Another big day dawned on the Sunday, as I finally made an emotional return to St Andrews for the first time since 1998.
No ticks then as I was driving Mrs RM on a flying visit from Aberdour, but three (yes, 3) new pubs today. Beeching has a lot to answer for, but you knew that.
If only the Stagecoach 99 bus wasn’t so bumpy.
I got off the 99 early, so I could take the key tourist shot of the Roman bridge over the 3rd green on the Old Course.
Yes, golf dominates. How pointless a sport is that ?
Size notwithstanding, it’s more Stratford-on-Avon than Oxford in terms of tourism.
Specialist shops, a few nice buildings in an unexceptional main street, and a general feeling that you’ve only been brought here because it’s old. So is Carluke, and you never see tourists there.
In ten minutes I’d walked the town and St Andrews Brewing was ready to open.
Immediately I was reminded of the Brecon Brewing place, one long modernish room (and an upstairs with board games).
An American family were the other early starters. Dad kept “shushing” his well-behaved children loudly, while asking for tasters of ALL the beers.
Loads of taps for their own keg. But, I reckoned, not much call for the cask guests.
I reckoned Stewart’s 80/- was a bellwether beer to try.
A dull, watery NBSS 2, mysteriously served only in thirds (£1.40) and schooners.
But that was fine as I couldn’t even finish the third. I’m getting fussy in my old age.
It was a bit cruel to take a photo of the two (count ’em) bottles of Sarson’s on my table. It really wasn’t that bad.
But I’m afraid I had to resurrect the urinal pour in the absence of pot plants.
Better was to come for St Andrews Brewing, but worse for St Andrews.