July 2025. Glasgow.
One night in Glasgow, an expensive one we’ll hear more about later.
10 minutes on the train back from Jordanhill brings you into the heart of the West End, where a room in a flat off Argyle Street like this one;
cost £30 at the start of the century. Thinking about it, a raft of budget hotel chains did keep the cost of UK travel fairly cheap for the next two decades, before COVID and all went and ruined it.
Glasgow looked majestic back in 2000, and still does, a grand city. I was surprised to find three new GBG corner pubs, all gorgeous, all looking like they should have been in the Guide forever.
Not the only Ben Nevis (there’s 3 in Fort William, which could lead to an expensive taxi mistake),
but the only Ben Nevis you can walk to from a metro station.
Good to see so much going on, tarts psychedelia and family fun.
And good to see young folk using pubs at 2pm on a Tuesday.
I’m waiting for the arrival of another young ticker, so I get a minute to take in a majestic interior.
Yes, let’s take a closer look at that astonishing seating in the middle of the room;
cute, but possibly not one for the Mudg(i)es.
Only in Scotland (and possibly Corby) do you find such an array of whisky on the shelves,
but it’s the pumps that get you in the Beer Guide.
Not that I care about beer, of course, Duncan would say I don’t even like beer. But this is a really good line-up. Two Scottish cask, a keg pale from Knutsford, a gose from Glasgow and a Munich lager.
The Cromarty, benefitting from Glaswegian weather being 10 degrees cooler than Sheffield, was cool and tasty (NBSS 3+). Better than some Scots were reporting in London that week.
Talking of great Scots, I recognise those knees that bloke at the bar,
about to suggest we try ALL the beers before we left (the Dookit gose was lovely).
And that NEVER ends well…
………………………………………………..
NB Just a reminder, the uncensored photos of Duncan’s knees are only available to Patronised readers.
retiredmartin 
The Ben Nevis is great, but is trumped as to bottles-on-shelvedness by the Pot Still, which is to whisky bottles what Hindu temples are to figurines, I’d say.
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When, in the 1990s, I first used the Red Lion in Upper Sheringham, the publican was keen on whiskies. I don’t remember how many he kept but I’m sure it was over 50. He only had a few on display; for the rest he had to go down to the cellar, which is reputed to be the deepest cellar in Norfolk. Unfortunately he left, and a few years later the pub closed.
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Sheringham is a mystery to me, but I think I actually went to the Red Lion years ago.
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The Pot Still is exactly what came to mind looking at that display!
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When I was last in the Pot Still a few years back now, among the bottles was an English whisky, still boxed and unopened. I wonder if it remains so?
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I thought he dribbled a football everywhere he went? I don’t see it at his feet.
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