"Do I really have to go up the fucking Finnieston crane?" To make a stupid video, it seemed so. They would fly past in a helicopter and film us performing the song. Fortunately I had angry words with the director on the set and was able to strop off with impunity.

It was the 1980s and recording projects often turned into social affairs. They were mostly congenial but not always. The venture that spawned The Bird Flies High ran for eighteen months and it was fraught.

Still, the music itself was fine. My arrangement happily fused David McNiven's song about mythical Glasgow with Terry Neason's powerful voice. Some of the relationships may have been not so happy but at least I didn't have to climb that crane.