Monday 20th October 2025
I forgot to order one of those yummy looking Adagio Aparthotel breakfasts, so after my own healthy Scottish brekkie of porridge and blueberries, I went down to reception to book myself in for tomorrow which I'll tell you about in part three.
But this is a pub blog we mustn't forget, and the next alphabetical Glasgow & Clyde Valley pub I need takes me to Biggar, so southern, it's practically Borders. I had to take a train to Lanark, and change for a bus, making it one of the trickiest ticks of the week.
Worth the effort though, well once I got inside. I hate making a spectacle / tit / spectacled tit (delete as appropriate) of myself but the door at Crown Inn, Biggar (3081 / 5922) is a stiff one and I'm thinking it's locked, but I see a jolly bearded landlord through the glass encouraging me to give to a good hard yank, so I end up catapulting myself face first into the bar, of course the room is already full of punters even at 12:10pm on a Monday. Tsk, this place would've been empty in rural Oxon. Thankfully, everyone is sympathetic and gently piss-takery, a homely pub despite a few lunches kicking about, and the 'terrifying' Blood Orange Edinburgh Dungeon beer by Stewart's goes down well. And there's still time for a local to wander in triumphantly brandishing a loaf of Warburton's for no apparent reason.
The post-emptive Elphinstone Hotel wasn't as good, but I'm glad I popped in before the bus because Biggar isn't the easiest place to get to, so the thought of coming back in 2027 would be annoying. The 'Sunshine on Keith' was a good pint. The place smacked of a recent refurb. Full review if and when it does reappear in a GBG, but for now, here's a photo of the nicest place to sit.
Time for a bumpy (mini)bus back to Lanark, absolutely ran for the connecting train towards Glasgow and gawd bless the station lassie (not a dog) for holding the door for me for a few vital seconds.
It was time to get stuck into the 'Spoons section of the day.
'Pishawed in Wishaw' is the B-Side to this blog title, and whilst it may not look the most prepossessing of exteriors, Wishaw Malt, Wishaw (3082 / 5923) was majestically old school in attitude. Not saying the punters were lapping up the real ales but the strength of them certainly helps me to feel at home! On offer, a £1.38 Elgood's Strong Mild. 6.5%. Drank like a dream. My heid was fuzzy already. Thankfully, I still had enough awareness to see an ageing dude with face tube being wheeled in. With space at a premium, I offer them my seat as it is closer to a walkway and easier to manoeuvre. And I can slip in elsewhere with ease. Look, I don't want a medal and I only tell you this because I get thanked at five minutely intervals after this to the point it gets awkward. But with a frame photo of local hero John Higgins looming large - the plaque doesn't mention Chinese betting syndicates, and a fandabadosie 8.75 carpet from 1987, I was pretty content in here.
Absolutely buzzing for my Motherwell debut, said no one ever, probably not even a recently signed footballer. Yet I never felt I got a grasp on the place. Does it have a town centre? It certainly confused Google Maps who reckoned I had a 10 minute walk from station to 'Spoons when in reality, you had to just leap over a couple of mounds of grass, through a carpark, around a weird cinema complex maybe, and youse are there.
And although I took this photo from quite a distance .....
.... I get an immediate 'oi you, am I in your photo?' and I'm thinking 'oh shit' jings crivvens and help ma boab!, but this is no drunken angry Scottish guy and as I draw closer "...Don't worry matey, only joshing wiv' ya" comes a very southern accent. He tells me he's from Hampshire. I'm guessing Basingstoke by his twitchy mannerisms. Up here meeting a local lass, sat opposite, looking terrified, but she perks up enough to tell me that the breakfasts in here are bangin' , and he interjects with "and if you don't like mushrooms, just tell them, and they won't give you mushrooms!" He slaps my back and laughs, so I decide not to reveal my predilection for mushrooms on a cooked brekkie, and leave them to it and hope this strange episode of First Dates goes down in the annals but more likely the anals. Wheesh. Welcome to Brandon Works, Motherwell (3083 / 5924). Its cavernous nature means it can't compete with Wishaw. Neither can my beer. Bane of my week is that there are so many remnants of 'Spoons recent beer festival kicking about. Wot, a melon cucumber sour from Adnams hasn't been selling well in Motherwell? Imagine my shock! Pretty refreshing to be fair, good condition, but as the week went on I felt my purpose was to mop up the beers no one else was brave or stupid enough to drink! Even the barmaid casts doubts when I order it. And won't give me a 50p discount cos 'it is cheap enough on a Monday!' When I leave, I'm relieved to see the date couple have disappeared.
Up for the 'Spoons GBG hattrick .....
Possibly the brother of Wimbledon's lanky Carlton, John Fairweather, Cambuslang (3084 / 5925) provides the most beautiful Wetherspoons of the week with its art deco stylings, this former cinema / bingo hall is a great place to simply sit and stare. Again, the curse of the post-festival beers hit. First the Indian one, the dodgily named 'Effingut' splutters and dies, so I go for the Aussie replacement but 'strike me pink', it is sharper than Mrs Mangel's tongue. I've half a mind to take it back, but enough of me thinks maybe its just brewed like this (badly) and true enough, a random bloke from Cas + Pub Curmudgeon both tell me they've had the same experience with it - so glad I held my tongue. Had John's surname actually been Fairwetherspoons, I'd rate this place even higher.
Another stop closer to Glasgow was An-Ruadh -Ghleann, Rutherglen, a 'Spoons often in the Guide, but dropped this year in controversial circs (possibly, I'm just guessing). Made sense to visit. I won't review it now but safe to say, better beer, place a bit poky, Rutherglen a bit too close to Hamilton to be beautiful, I'll mention it again in September if it reappears!
Back to Glasgow then, and a sobering walk out west to the Exhibition Centre area with dusk falling. Despite only 4 ticks today, those two pre/post-emptives plus that strong mild in Wishaw means I'm happy to finish with five ticks today rather than the standard six which I'd aim for on a BRAPA holiday day or Saturday.
Not only was it a relief to be in a non-Spoons (you CAN have too much of a good thing!), but we also pick up where we left off in Partick and Kelvinbridge last night because Ben Nevis, Glasgow (3085 / 5926) is a high quality establishment. Busy too, I have to sit in the centre of the room and when Owlie McBurnie takes a tumble from a great height, it brings the day full circle - me making an unnecessary spectacled tit of myself in front of strangers. In happier news, the barmaid generalises the cask beer drinking demographic as miserable bastards whilst telling me how pleased she is by my beaming smile and positivity. Interestingly, the fact that the beer is called 'Happy Chappy' didn't come up. Even the gloomy guy wearing braces who looked like a Louisiana blues legend perks up enough for a quick chat. Great end to the night, I even order a needless Uber back to my digs.
So far, so easy, but things would have to go up a notch on the difficulty scale on day three if I'm to achieve Greater Glasgow & Clyde Valley greatness.
See you either Fri or Sun for that one.
Take care, Si
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