Some attractive housing estates on the way to St Andrews,
and a mystery pub for Life After Football to identify.
A mere sliced clearance behind the Railway Stand,
not that our next pub celebrates any such cloggers;
Was I apprehensive about entering the Royal George ?
Not at all; if challenged I’d sing the club song “Marching on together” and tell them I knew former club legend Ian Taylor and we’d all be buddies, like in St Mirren.
Actually, it’s a Proper Pub inside, though I chose the wrong side, and couldn’t see the expected bank of handpumps in the lounge.
So I panicked and picked Carling, as recommended by top beer Brummie Pete Allen. £2.90 ! Take that, Londoners.
I should have picked Guinness, but (honestly) I hadn’t seen the Guinness font.
The Carling was gassy, the stereo was tinny, but it was playing UB40’s “Kingston Town” and “Golden Brown” by the Stranglers, and while everyone else was moving in and out, in and out, no-one seemed to mind me sitting on the bench enjoying it all.
The news of Grealish’s defection to City was greeted with the roar normally reserved for a 95th minute Blues equalizer, and I resisted the temptation to say “And it’ll be ‘arry Kane next“.
Time for another ?