NORMALLY a teenager in an all-white tracksuit is rarely mistaken for an athlete on the grey streets of Glasgow.

Tracksuits are the street-wear of choice of those whose destination is more likely to be Greggs than a sports stadium. But in Glasgow's George Square our white-attired youth had put on a pair of bright blue hired ice-skates and was transformed into an alpine warrior.

As he sped anti-clockwise around the towering plinth of Sir Walter Scott's statue in the centre of the square, with his white hood pulled down over his head, he looked more like a star from the old snow-bound war movie Where Eagles Dare. For this was George Square in its Christmas finery with a ferris wheel at one corner, and dominating the centre, the annual skating rink where pockets of mainly teenagers grip the surrounding fence before tentatively launching themselves like Bambi into the middle.

Some do not actually leave the railing, and shuffle nervously around the entire circuit without ever letting go. Others, slightly braver, clutch on to the hand of an encouraging friend who leads them away from the edge and their facial expressions change from fear to wonderment as they find they can actually begin to glide on the ice. A few of course land up on their backsides, laughing with relief that nothing is actually broken.

Then there are the boyfriends, who have a bit of ice-skating skill, taking girlfriends slowly around the ice, showing that they are someone you can quite literally lean on. Some of the skaters find they can work up a head of speed, then realise they don't actually know how to change direction, before thumping into the surrounding fence. There are the mothers stoutly taking their youngsters on the ice and reassuring them they have nothing to worry about even although they themselves are desperately trying to remember from their youth how you actually move on these steel blades. There are the young girls with all the fake-fur accoutrements as if they were auditioning for Heidi. Other girls defy the cold and look as though they are on a crop-topped mission to go to a dance. And then of course there are the skaters, like the lad in the white track-suit, who for his 45 minutes on the ice, can glide, swoop and traverse the crowds of ice shufflers. For 45 minutes he can draw admiring glances from those who would normally not give him a second glance on the pavement.

I can see all this from the bar overlooking the ice rink which has been temporarily added to the square for the first time, built 18 feet above ground so that you slightly uncomfortably stare into the eyes of the larger than life statue of, I think, former Prime Minister William Gladstone, who would not normally be on eye level with Glasgow's citizens. The George Square statues cannot easily be moved which is why Gladstone stares impassively into the bar, and Sir Walter stares down at the skaters, although Sir Walter liked a good show in his day and would probably enjoy the spectacle. Gladstone's views on ice-skating are not recorded. I'm clutching a glass of mulled wine which, for safety reasons, is served in a plastic cup rather than the stout glass visitors sipping gluhwein on Berlin's Unter den Linden would expect. But let's not be picky here. Berlin is a couple of hundred quid away. George Square is simply a Subway ride or a bus journey to get to.

The story is told that when the temporary skating rink was first put up in George Square, the sessions were not timed and people could have as long as they wanted. When there was a build-up of too many teenagers they would simply play Des O'Connor over the loud-speakers and the ice would quickly clear. Now you go on for a 45 minute session which probably suits most people as there are only so many times you can wave at your friends taking pictures with their smart phones from the other side of the barrier.

Many of the teenagers probably believe they are taking part in an activity which is quite modern, cutting edge as it were, and will be surprised to learn that many of their grandparents will be ex skaters. That's because Glasgow once had one of the largest ice rinks in the country out at Crossmyloof on the south side where skaters, curlers and hockey players jostled for prime time on the ice. One ice hockey side, the Glasgow Dynamos, even had to train at midnight as that was the only ice-time available. I was told there was even a bandstand suspended above the ice. Now the site is a supermarket.

Former player Kenny McKie once recalled: "It was a dump. Don't get me wrong, I loved the place and have many fond memories of playing there, but I won't beat about the bush, it was a dump.

Early morning games had to be played around the Zamboni - the ice surfacing machine - at the top corner of the rink, because there was no garage outside to park it in. I'll save the blushes of the player who on more than one occasion skated towards it at full tilt with his head down. Well, you can imagine the rest.

"One Christmas we had to play around a huge Christmas tree at centre ice. A real Christmas tree, pine needles and all. The hoist that was supposed to raise the tree wasn't working, and the only way we could get a game, was to play around it."

The teenagers circling George Square this Christmas may have smart phones and equipment their grandparents could never have imagined when they were young. But what unites them is the scary feeling of speed when you take off on two skates, the laughter with your friends, and the hope that a beautiful girl or boy may fall at your feet. As many things change, it's comforting to know that some things stay the same.