Our last day in Aberdeen. It was only three days, though reading these posts may have aged you by months.
I set off from the bus stop right outside the Northern Hotel (good rooms, dull breakfast). The KFC next door was open till 3am for late night chips, the direct bus service has slightly less generous hours.
So the trip to Oldmeldrum was a two-stage, lengthy affair in driving rain that gave me ample time to feel very, very queasy.
“Serves you right, Sir” you say. “You should follow the example of those professional pubbers like BRAPA and Pubmeister who know their limits“. Duncan would never do something daft like drink two pints in each of three micro pubs before (or possibly during) a wedding.
Plans to combine a trip to the legendary Redgarth with stops in Pitmedden and the BrewDog Tap in Ellon went out of the window (that was all that went out of the window).
I was relieved to arrive in Oldmeldrum town square, and immediately knew how this sailor felt;
It was such a dreich day I couldn’t stop to admire a prim-and-proper little town.
I needed to sit down with a steaming cup of coffee in “craft bakery” JG Ross.
I resisted the macaroni pies, wisely.
Five minutes in the rain to the Redgarth, an imposing and improbable GBG entry in this world of Krakatoas and Kraft.
Rather gorgeous, I thought. Like a West Sussex village pub before gastro-ification (?), or the Three Kings in Threekingham.
An old-school Landlord in pullover and tie gave me an old-school greeting (i.e. not “what’s your pour mate?) and fetched a half of Orkney Best from the barrel.
It was, as Dave might say, wonderful just to be there.
The Orkney was cool and tasty, at NBSS 3.5 one of my better beers of the week.
I took my half to admire the porcelain jugs; it responded by getting even better.
Then I picked up the CAMRA mag, took the glass back, and raced back and braced myself for a stomach-turning journey back to Aberdeen. It was no better.