retiredmartin

July 2025. Edinburgh.

Lunchtime in Edinburgh. Mrs RM had left me alone to walk at my own pace, so perversely I bought a tram day ticket I didn’t need and then felt obliged to hop down to the Port of Leith to justify it.

The blue plaque commemorating Kentish Paul’s recent luxury cruise stop was obviously hidden, and I didn’t want to overdo it with return visits to Teuchters and Dreadnought,

or even find out why Malt & Hops has hopped out of the Guide of late.

But Leith is an interesting place to explore, and the attractive housing between the Hibs ground Arthur’s Seat signals our third GBG tick.

Not for the first time this month, I wonder how has this pub eluded me till now ?

Calling a pub “Artisan” brings up images of Vault City, sourdough and Livingston FC. Instead you get beers you’ve heard of (if you live in Peterborough, anyway),

an atmosphere close to the Laurieston,

and Georgie Best.

Women at the bar, women behind the bar,

a tremendous welcome (“There ya go darling“), a pint of Citra that takes a minute to clear,

but then reveals a cool, chewy NBSS 3.5 underneath that gruff exterior. Open all hours, all week, cask may not be the big seller but it clearly sells enough. And that autovac helps.

The Old Boys watch the horseracing, the chat is relentless, a chap drinks his own bottle of Rose to the accompaniment of “Hit Me Baby One More Time“.

I just wish I could explain why that pint was sloping.