Glasgow City Centre has been taken over by mindless, bloodthirsty creatures hell-bent on violence and mayhem. So many jokes come to mind about rough estates, Old Firm fans and a Saturday night at Cleopatra’s (favourite sticky-floored nightclub of my youth). Instead it’s much more exciting than any of that. Brad Pitt is in town filming World War Z, a post-apocalyptic zombie horror and my home town has been transformed into Philadelphia, complete with American street signs and iconic yellow taxis.
My tenuous claim to World War Z fame is that my dad’s workplace is prominently featured in the production. In fact, his old office is one of the green rooms. If I was in Glasgow at the moment I’d be taking dad into the office every day and staying around to “help” with his work. I’m a pushover for a bit of celebrity but dad most certainly is not. When challenged by a burly American security guard on whether he had permission to be entering the building his reply wasn’t very reverential. Given that he thinks that Kylie Minogue is an Australian sheep disease and every American actor since Gary Cooper is a third-rate nonentity he isn’t impressed at all by the presence of Brad Pitt.
Me? I’d be up on the desk, peering out of the high windows desperate for any little glimpse of celebrity I could manage!