Posts on minor Scottish football teams are always popular, so it was a shame Stranraer chose not to have a game that Friday morning when I arrived, and Sandhead’s appeal rests on placenames like Gruzy Glen and Mote Slap,
and a quirky little church.
Nice coast to leave the van overnight, though I noticed an alarming number of net curtains twitching as I parked up for free. Expect a big council sign saying “No Overnight Parking” when you inevitably repeat my quest yourselves.
In the absence of lower league football, pub cats are always a good way to boost your blog views, and right on cue this beauty beat me in to the Tigh Na Mara (Latin for “Don’t request tasters”).
This is Dolly. I know it’s Dolly because the dozen Old Boys in the Public Bar encouraged Dolly to pour me a pint while in the Lounge Bar all five staff wrestled with complex food orders.
Dolly proved better at licking herself, and me, and handpumps, than pouring a pint, which is why humans are the dominant animal.
I’m a man of unlimitless (?) patience, happy to stand at the bar trying to attract the staff’s attention with a winning smile and just happy a remote village pub is so busy.
Gave me chance to capture the spirit of a lovely drinking space, if there was anything to drink.
“Ere, there’s a bloke dying of thirst waiting for a beer” shouted the senior Old Boy.
“Sorry to keep you, what can I get you ?”
I’d completely forgot. Oh, there’s a picture of a beer on the bar. I’ll have that.
“Was it worth the wait, then ?” boomed the Senior Old Boy.
It really was, a cool fruity 3.5, including standard 0.25 adjustment for the lick from Dolly (me, not the beer).