The Glasgow boys
You can never have a big enough towel in a changing room…
My hubby and I were staying in a hotel in Glasgow, swimming in the ‘spa pool’, an out-of-date affair with peeling paint, cracked tiles, a minute gym, and a jacuzzi so hot you could boil an egg in it. (I guess anything is hot when you spend your morning in a Scottish lock).
There was no privacy in the changing room to drop your kegs, and it was so small that arse bumping was a given.
The hotel, being in the center of...

