Duncan deserves most of the credit for this post. He suggested the minor detour from Perth AND came up with the title. I have come to expect nothing less from the great man.
Only half an hour from Cumbernauld, and I confess I was expecting someting like Brechin.
But despite the fact the “I” thief is still on the loose,
it was quite smart and alluring. The Histon of the North, though I don’t think Crieff ever beat St Mirren.
The big question to emerge from Crieff is “Would you get your short back and sides from Mr Sweeney?”
The light drizzle made Crieff look rather alluring, as pubs with a red T are wont to look.
Of course, the Quaich (pronounced Quiche) is no Tennents boozer.
No, it’s a self styled “bar, grill and coffee house” , the sort of place Wilmslow calls a micropub without irony.
One beer again, I think, a tricky little Ossian on scary pump I wanted to warm to.
But couldn’t quite (NBSS 2.5). The bar was comfy, the dogs a distraction.
I’m about to trip over you on my way to the Gents.
The highlight is this reminder of the days when Crieff flocked to see Hazel O’Connor make strange squawking noises.
Something like the sound the Ossian makes right now if you press play.