BRAPA in .... GIMME GIMME JOCK TREATMENT (RAMONING MY WAY THROUGH GLASGOW PT 1/6)

Sunday 19th October 2025

'Spoons vouchers at the ready as I embark on a six day tick-a-thon of Greater Glasgow and the Clyde Valley, with a view to Ayrshire if things went really well.

Various levels of excitement, anticipation and anxiety always precede a BRAPA holiday, but for this I was '100% buzzing' as unlike say Norfolk or Cornwall, transport links and pub opening times are plentiful and kind.

With local lad Owlie McBurnie ready for his homecoming of sorts (hailing from North Ayrshire), and Daddy BRAPA donating one of his egg n cress triple from yesterday's post-Shirley Trowell Services trip, I was up to Edinburgh Waverley late morning, arriving in a damp Glasgow by early afternoon.

Too early to check-in at my Aparthotel which would prove excellent apart from the breakfasts, I lug my luggage south of the centre to that Queen's Park area for the first of many pub ticks this week .....

An impressive start too, at the unnecessarily Flemish Koelschip Yard, Glasgow (3075 / 5916) which might be more crafty keg than cask but by gum, what an astonishing array of drinks. I'm immediately hit with a laminated drinks menu. Only a disciplined pub ticker wouldn't get totally pished after stepping inside. All enjoyed in the comfort of fine tiling and bulky red bench-seating. Great staff too, lamenting there's only one handpump on today. Nae bother, this red rye Kernel is perfection. One lad reveals that he's having a bad day because he's just witnessed a swan being bullied in the local park. Then, Morrisey pipes up. And yet, I'm still feeling happy and positive.

Time to check-in to this exciting hotel / apartment hybrid and after an encouraging BRAPA chat with a hot Spanish receptionist (look, she was burning up ok? #WokeSi2025), I quickly unpack, squirt some deodorant, re-pack a smaller bag, and head out into the now torrential Glasgow rain.

Ain't it funny how my key card looks so much like a Kernel pumpclip?

A train takes me to Bearsden because when I'm tackling a fairly new county, I like to tick the first one alphabetically early doors. It's my weird brain.

I saw 'fairly new county', I've had several Glasgow trips before and done more than half of the city's GBG ticks - classics like Laurieston, Pot Still, Horse Shoe, Bon Accord, State Bar etc. I also had a random day trip to Yoker like Limmy where I ticked Renfrew 'Spoons. And took some work colleagues on a brilliant night around Paisley a few years back where we ticked the current GBG entries. So I'm not a total Weegie novice.

Took me an infuriatingly long time to find due to being poorly plotted on Google Maps, I even asked an old guy but he couldn't / wouldn't help. But it should've been obvious I just needed to persevere down the main drag where the Premier Inn is. Because Burnbrae, Bearsden (3076 / 5917) is a chunky GK roadside house, and although that doesn't promise much, 'tis strangely enjoyable. Not as generic as you'd expect. Carpets, fires, distinct rooms (well, partitioned areas). It was easy to dry off. A chatty place too. First a red wine lush apologises for blocking the pumps. Then a man on a zimmer hears me ordering and asks if I'm from Manchester. I tell him York. 'North England, close enough'. Errrm, you ain't getting a bonus point for that mate! I go for the Spooky Belhaven, Hallowe'en is approaching. It is pretty decent, in fact I'd have a poor half of it on my last day which helped me retrospectively realise just how well kept this one was. And a lady says she doesn't trust Prince Andrew.

With the rain worse than ever, I human log-flume it back down the road to Bearsden station, pronounced 'Bears Den' and not Bearsdun I learn ..... the first of about 5,000 times I'd pronounce a place name wrong this week. I tell ya I can't wait for North West Wales by bus(!)

My other four ticks all come under Glasgow, but in reality are out in various suburbs. First up, Anniesland for the first of many 'Spoons this week.

The delightful couple in front hold a door open each and let me in first, because 'ya look like a man on a mission' which is true. And yet I stand in the wrong part of the bar and they STILL get served ahead of me. Tsk. That's the local knowledge you cannae teach. Esquire House, Glasgow (3077 / 5918) wins me over due to its pleasing shape, low down seats, great pint of Ossett red ale, my third consecutive red. Downstairs loos are a novelty too. But it is the barmaid who's the highlight. 'Where's ya helmet?' she asks. Ummm, excuse me luv, we've only just met?! Oh, she's referring to my biker jacket. Wore it on Isle of Man 2018 and obviously around there, in nearly EVERY pub they assumed I'm a TT racer. She says this pub has lots of bikers, but I shouldn't worry, cos she too has a 'fake' biker jacket too! She even gives the lapels a stroke. 'Spoons staff can be rare to show any personality, so I was suitably impressed by her forward attitude. It had been a strong start to my Glasgow hols. And a fine selection of Scottish biccies to keep my sustained til my late supper!

Just aroond the corner from Anniesland is Jordanhill, where I crossed a BP garage forecourt and went through a wet hedge, as dusk falls on day one......

Still reeling from the Woodman's Rest in Shirley yesterday, it was cruel of the Ember gods to force me to visit another of their chain so soon. Three Craws, Glasgow (3078 / 5919) is the name, and it is fair to say that the beer stuck in my craw even though I think craw means crow in Scottish. Proper Job is so often a great ale, but not here. Tasted like a bloody nose mixed with G&T. And don't ask why I didn't drink something more local cos I've not once seen a Scottish Ember ale on anywhere. The exact same carpet as Shirley is present, the Stroud of Urine. What were the chances? Quite high probably. Like one of those whispering galleries but more shouty, a woman makes her voice reverberate around the pub due to the shape of the walls. That's as exciting as it got, most people looked utterly miserable.

But this temporary slump was merely the prelude to a giant upturn in fortunes. Partick isn't far from Jordanhill, a half hour walk if you're a reasonably healthy Englishman whose arteries aren't clogged with pizza crunch suppers and Tennent's. Two stops on the train if you fancy the easier option.

Lismore, Glasgow (3079 / 5920) is pub of the day and an early candidate for pub of the week. I'd enjoyed the 'Three Judges' on a previous trip up here so you must say the Jaggy bastards are blessed. This was even better, helped immeasurably by the packed, lively atmosphere. None of this Sassanach 'ooh ooh, I've got work in the morning, best have an early night' crap, the Scots know how to make it through a Monday tired. There was more whisky going down than ale but by gum this Island Life is a cracking drop. I have to perch on a narrow side shelf but it doesn't detract from my enjoyment. The full kit Liverpool wanker couldn't be more plastic scouse, but surprisingly chipper considering his team's result. Lismore puts me in mind of the Bull in Paisley. At the far end, there's a second bar which looks like its been weaved from wicker baskets. As I take a photo, barman inside it gives me a distant thumbs up. He knows a pub ticker when he sees one.

One pub to go, a mere 25 minute walk to Kelvinbridge. There is a subway from Partick but they'd stopped running by now .... not that I was in danger of missing last orders but time was ticking on, and especially on a Sunday, you do have to be conscious of pub closing times, but not so much around here as say rural Somerset .....

The Doublet, Glasgow (3080 / 5921) is another jewel, not far behind the Lismore for quality. Today served as a timely reminder of why I'm more fond of Glasgow than Edinburgh. An unpopular opinion it often is (I got castigated at Baron Brewery in rural Herts for saying such a thing!) but I just feel more at home in Glasgae. It is a tricky start as three student bar blockers make absolutely no effort to move so I can see the handpumps, one even gives me a glare. The pig! But it is the young, student crowd, plus gentle 60's music and electric atmosphere which combine to make this place feel so special. Lovely Hippo by the way - that's a beer I mean, not fat shaming. A statuesque vaguely goth lassie comes over and asks what Owlie McBurnie is. "Me and mates thought it might be a cat!" Quick Owlie, you're in there lad. Then two lads along my bench ask what my book is. Twenty mins later of me gabbling on, I bet they regret it. One is starting work at 4am, but his mate twists his arm for 'one final pint' by giving him a packet of bacon crisps to soak it up.

Well, day one had certainly exceeded my expectations.

I'll try and get day two out on Wednesday where we get to some exciting towns and ticked many Wetherspoons. Betcha can't wait.

Keep it pub, Si