Back in Inverness at dusk, I headed straight for the now iconic Joker Steps. I’ve no idea why those folk are heading for the Bronx to do the iconic dance when they’re in the Highlands.
It’s four years since I last visited Inverness, back in the early days of this blog when even 100 words seemed a lot, and before camera phones were invented. It’s modernised but still quaint in places.
I headed straight down to the Ness and looked for the ripples.
Everyone has their beliefs. Duncan believes he completed the GBG in 2015/16 but will ultimately realise he missed out a pub with a similar name in Clapham.
Simon believes an 8.5% barley wine is a sensible way to end a 6 pint day.
I believe in the Nessie, despite Government attempts at cover up.
Unfortunately she was pub ticking in Fortrose on my visit.
I consoled myself with two new Inverness ticks.
The town was a bit quiet.
But luckily the pubs were bustling on Thursday night. Inverness folk aren’t daft.
The Black Isle Tap is the equivalent of the Mad Squirrels in Hertfordshire, except the folk here have an extra layer of clothing.
You know how it works. High tables, electronic display screen, weird numbering system, contactless, grapefruit murk.
A better than good Yellowhammer (NBSS 3+), and if I’d managed to nab a table I’d have stayed for pizza with the millennials.
Instead I was squashed in a corner with a group of recharging mobile phones that lacked any real conversation.
One more to go, but I nipped back to the river first. Just in case.