#Road Surfacing Glasgow

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Styling Mr. Styles.

harry styles were in desperate need of a hair stylist for one direction’s uk leg of tour culminating in 2015.

although he doesn’t do much with his hair before shows, perhaps a bit of gel and hairspray here and there, he needs someone who can cut his hair when he feels it’s necessary and someone who he can just talk to when he needs a bit of space.

and he knows for a fact that hair stylists always talk the most, so he needed to hire one, a hair cut could take place at any given moment and although his hair was long he liked to keep it in check.

so when his good friend lou teasedale recommends (Y/N). harry’s quick in taking the recommendation and hires you.

so the autumn of 2015 was bound to turn out a good one, especially when your surrounded by all your close friends and some even closer.

authors note - this is my first time writing a series as i’ve only ever written just one shots before so this is brand new to me. this mini series will include real life events that have taken place during the 2015 leg of the on the road again tour. harry is 21 in this fic and (Y/N) is 19, so there is a slight age gap.

warnings - explicit language, angst, mentions of domestic abuse, slight innocent reader, mentions of alcohol, social anxiety and panic attacks, badly written smut.

prologue. [published - 06.07.2023]

in which, harry is in desperate need of a hair stylist, so when his good friend recommends you, with a lot of persuasion you decide to take the job. having no idea what the future will have in store for you and for him.

chapter one.

in which, it’s your first day on the job and your best friend decides to drive you up to london so that you have a familiar face when you arrive. that’s where you properly meet everyone and even have some one on one time with a certain curly headed lad.

chapter two.

in which, it’s the first show of the uk leg of tour, and getting to know everyone you’ll be seeing for a prolonged period of time leaves someone in a slightly angry mood, which is an especially bad thing when you’ll be styling his hair in a few minutes.

chapter three.

in which, after an article appears of you being seen at the show surfaces, you panic about certain people seeing it. but due to the circumstances you have to move on quickly and move on to your next tour location. the home of the man your starting to develop a crush for. manchester.

chapter four.

in which, you’ve got a fear of flying that no body knows about, and after some gentle persuasion someone occupise the seat next to you. gesturing a cutie named lux and the wonderful city of glasgow.

chapter five.

in which, you introduce the curly lad to your favourite tv show, and arriving in your next destination he decides to take you on a tour of there set. the day ends with fireworks and a heart full of gratitude. all thanks to him.

chapter six.

in which, you’ve all arrived in the country that makes up 1/4 of the band. the lovely ireland. where nightmares take place, and the truth about your past finally comes to surface. hair gets braided and a mechanical bull lingers in the background.

chapter seven.

in which, getting ready to head to the next tour location begins all cute and fluffy, as if nothing can burst the bubble you and him have created, but an oblivious maid interrupts that bubble, leaving the two of you feeling vulnerable and create a whole other issue that leads to the two of you telling the truth.

chapter eight.

in which, events take a turn for the better as you and him cuddle in his bunk on the tour bus, where you start to feel good and the afternoon ends with saccharine lullabies. leaving both of you to let the feelings you have for each other to linger in the back of your minds.

chapter nine.

in which, another article reached the eyes of one direction fans and family, a flashback occurs in the midst of the chaos your mind is enduring upon yourself and an unrealised song gets sung for the first time, putting you once again in the spotlight.

chapter ten.

in which, waking you up with breakfast in bed, the curly headed lad had a very important question to ask you that will need a very important answer.

epilogue.

in which, it’s the finale chapter of your and his story so there’s one thing to say… welcome to the final show…i hope your wearing your best clothes.

[scotianostra]

On 17th August 2010 Bill Millin, piper to Lord Lovat at D Day, died, aged 88.

Born on 14th July 1922 Saskatchewan, Canada to a father of Scottish origin who moved the family to Canada but returned to Glasgow as a policeman when William was three. He grew up and went to school in the Shettleston are of the city. He joined the Territorial Army in Fort William, where his family had moved, and played in the pipe bands of the Highland Light Infantry and the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders before volunteering as a commando and training with Lovat at Achnacarry along with French, Dutch, Belgian, Polish, Norwegian, and Czechoslovakian troops.

Lord Lovat had appointed his personal piper during commando training at Achnacarry, and was the only man during the D Day landing who wore a kilt – it was the same Cameron tartan kilt his father had worn in Flanders during World War I – and he was armed only with his pipes and the sgian-dubh sheathed inside his kilt-hose on the right side.

Taken from accounts of 6th June 1944 on Sword Beach Normandy.

Bill began his apparently suicidal serenade immediately upon jumping from the ramp of the landing craft into the icy water on D Day. As the Cameron tartan of his kilt floated to the surface he struck up with Hieland Laddie. He continued even as the man behind him was hit, dropped into the sea and sank.Once ashore Millin did not run, but walked up and down the beach, blasting out a series of tunes. After Hieland Laddie, Lovat, the commander of 1st Special Service Brigade (1 SSB), raised his voice above the crackle of gunfire and the crump of mortar, and asked for another. Millin strode up and down the water’s edge playing The Road to the Isles.

Bodies of the fallen were drifting to and fro in the surf. Soldiers were trying to dig in and, when they heard the pipes, many of them waved and cheered — although one came up to Millin and called him a “mad bastard”.His worst moments were when he was among the wounded. They wanted medical help and were shocked to see this figure strolling up and down playing the bagpipes. To feel so helpless, Millin said afterwards, was horrifying. For many other soldiers, however, the piper provided a unique boost to morale. “I shall never forget hearing the skirl of Bill Millin’s pipes,” said one, Tom Duncan, many years later. “It is hard to describe the impact it had. It gave us a great lift and increased our determination. As well as the pride we felt, it reminded us of home and why we were there fighting for our lives and those of our loved ones.”

When the brigade moved off, Millin was with the group that attacked the rear of Ouistreham. After the capture of the town, he went with Lovat towards Bénouville, piping along the road.

They were very exposed, and were shot at by snipers from across the canal. Millin stopped playing. Everyone threw themselves flat on the ground — apart from Lovat, who went down on one knee. When one of the snipers scrambled down a tree and dived into a cornfield, Lovat stalked him and shot him. He then sent two men into the corn to look for him and they came back with the corpse. “Right, Piper,” said Lovat, “start the pipes again.”

At Bénouville, where they again came under fire, the CO of 6 Commando asked Millin to play them down the main street. He suggested that Millin should run, but the piper insisted on walking and, as he played Blue Bonnets Over the Border, the commandos followed.

When they came to the crossing which later became known as Pegasus Bridge, troops on the other side signalled frantically that it was under sniper fire. Lovat ordered Millin to shoulder his bagpipes and play the commandos over. “It seemed like a very long bridge,” Millin said afterwards.

The pipes were damaged by shrapnel later that day, but remained playable. Millin was surprised not to have been shot, and he mentioned this to some Germans who had been taken prisoner.They said that they had not shot at him because they thought he had gone off his head.

The pictures shows Millin playing at Edinburgh Castle in 2001, on Sword beach, 1994 and his statue there which was unveiled in 2013.

[bikepackinguk]

Day Fifty-six

Eight weeks in!

After a very rainy night and morning, my tossing and turning in the tent allowed aome water to ingress, so it was a damp start to the day. After waiting out the morning's rains, a few bits were strapped onto the bike to allow them to dry over the day, then we're off once more.

Out from the trees and back onto the road, it's a bumpy ride mostly downhill to see the sun shining over Holy Loch by Sandbank, followed by a nice easy cruise along the waterside to the ferry terminal at Dunoon.

Perfectly timed to buy a ticket and roll straight onto the ferry, it's the last one I'll be taking in a while, and I'm granted a lovely sunny sky to enjoy the short journey over to Gourock.

Onto the coast west of Glasgow, I get something I haven't had in weeks - long, long stretch of gloriously flat coastal riding. Now the day truly begins!

Here is also a salient lesson in not relying too heavily on GPS navigation when cycling. Google continually suggested I turn off the A78 and head up some steep hills to avoid the traffic, as it was unaware of the frequent off-traffic cycle paths alongside the road.

Onwards! The cycle paths continue until a little past Inverkip, where the road is rejoined for a while. Whilst the traffic is quite heavy, the flatter terrain means good speed is made, and the views over the water to my right make for a good backdrop.

Past Wemyss Bay there's a big traffic jam queueing for the ferry over to Bute, which I can sail past on the pavement and following this the road traffic lightens significantly.

It's some nice miles along the water's edge from here and I set an easy pace for myself. After weeks of punishing hills, this is a great payoff for me.

Rolling into Largs around lunchtime, I enjoy a good rest and coffee by the Pencil Monument, along another great stretch of trails off the roads and around the sea.

There's aome great trails here that even when close to to busy major road are nice and peaceful due to the treelines around, but eventually we head back up and are riding back alongside the traffic. The path surfacing is a bit sketchy in places, and I rejoin the road at times without any stress to enjoy the speed.

Further south, I swing west to roll around the coastline past Hunterston nuclear power plant, and take in a short stretch of offroad trail past the hills to see Portencross Castle and enjoy a nice sit by the water's edge.

Back up to the road we go, and it's more glorious flat-ish riding down past Saltcoats, with Arran just visible in the distance as the skies get greyer and greyer and the winds begin to pick up once more.

The cycle paths continue around the south side of Kilwinning, with some lovely rides through parks and forested areas around the banks of the River Garnock.

It's hitting evening here and a nicely sheltered patch of forest is an opportune spot to rustle up some dinner. I'm back in more populated areas now with more plentiful opportunities to resupply, so I have less need to keep bigger stocks of food on me. Eating up the weight being carried is no bad thing.

The rains have been starting to spray a little by now, and a check of the forecast shows heavy rains imminently on their way and continuing well into the small hours, so it's probably a good idea to shelter up. And the patch of woodland by the river I've just had dinner at is absolutely ideal.

So, tent is up, a good lie down with a full belly is being had to the background of the rains coming down.

An earlier finish today than many, but this has been an excellent day for both the legs and morale. It's not only been a long time since I had a good break from the climbs, but also many weeks since I had some good riding without having to deal with traffic, which is always far more enjoyable.

Roll on tomorrow for more!

[freedformwriter]

Diary of a Baggage Train: Day 8

I have no idea where I am other than that it is quite extraordinary. This is Highlands as served up on the big screen: clumped little isles hover above a meandering loch as bare boulders of mountains touch the clouds. An escaped sunbeam spotlights first this green slope and then that. There’re the bits the camera misses too: the peaty texture under my boots as I move towards the loch, the black richness of the soil when its mossy web at last gives way. And the smell… I’m once again seized with the desire to go into the lock. It’s unknown water, I remind myself. It’s the type of water your mother warned you about – if your mother is one of the various government agencies who does everything they can to convince tourists to not go in the water. (‘We have a lot of problems when the weather’s nice,’ the woman at a tourism desk confided to me.) I don’t have my neoprene gloves or booties. Or, you know, any backup. Or frankly, any sense of how my new body will react. But when I skip my hands over the surface, it’s like the peat: giving and inviting. Bogs are deceptively soft. Yeah, it’s amazing. I just wish it wasn’t so goddamn close to an a-road. Hollywood edits out the lorries.

There’s very few winding back lanes in what I will later learn is Glencoe; they stick to the roads hacked out of the Highlands by the Duke of Cumberland’s men nearly 300 years ago. Considering the man’s reputation as the destroyer of the Clans and of the entire Highland way of life, the use of his roads speaks to just how few options there are. Glencoe was first emptied of Highlanders and then filled with mountaineers. Initially, they were posh types, but after the Great War, working men’s clubs formed in places like Glasgow and they set about turning the area into an extreme sports paradise. Glencoe Mountain Resort is the inheritor of this tradition. I walk into the canteen – a strictly basics menu of bacon sarnies and regular tea – and note oversized benches designed to take a beating from ski boots. An emporium of all things alpine, in summer it gives the runs over to mountain bikers, paves the mountainside with plastic for child-friendly ‘sledding,’ and sadistically sends disc golfers to the wind-whipped mountain top. Because I know from Planet Earth how Arctic foxes now struggle for camouflage in the winter, I’m guessing this variant is the future of the business. The chairlift is in operation all year round. Finally, I too can scale a mountain.

I pack my rucksack as if going on an actual polar exploration. With all my warm woollens, including, much to the amusement of the lift operator, my new blanket, I follow the signs promising a panoramic view of Rannoch Moor, the largest uninhabited area in the UK. The man before me hooks his mountain bike onto the side of the chair with practiced ease. I’m not so gainly. The lift follows one of the characteristic raging, but contained and thus charming, stream all the way up. Only one in every twenty chairs is occupied; we greet each other as people do only in small towns or in remote locations. The operator at the top urges me to climb up further to the ultimate viewpoint. I tell him I’m a total wimp in lieu of the actual explanation. I’m doing this more and more: acting helpless. The performance of a clueless female has its benefits and I’m never ashamed to use it when I need to. But I really loathe it as a default. Instead of summiting, I bed down into the crevasse followed by the stream and find, then wrap myself up like a burrito and try to meditate – but definitely not to fall asleep because hypothermia. The rush of water drowns out everything. The descent gets my heart thumping. I hadn’t realised how steeply we ascended. It’s time for my high places tactic: look at the horizon and breathe. The mountainous horizon of this moorland terrain is so many shades of blue that to be level with it is to feel part of the sky. Geologically, these formations are the lost Appalachian Mountains, my comfort mountains.

My actual mission of the day is finding a shop that sells avocados. Glencoe’s lone market is studded with pride flags and the strawberries are on offer. It’s hard to believe I just ate lunch wrapped in a wool blanket. There’s even a Big Issue seller outside mopping his brow in the intense sunshine. He gives me a 40 pence discount, then points to a lean, light-coloured Alsatian standing in a nearby copse of trees. ‘I thought that dog had come for me’, he confesses. ‘Didn’t see the lead.’ The dog stares back with the unblinking concentration of all dogs left outside shops. But its lupine appearance at the edge of the clearing feels like a harbinger – even if that clearing is a Co-op.

[donovanmorini271]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[kandicesobenes490]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[lynwooddannard514]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[sydneyspoleti781]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[weinstockjtomas]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[lawrencecorwing]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[pattiecuriel692]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[robdreherty]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[scotianostra]

Malcolm Macleod of Raasay was born on November 15th 1911, he was commonly known as Calum and is most famous for the road he build, mainly on his own on the Island he lived most of his life.

Calum was the son of Donald Macleod of Arnish Raasay and Julia Gillies of Fladda, he was born in Glasgow, his dad was in the Merchant Navy.

Calum and his mother moved to the croft and house adjacent to that of his grandfather, in northern Raasay. Calum had two brothers, Ronald and Charles, and three sisters, one of whom, Bella Dolly (died in the Spanish flu outbreak in 1919)

Calum attended Torran school, with its single teacher, James Mackinnon (Seumas Ruadh). He married Alexandrina (Lexie) Macdonald (1911–2001).

Calum and his brother, Charles, constructed the track from Torran to Fladda on a small isle off Raasay called Eilean Fladda, which is now uninhabited. I took them three years and were paid £35 a year by the local council.

After decades of unsuccessful campaigning by the inhabitants of the north end of Raasay for a road, and several failed grant applications, Calum decided to build the road himself. Purchasing Thomas Aitken's manual Road Making & Maintenance: A Practical Treatise for Engineers, Surveyors and Others (London, 1900), for half a crown he started work, replacing the old narrow footpath. Over a period of about ten years (1964–1974), he constructed one and three quarter miles of road between Brochel Castle and Arnish, using little more than a shovel, a pick and a wheelbarrow.

Initial blasting work was carried out and funded, to the sum of £1,900, by the Department of Agriculture's Engineering Department, who supplied a compressor, explosives, driller, blaster, and men.

Several years after its completion, the road was finally adopted and surfaced by the local council. By then, Calum and his wife, Lexie, were the last inhabitants of Arnish. Sadly Calum's Road, and those in general on the island are reported to have been deterioating in the past 20 years or so, which is sad........

[patricapassey623]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[colemangiffith257]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488

[andreatolston726]

Road Surfacing Glasgow

Kenmac Surfacing Ltd 272 Bath Street, Glasgow, G2 4JR 0141 353 9488