[nq:1]My gut feeling was that a Glasgow kiss was either a headbutt or, maybe, a punch in the mouth; some Googling informally confirms the former.[/nq] The tradition in Glasgow (when gang members sewed razor blades into the peaks of their caps) was a double swipe up one cheek and down the other. (Also featured in Graham Greene's book Brighton Rock, about racetrack gangs of the 1930s.)
[nq:2]My gut feeling was that a Glasgow kiss was either a headbutt or, maybe, a punch in the mouth; some Googling informally confirms the former.[/nq] [nq:1]The tradition in Glasgow (when gang members sewed razor blades into the peaks of their caps) was a double swipe up one cheek and down the other. (Also featured in Graham Greene's book Brighton Rock, about racetrack gangs of the 1930s.)[/nq
Uh...OK. One of my roommates in college had a favourite saying: I just don't know. It applied, for him, to any number of occasions. At times what he meant was he could draw no conclusions from what he was observing, at other times, that life has no meaning. The man required a good deal of encouragement, it seemed, generally in the form of love making from women. I was, in a way, intensely jeal