Yes. I’m in Scotland, campervanning my way round Argyll. Whatever that is.
Just been bitten by a midge (not Ure) so definitely Scotland.
The original plans for Orkneys and Shetland were scrapped after Bill forgot to order more Doom Bar.
But Oban and whatever you call the bits west of Lomond will do.
15 pubs in 3 days in a GBG county hitherto untouched.
Mountains of material, but no WiFi to upload it in my normal professional manner so more short posts. I’ve just made Mrs RM TWICE to secure that vital lone bar of 4G.
So here’s a snippet of Oban, home to three (3) ticks, including the ancient Oban, after which the town is named.
Yes, it’s the ancient gorgeous one that sells cask, like that Coach and Horses in Dumfries or the one near Aberdeen Station that’s always full.
As was the Oban, at an admittedly peak time of 18:20 on Friday in June.
The lounge was shut, as was the outside seating area their Facebook were bigging up, leaving space for, ooh, a dozen in the Public.
But not me.
The first pub I’ve failed to get into since pubs returned I’m April. I went and did another pub, came back, and it was still full.
I hovered between entrance and exit, waiting for movement at the back, discouraging groups of drinkers eying it up, and when I finally saw an Old Boy leave, I pounced.
Only to find a couple had wandered past the entrance at that exact moment and nicked MY table.
“Is it OK if I annoyingly hover by the entrance” I finally asked, contemplating a return visit the next morning.
“Stick it out !” urged Mrs RM, from the comfort of the campervan.
And after 25 minutes, I had my reward. A chair right by the bar. Perfect.
I sensed the Nice lady had gone beyond the call of duty in finding me a Covid secure table, and promised the bloke on my left I’d be gone within 14 minutes so his phone didn’t ping.
I was as good as my word. The Jarl hardly touched the sides.