CONFUSION reigned this week over the possible introduction of a domestic “vaccine passport”. The UK government said, on the one disproportionate hand, that proving your Covid status was “likely to become a feature of our lives” but, on the discriminatory other, they said we shouldn’t worry as the introduction of a such a passport would only be a “temporary measure”. They also gave no details of when the scheme is likely to be introduced, but instead provided an iniquitous traffic light system that suggested you might need a passport to enter a gig or nightclub but not it seems to travel on packed public transport, or indeed drink inside a busy bar.

The government also said that they were working with the devolved nations to agree a “consistent approach”, meaning that whatever was decided, Scotland would again follow two weeks later? There was, though, a small glimmer of hope that this unethical, impractical, and totally unnecessary scheme could be scrapped, and restrictions fully lifted. Not I should add, because the vaccine roll out has proved to be so successful and saved so many lives - an inconvenient truth ignored by both governments. But because our electioneering First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, wants to have “grown-up debate” on this important matter. Well, the chances of that happening with Bojo is probably no chance!

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On a lighter note, all this talk about carrying some form of Covid-free certification or a vaccine passport to gain entry to a club or gig reminded me of a hilarious “passport” incident I was involved in years ago, outside my iconic Garage Nightclub in Glasgow .

I was standing looking with pride and astonishment at the endless queue of expectant clubbers snaking up a packed Sauchiehall St, when my self-satisfied reverie was suddenly broken by the swift movement of a foppish-haired, flamboyant, debonair lad bounding out of a cab with a pair of well-heeled bohemian girls hanging off his arms and flouncing their way past me and my startled stewards.

“Excuse me, and just where do you think you’re going? are you on the guest list?” I demanded, “No, I should be, but I’m not,” he smugly replied in a sugary voice that dripped of Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen. “I unfortunately left my passport in this crummy establishment last night, and we are on our way in to look for it, so could you please step aside and let me in please?”

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Well, once I’d picked my shocked jaw up off the floor, I told him in no uncertain terms that, passport or not, he would be banned for life if he continued to give me any more of his smart lip. That seemed to fry his brain and within milliseconds he had lost his public school cool as well as his now mortified girlfriends, who bolted when they realised his cunning “lost passport” free entry ruse, had been rumbled, and he started spewing nonsense that I was in breach of his human rights under the Geneva convention, the UN, and that he was a lawyer and would see me in court blah, blah, blah!

It was at that point that two friendly police officers intervened and tried to diffuse this rapidly escalating situation. Well, that proved too much for this raging dandy. He stupidly let rip, telling them “to get their filthy hands off him “and that they were “brainless knuckle-dragging fascist pigs” adding that “his father, was the desk sergeant at Pitt St and would soon sort them out!” Oh dear! His feet never touched the ground as he was quickly bundled into a waiting wagon by the now furious officers, who before jumping in beside him, rolled up their sleeves and screamed in his face “well he’s going to be really *@#~*% glad to see you then, isn’t he?”

All these years later that incident and hundreds of others like them reminds me of just how vibrant, funny, diverse, rich and eclectic the streets and nightlife of Glasgow, the city of culture, once were and just how badly it is missed. If there is to be an adult debate then let it be about getting this great city and country back open again, and open soon!

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