Yes, you’re hooked now, aren’t you?
First of all, my second GBG tick in Dunkeld, which had the “Royal” in its name but was clearly relying on Inter v Borussia Dortmund to draw in the gentlefolk diners.
And local beers, of course.
I was the only one not wearing a jumper (there was a heatwave in Scotland last week), even if not quite the only one under 60.
It was, perversely perhaps, quite pubby. There was a banter between locals and Aussie barman that you wouldn’t get in Brunning & Price; seems he’d expected a proper city when he landed the gig in the City of Dukeld.
There was also a garden gnome with a kilt.
Our Aussie hero knew his beer.
He pulled a pint of the Strathbraan, gave it a sniff, went “Oooh, no” and promptly tipped it. In 99% of Fife GBG pubs I’d have been served that and expected to enjoy it.
“What should I have then ?” I said, expecting a secret horde of Little Creatures to emerge.
“Go for the King Slayer” he commanded, and it was very good indeed, a rich and fruity gem, and a rare Scottish 3.5.
Then he turned the offending pump clip round. Give that man a burgh.
From my seat in the corner I could see the
hustle and bustle of Dunkeld the chippie over the road.
I couldn’t see the TV though, and the entertainment mainly came from folk tripping over each others dogs.
Aren’t Scottish chip shops wonderful ?
The guy at the till deserves an Employee of the Month award for his relentless enthusiasm in serving drunks large portion of chips at 9pm, and telling me I’d made “A fine choice” in the Haggis Supper.
Which I really had, you know. The best haggis and chips North of Watford.