Six days spent in Melrose over the last two weeks with the estimable Mrs RM has proved just enough to finish the Scottish Borders and Lothians, my first “foreign” GBG counties.
More than that, it’s enabled me to visit places I’d only read about excitedly in books (well, the GBG). Like Prestonpans. And Haddington.
But first, in the spirit of BRAPA, I bring you “Breakfast Socks Man“. Not only did he eat off-menu (kippers) at the Buccleugh, he also told a group of strangers that he was a descendant of Robert the Bruce. I’m no expert, but I’ve seen Braveheart and I don’t remember socks like that.
I’d read that Haddington is one of the poshest places in Scotland. It doesn’t have a train station, as everyone has a chauffeur to drive their Bentley to the golf course at Gulllane. Or something.
Certainly, under perfect blue skies in early May it was gorgeous. The first thing I heard in town was a Miss Marple lookalike saying “Lovely morning” to me, which was nice.
The riverside leading to St Mary’s is full of mums with toddlers and cemetery tourists, drawn by the best collection of tombstones outside Edinburgh Greyfriars.
I’d expected a Scottish Saffron Walden, but perhaps it’s more of a St Ives (Cambs version), with a workaday High Street dominated by Turkish barbers* and charity shops. There’s a call for second-hand ladies coats in Haddington. In 25 degrees, everyone was wearing an overcoat.
The modernism of the wonderful little museum really contrasts with the whitewashed centre.
Very few pubs, cask or not, so the Golf Tavern ought to have decent turnover. And it opens at 11am !
A group of French bikers, fresh from 18 holes at Haddington Golf Course, debate the best place for a haggis supper.
It’s certainly a gorgeous looking pub.
You enter to a Proper Pub interior, albeit a frantic one with pool table where your knee should be, and a cluster of TVs showing tennis from Azerbaijan or somewhere.
Apart from the pool tables (“No games of Killer at the weekend” apparently), there’s two large tables from which to watch the two large screens.
The pub is open, but no-one appears to be at home. I hear the clink of glasses being washed. (Badly, as it turns out, as my glass of Broughton later sticks to the Belhaven beer mat).
“Can I help you ?” Why do publicans seem so surprised to see customers ?
“Er, can I get a drink please.”
Now I like a choice of one in a pub, so I chose the Broughton.
It may be unfair to tell you that the nice lady still turned the pump clip round to check it was the right one. Better safe than sorry.
I then spent ten minutes alone looking for somewhere to pour the offending soup, which would have been quite palatable if 4 or 5 degrees cooler (NBSS 2). Can’t really take it back and ask for Tennents can you ?
Eventually I hid it behind the pool table and scarpered. The cask lottery played and lost. Nice local handwash though.
*The alternate title for this was “Topiary, Turkish barbers and Toffs”, but that would have been unfair.
retiredmartin 
I had a mate who lived in Haddington who could never have been described as posh. Unless the H stood for Hippy. Do you get a starboard Hippy?
The continued residense of Fish around there is also notable. He recommends the Turkish barber (and drops off some of his old r’n’r paraphanelia in the second hand shops occasionally).
LikeLiked by 1 person
My mate went to see Fish in Cambridge last month. What a Dick (private joke).
LikeLike
I saw Marillion back in the 80s so I get that one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re allowed to get some of them (see detailed blog T&Cs).
LikeLike
Boom boom.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Made me laugh, you humourless gits.
LikeLike
I get most of the music references. Well, the last century ones, anyway.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“Haddington – what’s the point ?”
Probably one of those jutting out bits at the top of the map. You know, like Snook Point and Newton Point in the previous post. 🙂
“Breakfast Socks Man”
Are those socks similar to those retractable ball point pens (biros to you I think) that allow you to choose a different colour? 😉
“It doesn’t have a train station,”
Definitely posh then. Sort of like Cannes used to be years ago, to keep the riff-raff out.
“everyone was wearing an overcoat.”
The photo right below that looks continental European for some reason to me.
“Golf Tavern. Not just for golfers”
Sort of like how the Red Lion isn’t just for kings of the jungle (while the Queens Head isn’t just for other royalty). 😉
“looking for somewhere to pour the offending soup,”
Ugh. 😦
“Nice local handwash though.”
I saw that. You realise that the one on the left (the ‘invigorating’ one) is to used if you’ve had to wipe excessively; otherwise the one on the right should suffice. 🙂
Cheers
LikeLiked by 1 person
😉
LikeLike
“The photo right below that looks continental European for some reason to me.”
Scotland has considerable similarities with the nearest continental countries in terms of the height of buildings and density of population in historic town centres. The general urban “feel” is very different from England, as is the pub landscape.
LikeLiked by 2 people
“The general urban “feel” is very different from England, as is the pub landscape.”
So I see (and good to know). I would’ve pegged that photo as being from Belgium or northern France.
LikeLike
I think you’ve come up with the perfect term for a sub-par beer: “the offending soup.” I grimaced on your behalf, reflexively!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You can never expect a good pint at 11 am unless it is Spoons or if you actually like beer that has been in the lines since yesterday. That is why I always insist on running a half through the lines first.
LikeLiked by 1 person
No killer at the weekend! What sort of rule is that!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Do you know what Killer is ? That’s why you’re a true Pub Man Ian !
LikeLiked by 1 person
“What is it about the Scots and tennis anyway ?”
Was the pub part of the Andy Murray hotel chain??
LikeLike
Who ?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Won Wimbledon once – apparently…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Don’t be daft.
LikeLike
Or perhaps that was Fred Perry…
LikeLiked by 1 person