A bright, early-spring sun is shining through the windows of One Devonshire Gardens, the luxury boutique hotel in the West End of Glasgow. Previous guests have included Henry Kissinger and George Clooney, but today it’s Edwyn Collins perched on a sofa with his wife, Grace, pondering the tantalising and now tortuous process of writing lyrics.
“Sometimes Grace will just say: ‘It’s shit’. I mean, f****ing Hell!”
The couple then dissolve into laughter.
“You do,” says Edwyn. “You do.”
“Well I’ll say: ‘it’s good, but you can do better’,” explains Grace, sitting close to her husband.
“He’s so lucky he’s got someone in his life that doesn’t just go along with everything.” Then she adds: “Edwyn Collins has a high bar in terms of lyrics.”
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