On this blog it’s now Monday, sometime in early April, and I’d arranged to have a quiet pint in Edinburgh with the legend that is Stafford Paul before my convoluted return to Waterbeach (3 changes, £28).
I had an hour before our 11am meet-up, and momentarily entertained a jog up Arthur’s Seat, but entertained myself in Calton Cemetery and up on the hill instead, as toilet facilities are limited on the Seat (oddly).
Ten minutes before opening at the Abbotsford, just enough to get a shot of a classic New Town building I’d missed.
Then I hovered outside the Abbotsford, looking shady.
No sign of Paul.
The staff opened upon the dot of 11, I peered in to remind myself of its treasures, the regulation Old Boy scuttled past me with his £3.60 in hand.
Paul is NEVER late for a pub. I knew he’d have been in a couple of bars already in order to save pubs, but I was so worried I called him.
“Paul, are you OK ?”
“I’m in the Abbotsford with a pint of Kelburn. Where are you.”
What ! How ?
He wasn’t there when I peered in, so he must have climbed down the laundry shute or something.
Anyway, he’d made sure the Kelburn had been pulled through, so it was an easy choice.
Worth coming for the handpumps alone (compare with these), but also a gorgeous cool, silky Red Smiddy, as rich as the wood. How often do you get NBSS 3.5 beer at 11am on a Monday ?. Five beers didn’t seem too much here.
Proper seating, immaculate service, and some very cheery company from a couple from Nottingham who Paul had already met at the CAMRA AGM.
“Look at the scummy head on my beer” I gabbled to them.
Marvellous pub. If I’d seen the subsequent comments then I’d probably have stayed for a haggis lunch.
I should have stopped there, but we had to go to Bennets Bar, didn’t we ?
You’ve got about 4 hours to decide whether that one needs an apostrophe.