I just went through the Blairgowrie photos with a fine toothcomb and there’s eighteen I want to use, so I’m afraid it’s two posts, but the second one features a Peanut Butter stout so that’s something to look forward to, I guess.
Back to Sunday night, when I left Mrs RM with her second mini bottle of Prosecco and headed out to tick the Stormont on my own. It was good to the laptop crowd settling in as I left the Spoons.
Quite a contrast between the GBG entries.
You’ve seen that one already. Mrs RM isn’t a big fan of old mens’ pubs with copper topped tables and charity boxes, but I loved it, and the beer reached a dizzying 3.5.
Some cynic suggested that all you need to get in the Guide in Scotland is a handpump (I couldn’t possibly comment), and it is indeed true that all Blairgowrie’s cask outlets make the GBG.
Back at the Spoons Mrs RM cast doubts on my enthusiasm for the Stormont, but bravely joined me in the Ericht Alehouse which promised a similarly authentic bare boards experience.
We entered to find the Ericht empty at 18:00 on Sunday, bar one old chap sitting with a cheery dog called Charlie.
It took us a minute to realise he was the Guvnor (the chap, not Charlie).
Be brave, I thought, contemplating more Scottish soup. One of each and don’t ask what’s in the earthenware jug.
But it was great. Well, the Stewart No. 3 was a 3+ and the Pentland a 3.5, anyway. “Best of the trip” said Mrs RM, not for the first time.
The Guvnor was a bit taciturn, in a pleasant way, and after Cromarty that was fine.
“Is this typical for a Sunday night in Blairgowrie ?” I offered.
“This is typical of Covid !” I received*.
I went to the Gents and admired the art.
Mrs RM went to the Ladies and delighted told me “My **** set off the hair dryer”.
What sort of pub has a hair drier in the loos ?