the thing about parties. There's no point dwelling on what a good party you had at the Commonwealth Games, you just have to get on and plan the next one. And what could be better than one with bagpipes.