BRAPA - Guildford Arms, Edinburgh (Day Four) / Survey Results

As I wound my from Glasgow to York, I had to change at Edinburgh so I made sure I had time to play the one remaining pub shaped card up my sleeve, my 20th pub of the holiday.  Luckily, it was very handily situated for Waverley station which is a weird station because it doesn't seem to be on the same level as any of the surrounding streets.....

942.  Guildford Arms, Edinburgh

My Dad once told me he didn't enjoy this place one busy evening, there were bouncers on the door.  So I was surprised to note the doors were of the rotational hotel lobby style with partitions within, which begged the question "did about six bouncers stand in each partition and just spin round all night?"  It was bouncer free this morning, and the young landlord looked very Scottish as I eyed up 4 striking pump clips courtesy of Knops brewery.  I asked about them and after some hesitation, he declared they were based in Musselburgh.  A scrawny tatooed benefit stick lady was listening in, and gargled "I'm a passionate supporter of local real ale" before ordering two pints of Euro fizz and making the barman take them to her seat across the room.  He cracked under 'local real ale guilt' and admitted he'd only said Musselburgh because they had a beer called 'Musselburgh Red' so he got a mentally less fragile barman to confirm they were actually from North Berwick.  The whole "brewery takeover" term is becoming overused bullshit anyway, little more than a gimmick, as the 4 Knops were beaten by 5 other real ales.  Hardly a takeover!  I'd not recovered from this before a Northern Irish chap started acting very peculiarly, either laughing uncontrollably, walking around the pub, or spinning round in the doors, and coming back in with this phone saying he'd sorted it.  But what had he sorted exactly?  I feared the pub going up in a puff of smoke the next time someone pulled a pint of Doom Bar.  It didn't happen.   Never has one individual freaked me out so much since 'Paint Stained Overalls Wanker' in Wokingham's Queens Head.  But it was the suited businessmen who came in looking for a swift lunchtime pint who got the most scowls from the locals.  Working?  How very dare they!!  They left swiftly without buying a drink.  Wow, want to see pub life in the city, go at 11:30am!  You just cannot make pub experiences like this up.

Blog Survey Results - What time do you most enjoy drinking in a pub?

The poll has closed on my latest unscientific question where I asked the above question.  The results were quite one sided.

Nearly 50% of you said 'afternoon', which from the categories I gave, must mean between 2-4pm.  I do like the tranquil ambience and hubbub of a traditional pub at this time of day.   And the vast majority of other voters said either they'd prefer a lunchtime drink or be banging on the door at opening time (often my personal favourite but sometimes the pub can be in a state of disarray at that time, beers not quite ready, pub too cold if the winter, can't find key to the till etc etc.)  Lunchtime of course, can be fraught with the lunchtime diner though these meal times don't seem to be quite as invasive as teatime, unless you are in the Home Counties or Bury on a Saturday (let it go Si!)

What surprised me was that not one single person voted for preferring to drink in the traditional evening slot, though a few said they liked an early evening post-work drink the best.  I can only think that this is because the more discerning drinker (people who'd actually read a pub blog!) voted and their pubbing experience means they have fine tuned when they find a pub most conducive for a nice pint - I know it took me quite a lot of years to realise 7:30pm-11pm isn't necessarily the best time, just the most convenient.  In fact, I like finishing early on a BRAPA trip so I have more time to burn off the ale, sober up and wake up hangover free, ready for day two!

Keep your eyes peeled for my next pub survey, as we focus on the underrated world of the pub pet.

Si

BRAPA - Glasgow (Day Three of the Scottish Holiday)

Pub 938, flags signify gearing up for the Euros (is that a Jordanian flag in top window?)

It was another scorcher in Ayr as I enjoyed breakfast without a hangover despite the 7 pints yesterday (you wouldn't get that on the lager) and I met a couple from Belgium who confessed they prefered wine to beer but at least they admitted the error of their ways.  It was decided that I was a "healthy alcoholic" which I'm choosing to take as a compliment.

I departed Ayr and it was not long before I arrived in Glasgow where I was staying at Charing Cross, but as I walked across the city, I got distracted by a Wetherspoons I'd not been to before .....

...you will be!  

936.  Edward G Wylie, Glasgow

When is it acceptable to be a rugged old man stood at a 'Spoons bar in Glasgow ordering coffee and maple syrups pancakes?  When you are American, judging by the scene in here.  All the ales on were 5% plus and my liver was groaning at the prospect of these "wee heavies", beers that discerning English ale men pretend to love to make themselves sound hardcore, but secretly hate and pour half into the nearest plant pot.  I soldiered on manfully through my Cairngorm Wildcat but it was a struggle, I only got it cos it had a cat on the pump clip.  Before that though, I was relieved that the young bar boy accepted my 50p off voucher after the Prestwick fiasco, though he was new and didn't have a clue how to process it.  Irish barmaid was more than happy to help solve the problem, as our American pancake lover had started chatting her up.  It was a huge 'Spoons of little character, but this was enhanced by a man with what can only be described as 'furniture OCD', all red faced and angry, started moving all the chairs around so they matched and were neatly aligned.  He even left the pub to go into the street to look for "better fits" at one stage.  As if to emphasise the otherwise blandness of the situation, a family of Coldplay fans came to sit down and 're-live' last night's gig using camera phone footage in their matching t-shirts.  Awful.  Though the pub was huge, everyone insisted on sitting in same empty area I'd chosen.  Is it a tribal thing?  Seems to happen a lot.

A chewy pint and Coldplay Dad in the Edward Wylie.

After checking in, I noticed the first stop from Charing Cross was Partick where I had a pub to tick, so I jumped aboard a train where the range of refreshments on offer was lacking ....

I was surprised to find Partick quite a cosmopolitan place (until I noticed the nearby University) with lots of Asian students milling about.  I had imagined it to be like a scene from the apocalypse / Cowdenbeath (delete as appropriate)  so was quite relieved.

Outside Partick railway station

Ready for pub number two .....

937.  Three Judges, Partick

Maybe it was the surprise what a little gem this was, or just tiredness from the two days in Ayr, but it was time for me to act more like a pub tourist than I've ever done so far this year.  First, I was struggling to see all the pump clips and asked the barman "to give me a minute to look" until the locals pointed their sturdy Glaswegian thumbs in the direction of a huge blackboard next to my head listing the ales in huge letters.  Why I do I never see the blackboard?  Ever!  Then I proceeded to walk into the ladies loos and had to be called back.  I think this was a result of too many Scottish pubs bearing the signs "lads" and "lassies" , so by now, seeing the letters "la" is enough for me.  All I could really do from this moment onwards was hide in the furthest corner, so I found a nice raised area facing a window so I could be a dunce, which meant not enjoying the pubs fantastic bare boarded pub mecca status.  The view was interesting though, as it faced a busy crossroads so I could enjoy lots of road rage and potential crashes.  I've not had this fun looking at traffic from a pub since I was in Clapham Junction's wonderfully ornate but total scuzz hole, the Falcon.  Shops in Partick seemed to sell either beer, dentures, oriental food or training courses.  Then I realised there were two GBG pubs just five minutes up the street I was facing.  Love it when a plan comes together.

And somewhere up that street us my next pub...

938.  Tennent's, Hillhead

Bit of a strange one next in that it felt like a chain pub but was hard to tell exactly what it was supposed to be.  A huge square building and they were geared up for Euro 2016 with all the flags of the nations competing draped both inside and outside the pub (and strangely enough, a Scottish one which gave me my first chance to taunt them over failing to qualify, but you should blame Martin Taylor for leading me down this path!).  Sky Sports News presenters echoed around the room.  9 out of an impressive 11 ales were on, but only two were Scottish, and with one described as a traditional heavy Scottish ale so I went Bitter & Twisted, another staple of a Scottish ale trip just like Jarl.  The pub was packed, so I perched on a surprisingly comfy high stool (I don't like these things) and noticed everyone else in the pub was drinking Tennents lager in keeping with the pub name.  One such drinker was a mad man who went up to a frail old couple having lunch and complemented the lady on her mustard coloured top.  She didn't looked impressed.  He later sat behind me and at one point, started chanting "scampi and cheps" over and over again.  At the bar, I'd managed to keep my embarrassing pub tourist behaviour going by mistaking 20p for 1p coins and my change twattery had to be patiently put up with by the barstaff.  The staff did look knackered actually, as if they were on 24 hour shifts.  I found a quiet room called "additional seating" but people just kept looking at it suspiciously like it was a trap.  It was that kind of a pub. 

Playing "guess the odd flag out" in "Glasgow's Finest Ale House".  Hmmm.

939.  Curlers Rest, Hillhead

Just across the road and a few doors down, my next pub seemed to be a Starbucks with a mass of scaffolding up, but I found an entrance and shimmied down some steps into a dark place which you could immediately tell had pretensions of being upmarket, even though there was not a scrap of evidence to support this.  The barman was a lively young chap, and we were soon chatting on the "blonde ales for hot days", "dark ones in winter" subject but I think I confused him by imploring him to try a "summer stout" next time he gets a chance.  Not sure if such a drink exists, but he seemed to take my comment at face value.  Still, he boasted that the ale (£2.95) is normally £3.95 so I'd done well to come in when I had (I wish he hadn't told me, £3.95 is obscene) It was time for part three of my stupid pub behaviour as I went to the loo and immediately broke the soap dispenser - what is wrong with me today?   When I returned, a barmaid looked at me in that "I know what you did to our soap dispenser" kind of way, or maybe I was being paranoid.  Two men appeared with their dogs, which they then used to charm the two barmaids and soon everyone was lying down on the floor.  It was time to leave. 

There's a pub here somewhere!

Blonde ale and not too much else going on, Curlers Rest.

940.  Inn Deep, Hillhead

Ten minutes further back towards Glasgow and I finally found this place, hidden in a huge un-pubby building but this was my first and only 'modern ale bar' of my holiday.  Approaching it down stairs with quirky decor, it reminded me of Major Tom's in Harrogate but the bar itself was a more limited slimline thing, a bit like a smaller North Bar in Leeds.  Three young staff raced to serve me, and it's always nice to ask where the cask ales are in this situation, and as it was, I was being slow as usual not seeing the board advertising them at the far end.  Staff were helpful and ran me through them (very much like Aberdeen's thingy Degrees North) and soon as was drinking a "Lactose Tolerant" stout, thick and treacly in the boiling hot of the 'beer garden'.  Summer Stout?  This wouldn't qualify!  Anyway, I say 'beer garden' as it was an outdoor drinking area, with railings to stop you falling in a river, with a bridge looming overhead.  Cyclists kept racing past but most came back the other way 30 seconds later and got a pint.  People got told off for ignoring a lame chalk line written on the pavement saying "no drinks past this line".  It's probably hipster artwork or something. The atmos was happy and relaxed and me and a lad 'bonded' over 'watching his drinks and bags' whilst he went to the loo.  But then I got talking to a nice passing cyclist called Steven/Stephen so I obviously bored/intrigued him with BRAPA, gave him my last card, and he helped me find a scenic way back to Glasgow by park.  Decent place for a drink this, nice to have a different drinking experience.  

Inn Deep is in the bottom of this lighthouse type buildinh

Me being a rebel with my pint over the line - ha!

Chillin' on the railings in the heat.

It was a nice walk through the park, I even stopped to have the last of my scotch eggs (pretty much my staple diet of my trip!) and a bottle of water to sober me up.  The stout plus boiling weather really had gone to my head, and I'd been doing enough stupid pub things when sober!

  
941.  Hengler's Circus, Glasgow 

Back in town, I found another 'Spoons quite near where I was staying so after doing a food shop, I came here.  State Bar was so close, and it kept peering at me though the window, oh BRAPA can be a cruel sport sometimes.  There seemed to be more beers on than you get at most pub beer festivals, and the Lerwick IPA was amazing (I'd been loving the most recent series of Shetland so it seemed a logical choice).  Again, the pub was quite busy as I guess it was post-work drinks time for the Weegie folk, they all looked hot and bothered but I again had to zone out of EU referendum chat.  I observed two groups of 5 or 6 people both looking suspiciously at a huge circular table seating 8 and then moving on, cramping themselves into something smaller.  So I took my chance and sat down.  Don't you hate it when one person sits on a table for eight in a busy pub?  Like I give a shit, it had the additional attraction of being directly under the pub air-con, which was heaven.  Their loss, though I did notice quite a few glares coming from the locals.

The State Bar looking at me through the window as I enjoy my Lerwick.

I was back in my hotel room before 7pm so I had my picnic, ramped up the air conditioning to the max and then the One Show started so as you can imagine, I fell asleep quite soon after!

Si 

BRAPA - Ayrshire (Day Two - Up the Coast)

Day two dawned a bit too bright and sunny (hangover) after the five pubs in three hours end to the night before, but a great breakfast and chat with a lovely golfing couple from Motherwell helped.

After an additional can of Irn-bru and some weird fizzy sweets, I was soon on the train to Largs (changing at Kilwinning of course you absolute novices!) and with the rain mercifully freshening me up further, I was the only passenger on the top deck of the Slip to the Isle of Cumbrae.  A bus met me at the harbour, and dropped me in "the capital" Millport.....

Looking back towards Largs

Millport Jetty

Some irritating schoolkids had commandeered "Crocodile Rock" (so I couldn't "play" on it) so I wandered lonely as a cloud until the sun came out, then I hit the pub.....

929.  Frasers Bar, Millport, Isle of Cumbrae

"Aye, the storms are a comin'" warned the barman with a gleam of presentiment in his eye.  In fairness, he was a fresh faced friendly twenty something but in training for the day when he becomes a rugged pirate.   I ordered a nice pale pint of Glasgow Jaw Drop and I think he wanted me to stand at the bar and chat but I was still not feeling my most sociable so retired to a corner.  Also, I hadn't realised the two old locals, one was a blind Scotsman trying to do a crossword and the other was a deaf cockney, so bar conversation was stifled to say the least.  The pub had a nice comfortable front bar with a long thin tardis-like back area which I think became a bit more foody (there was a random woman stood around with cutlery who mysteriously vanished after 10 minutes).  The island 'joker' appeared and told a story about pissed tourists, but apologised for his language when he realised a woman had walked in, but she looked like a pissed tourist to me.  The bus was waiting, as they tend to do here, and soon I was back on the Slip to Largs (gentle touristy town) for ice cream and pub two.

10 second walk from the bus stop was my first pub of the day

Nice start to day two of pub ticking in Ayrshire

930.  JG Sharps Bar, Largs

It sounded shit from the name, the Carling sign jutting out of the side of the building did nothing to help (how many GBG pubs have this feature do you think?), and a huge Sky Sports banner just added to my sense of worry as I entered here, despite trying to keep an open mind!  The pub was long, thin, dark and dingy with a huge screen blasting out Sky Sports News and I could only see one beer, Doom Bar.  I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise for an error I made in my Mossley/Greenfield blog, pubs with Sky Sports don't get 'free' Doom Bar, they may get the odd promotional barrel for free but it is a deal as part of the Molson Coors chain which presumably also explains why huge lager fonts dominated the bar. I did find a neglected looking Deuchars pump hiding behind a cantankerous old man who wasn't going to move, so I ordered this just to be awkward.  I regretted it, it tasted like the seawater I'd just floated across on (and was served in a Black Sheep glass).  The barmaid looked miserable.  A Jeremy Kyle couple came in for lunch, in the huge soulless back room where a window cleaner had earlier gurned at me through french windows.  They had a buggy with an evil looking "twild" in it (term we York folk use for a child who is also a twat, think my sister invented that).  My "snug " area was quite nice and peaceful and ornate even, but this was a rubbish pub experience and noticing my train was cancelled just put the cherry on the top!

A bad "sign" for my second pub.

View from across the road not much better

A lot nicer inside, but still not convinced.

My mood was black by now and Google Maps wouldn't work so I could not work out where to get a bus from.  Why was the train cancelled?   Maybe the phantom storms had hit somewhere else?   In the now searing heat, I walked the 2.5 miles to Fairlie which wasn't too bad, most of the walk past Largs Golf Course (one of many along this coast) so I got to watch some terrible putting close up, and then across the road, some ladies were crown green bowling and they had more of a handle on things.

Arriving at pub number three

931.  Village Inn, Fairlie

The sign said Fairlie is Scotland's first 'fair trade' village, but it didn't feel very fair to charge me £3.40 a pint when everything else had been £3 on the dot.  I'd again made the mistake of entering the left hand bar to find three young smiling waiter/waitress types who guided me round to the bar (well, when I asked) where I said "aye" to 5 burly locals, whilst a sinister version of Tom Quill (gay baddie from Neighbours) played on a colourful mobile phone.  A girl with incredible eyebrows served me, or the eyebrows did, I saw a sign showing a Tarot night was happening later, but the ghost spelt out "w a x y o u r e y e b r o w s".  I took my Kelburn Jaguar (a beer not a large cat) outside as there was no way I was staying in that silent strangeness though to be fair, the locals were friendly in a reserved way and an old lady smiled at me through a conservatory window.  To my relief, I found a 'hidden' upstairs beer patio area  at roof level with about 50 signs explaining how pub ordering works (see below).  It was baking now, about 30 degrees I would guess with no shade but it was a nice outlook and a back car park could take me back onto the "A" road without walking back through the pub, which was perfect.   So mixed feelings but enjoyable if a bit scary on the whole.

Upstairs pint of Jaguar

Nice of them to explain how a pub works, just ignore the word "restaurant".

It was only an extra 10-15 min walk back to Fairlie railway station, where the next train was on time so I had some lunch and waited.  When it arrived, I heard a weird sizzle on the overhead line and then we were delayed due to an electrical fault for the next 20 minutes, not sure if these two were related.  The locals dealt with the news a lot more calmly than they do on the York-Leeds train I can tell you!

Irvine was my next location after another Kilwinning changeover, and the walk to my next pub reminded me of that between Middlesbrough's Riverside Stadium and the station, and I mean that in a good way you might be surprised to hear.  It was all very calming though, and a bit cooler right on the harbour/seafront.

Funny statue with pub just behind it.

932.  Ship Inn, Irvine

I could hear some wailing come from within the building as I struggled to find the entrance, the song was "I'll Tell Me Ma" which I love when done properly (Irish-punk version) but this club style Phoenix Nights version was possibly distorted by the walls.  At the bottom of some steps, I found the entrance, and a  massive group of frail but cackling old dears, the most I have ever seen in a BRAPA pub.  Turned out for listening to the staff that they have four coach trips a year to random locations, and this was one, hence the live entertainment in the back room.  Further staff comment proved they shared my view of the singing quality.  When he finally encored with "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis, most people had left or their ears were bleeding, Getting the last few women out of the loos/venue seemed to take an age due to various zimmer frames, sticks etc ("they're doing the last of the cocaine in there!") one jovial barman kept repeating ad nauseam  until it became no longer funny.  Pub was a fantastic old building, dark and low roofed and a steady stream of diners started to appear just as the coach had departed.  Although these people had booked tables, I loved the no nonsense way they were basically told to "get in, sit down and shut up" without the staff obviously saying that.  Recommended.

But what's that horrifying noise coming from the right of the building?

Excellent old pub.

I felt like I was flagging by the time I got back to the station, where a train took me to Troon which I had been led to believe was just two golf courses with a couple of streets.  Of course that isn't true, it's two golf courses, a couple of streets, and two real ale pubs!

Doon in Old Troon Toon! 

933.  Bruce's Well, Troon

But is he well?  Whether we are talking about Forsyth (he'll die soon, sorry), Steve (don't get me started) or the landlord, if indeed he is called Bruce (a bit thin and pasty looking), the jury would have to be out.  This was much more what you might envisage of a typical Scottish pub experience, you walk into a large room, very undecorated, very basic, 2 ales on and not much else, a few men stood at the bar chatting and laughing and drinking, and you have to say "hi" and look at them all expectantly until one of them cracks and wanders round to serve you, and you are never quite sure which one it's going to be!  Happens a lot in proper pubs.  Just like Kirkmichael, the ale I wanted had a name hard to pronounce for a wee sassanach bastard like myself, Lia Fail, so it was damage limitation as I tried not to look/sound like a total tool.  If ever there was a pub to open a bag of your own mini cheddars and eat them very loudly and blatantly, this was it.  It caused some reaction as Bruce came over to ask if I had the Cask Marque app.  I told him not to be silly but explained BRAPA (of course) which he was interested in for all of 5 seconds.  Then, one of the locals wives rang and asked what he wanted for tea.  "As long as it's got fish fingers and beans with it" came the response.  It was that kind of a pub.  

A pint of Lia Fail in a classic auld local.

934.  McKay's, Troon

Just across the street, things got even better in here and I was feeling reinvigorated by Troon.  I walked in to a great hive of activity, all wooden floors and bare boards with really friendly female barmaids (well, I guess you wouldn't get a male barmaid) and a cracking range of ales with names even I could (just about) pronounce.  She even understood the "would you like the extra 10p" concept without getting confused as I ordered a "Thrappledouser" from the name people who'd brought me the Lia Fail.  I asked about a beer garden as there wasn't a spare seat indoors and I found even that quite full with early evening/post work drinkers, I thought they'd be all golfers.  Luckily, the garden went back for miles and once you got to the grassy bit, people seemed reluctant to use those tables, again perhaps maybe the folk of Troon see too much green and need a break from it.  Whatever, in the more mellow evening sun, I reached my state of contentment for the day.  I declared it "the perfect end to a great day" at first, but I had Prestwick plans forming ....

Outdoor evening bliss in Troon

As I edged my way back towards Ayr, it was Prestwick time .....

935.  Prestwick Pioneer, Prestwick

A heaving Wetherspoons awaited me and it was my first opportunity to test out Pub Curmudgeon's warning about Scottish 'Spoons being a bit funny when it comes to the 50p off vouchers.  As I ordered a Coachhouse Gunpowder Mild (the first time I'd had to go English all day!) I passed my voucher over only for the barmaid to tell me I'd be better off using it on a Friday or Saturday and gave it back to me.  At that moment, a drunk teenage girl knocked over a 'craft bottle' display next to her table and it created the most almighty crash, the whole pub stood up to have a look.  I 'bonded' with the girl next to me at the bar over the incident (Ayr Utd shoulder tattoos always a turn on) and wished me a good rest of evening which was nice!  I lost my concentration in all of this and 10 mins later, went back to the bar to re-quiz the barmaid on the voucher issue.  She explained the pub puts it's prices up on Fri and Sat, but surely 50p off is 50p off??  But she got a bit defensive, "I'm only trying to save you money!" she wailed, well no cos I haven't saved anything but hey ho, it was £1.99, I'd had six pints plus, I left it, but kind of regret it now!  A picture of Elvis stared at me from across the room, disapproving,  He'd come to Prestwick and maybe came here for a burger.  Bet he got to use his voucher.  Ayr Utd girl reappeared behind a door to say bye, the drunk teenager was finally scooped off the floor (they cleared the bottles up first), and I returned my glass with a sarcastic 'thanks!'

Elvis and not my San Miguel!

Seven new pubs completed, felt ok, popped to Tesco to get some supplies in, B&B bedroom picnic, very classy and all tucked up in bed for 10pm ready for day three trip to Glasgow .....

Si

BRAPA - Ayrshire (Day One - Ayr & Kirkmichael)

Day one of my annual Scottish BRAPA trip took me to Ayr, and despite leaving York at 8:35am, I wasn't in a pub until 5:30pm.  Grrrr.  Having changed trains at both Edinburgh and Glasgow, I checked in at the ace Appin Guest House where I learnt that mine host Melissa's hubbie was a " proper ale pub man".  A good start.

I then had a TWO hour wait for my bus to take me to the only GBG pub in South Ayrshire, so I chilled out / got impatient, hot and bothered on the beach.  It could have been Spain, apart from the fact that the locals were blinding me with their pale complexions, and everyone thought that rather than sunbathe, barbecuing as much meat as is humanely possible is a better course of action.

Ayr beach, it is where we go to fry meat.

The bus was typically delayed, I was gagging for a pint by now, and 40 minutes of rickety bus journey later past about 15 hospitals, we were in the remote (and I mean remote) village of Kirkmichael.

923.  Kirkmichael Arms, Kirkmichael

One thing I am learning this year in BRAPA is "never visit the official pub website".  They always manage to make a cosy village pub look like some frightful restaurant and here was no exception.  I was pleased to see the attached "curiosity gift shop" closed as it seemed to sell the kind of tat (scented candles, tartan teddies) that even a posh middle aged American woman would turn her nose up at.  The pub was a delight though, just six burly local men under a very low ceiling, turning round to appraise this strange visitor.  As I ordered my Ayrshire "Scaur O'Doon" (it had to be a Rabbie Burns poem didn't it!), I have never sounded so much like a 1950's Eton schoolboy.  Am sure one local rolled his eyes.  Not to be intimidated, I perched on the window by the bar and tried to understand the strange language.  The first of many boring Brexit chats were witnessed, eye rolling man excitedly telling everyone that Nicola Sturgeon was virtually the most powerful woman in the world.   His joke about Poles/Polls was even worse.  Excitement followed as an unknown blue car was spotted at the bus stop.  "Probably a tourist" commented the burliest man and they all looked round and laughed.  I chuckled back nervously and buried my nose in the local CAMRA mag, hoping to pick up some local pub clues, only to discover most of the mag was dedicated to the local branch trip to Leeds.  Bloody typical.  The beer was ace but the bus was due only 30 mins after arrival, so I scarpered.  A pretty amusing start in a lovely pub.

As much of the locals as I was brave enough to photograph

Great pint, and great mag (if you wanna read about Dirty Leeds!)

I took the bus as far as Maybole where I had some tea and waited at a very tranquil train station before coming back to Ayr, where the conductor struggled to annunciate his words.  I'd past my first Ayr pub earlier near the seafront so I knew where it was.

Give 'em the boot at Wellingtons

924.  Wellingtons, Ayr

It was now a race against time to get the 5 Ayr pubs in before closing time, although not really when I saw they all stay open til half midnight even on a Monday (take that South Yorkshire!)  This was one of those lovely peaceful underground ale bars like Under the Hammer in Aberdeen or Jolly Judge in Edinburgh, and soon I was talking to a nice calm version of Billy Connolly about all things ale and pubs, oh and that the East Coast trains are worse than the West and how I should start every BRAPA journey from Leeds!  The brunette behind the bar was a bit of a live wire too, owning up to drinking an entire jug of gravy earlier on before declaring she was off the Dundee to meet a man but she might come back with tattoos and start acting crazily.  Billy C suggested she become a lesbian but she wasn't convinced.  The Loch Lomond ale was amazing, possibly the best pint I had all trip and that is a lot of pints as you will see.  BC then said Yorkshire was just like Scotland, on it's own away from the scummy south east (oh please don't go all referendum on me), but he took the edge of it by saying he'd just said the same to a couple from Lancashire, presumably about Lancs and not Yorks.   Some other locals were pleased to hear I was going to Geordie's Byre next, and said I might meet some juicy policemen - not sure my blue tartan trousers (which I later left in my B&B!) were having the desired effect!  

Southern Summit by Loch Lomond - try it today!

 This next pub was the only one that took me north of the bridge, and when you say "north of the bridge" in Ayr, everything changes.  Drunkards on the streets, awful karaoke bars, gargling locals and a man running down the street topless and laughing before half-heartedly trying to climb through a window (all things I witnessed in my 5 min walk).

925.  Geordie's Byre, Ayr

About the only thing I read from this month's 'What's Brewing?' paper was that this pub was going to be presented with some pub award in June.  No sign of it happening tonight as two short, squat Krankie-esque females (mother & daughter I'd guest) perched at the corner of the bar, conspiratorially chatting until I arrived.  There were two old men chatting, and that was it, in a small basic but incredibly classy little square pub.  It was all very quiet and serene as I supped my Jarl (pronounced Yarl you English scum!) and was eyeball to eyeball with one of those stuffed foxes in a glass case, though this was the least convincing one I've seen looking more like Transfer from 'Around the World in 80 Days with Willy Fog'.  A third man came in to declare Andy Murray was about the most powerful man in the world (there's a theme developing here) before one the old boys decided he wanted a whisky, he wanted Grouse but they didn't have any because landlord Eddie (who I was later told was a 'colourful character') had fallen out with the Grouse representative!  It was like a Scottish version of Mossley's Rising Sun all over again! 

Pint of Jarl, Skinners beermats, stuffed fox, local whisky drinkers.  All life is here.

Back over the bridge avoiding the terrifying women outside the karaoke bar, a nice sunset fell over Ayr signifying I was moving back over to the calmer south side of town.  

I liked Ayr's main centre, I'd compare it as a cross between the Isle of Wight (my favourite BRAPA trip until this one) and an imagined version of Blackpool where the whole town is disinfected, the heroin addicts were told to behave themselves, and the teenagers were given daily swabs. 

Sunset over the imaginatively titled River Ayr

 

926.  Glen Park Hotel, Ayr

Being the home of Ayr brewery, I'd been told lots of positive things about this place, and the huge amount of awards on the walls speak for themselves.  However, it all left me a little bit cold to be honest.  It wasn't the cosiest hotel bar, and though I went in eager, wide eyed about their ales (and obviously not a local), I thought the barman would have perhaps tried to "sell" them to me a bit.  Okay, so I complain about "tasters" and the "what type of beer do you like?" question BUT a little bit of spark and enthusiasm wouldn't have gone a miss under the circs.  True, he wanted to get back to chatting to his crones (smiley and friendly though they were) but I just thought, local brewery tap, come on, be proud of your produce.  Pour it down my throat!  After all, Melissa at the B&B, young Billy C and his mate, and all been quite rightly raving about the local ales, and the "Betty and the Gardens" (a misheard song title or something) was strong but excellent.  The only other customers were two young lads who didn't speak to each other, just communicating through downloading stuff on their phones,  then grunted when asked if they'd be back in tomorrow!  Interestingly, the place smelt like Blackpool Winter Gardens Punk Fest when they'd just cleaned it and you go in first thing on the Sunday morning.  Late drama as the local crone who was a bit like a prettier Rose West had received scam text messages to say she'd been looking at porn on Google.  So she said.   It was that kind of pub.     

10pm, still daylight, still about 20 degrees, it didn't feel like when I was pub ticking in Wokingham at this time of night a couple of months back!

927.  Chestnuts Hotel

The gravelled driveway up to the building, and the reception desk where I had to ask where the bar was told me that this was not ever going to be the best pub experience of my career!  This was the kind of ultra furnished, posh place that you almost feel guilty coming into just to order a pint of real ale, whether it is in the GBG or not.  Luckily, the young bar chap looked so exhausted I felt compelled to ask him when he'd started his shift (6am or something improbable).  He assured me he got paid well so it didn't matter.  A whisky drinking local (yes, he was on the Famous Grouse) got very excited to hear this and said "just wait til it's pay day, he buys everyone a drink!!" which went down like a lead balloon sadly for him.  I was quite reassured to get sat next to a group of blokes who were unmistakably Yorkshire (were they lost?) though one started whistling everytime he spoke.  A bunch of EU referendum bores inevitably appeared to my left.  A more well groomed clientele started appearing, all Robbie Savage hairstyles (including the girls), pristine white shirts, and sunglasses after 10pm.  Ok, so I admit I was 5 pints in now but this was a peculiar, but not bad, place to drink.

I thought it said "bar slippers" at first (I want a pair!)

I expected a ferrero rocher mountain to be waiting for me.

928. Abbotsford Hotel, Ayr

Another hotel bar, so wasn't expecting a great deal after the last place, and with the time past 11pm when I arrived, I was just praying it was open (regardless of the advertised time).  It was still buzzing though, and when I ordered my second Jarl of the night, the helpful barmaid asked if I'd had it before and I just dismissed her with a sharp "YES" when I should have said "no my darling, please tell me about your Jarl".  I felt even more sorry for her when she tried to engage three student geeks in conversation and they just kept laughing at her.   The hotel bar was an absolute cracker, tartan carpets, amazing decor including the toilet doors!  Such a warm cosy hubbub too.  A group of men to my left were all drinking coffee, coffee at 11pm in a real ale hotel bar?  Surely the Yorkshire chaps weren't amongst this group, but I couldn't be sure.  I scowled at them anyway in a "my Jarl is better than your cappuchino" kind of way.  Barmaid sloped off home looking dejected, but was replaced with a smiley blonder one (new staff coming on at 11:30pm is a new one on me!) and I wondered how long it would take the geeks to break her spirit too.  Landlord appeared and was very impressed to see my GBG, even more so when I told him about BRAPA and he ordered the barmaid to pull me a free half of Thwaites Wainwright.  I was then introduced to the oldest looking man I've ever seen in a pub (about 250 years old) and though I couldn't understand half of what he said, we had a really nice chat about pubs in Ayrshire, he knew pretty much everything.  I hope I'll be like him when I've finished ticking the GBG.  Lovely people!  Absolutely first class establishment.

The Abbostsford is still open, hurrah!

250 year old man, enjoys a quiet drink before he was ordered to talk to me! 

So, there we go, day one complete.  I slept with the window wide open and it was still boiling hot.  You could come to Scotland for 50 years and not get temperatures like I did for my 3 day stay.  Day two would see me get out up the west coast for more Ayrshire pub ticking.

Si