So Mrs RM had the joy of walking at Mr RM pace through the streets of the Merchant City looking for material for my Instagram account (which to be fair is mainly Old Boys on mobility scooters outside dumpy pubs).
Yep, plenty of material, some of it old hat.
Mrs RM dropped a few groats in the Sandmeister’s cap on Argyle Street. I reckon folk would drop coins in my bobble hat if I displayed my collection of worn out pink pens, y’know.
The city was heaving with tourists and those handful of workers still brave enough to sink a lunchtime pint in the sun, rather than a Pret sarnie in the office.
I salute them, even if they were all drinking Peroni.
I was aiming for Babbity Bowsters, to see how the Deuchars was holding up in the heat.
“Oooh, Brew Dog” said Mrs RM. Actually, it’s “DogHouse“, but let’s not quibble.
“Shall we go in ?“. She’d already gone in. Yes, readers, it was now TOO HOT to sit outside in Glasgow.
Compared to some branches I’ve seen midday in Leicester, Brum, Norwich and Nottingham, this Dog was doing good business, nearly all of it meat washed down with a couple of pints. Perhaps the Dogs only really work where’s there’s a bit of tourist trade to prop up the custom from the suits.
Frankly, I was feeling like a day off the booze, but nothing derails Mrs RM. So it was Elvis Juice and Raspberry Popsicle Parade, Ellon’s latest attempt at a low-alcohol beer.
I would have had the “live” beer, being a Twamra type, but that misleading pump is clearly there to wind up local CAMRA.
Now the only thing that would improve Brew Dog for me would be if they sold up to a proper company like Wetherspoons or Marston’s to improve access to their excellent beers like Popsicle and End of History (or perhaps a mix of the two).
Mrs RM hated my sour beer, but was rather staggered to learn it was 0.5%. Fresh, tasty, refreshing, I couldn’t fault it. Makes the Nanny State redundant, as it were.
The burger and sweet potato fries are still the best anywhere, and Mrs RM’s weird salad was really weird.
A stunningly good lunch. And unlike most bloggers, I’m NOT an equity Punk.
I made Mrs RM walk off the chips with a trip to the Necropolis. We got as far as the Spitfire Café, which matched To Øl with the world’s best brownies. Gourmands all.