BRAPA in .... THE SCOTTISH COUNTDOWN : PT 1/5 (Pubs 37-31) CAMRA OBSCURA
Si Everitt
11 minutes ago
6 min read
Thursday 30th April - Wednesday 6th May 2026
My recent birthday trip to Aberdeen ranked decently in terms of pints, pubs & people. About mid-table, perhaps a bit higher in my experiences of Scottish BRAPA so far.
Not as good as my Greater Glasgow & Ayrshire trip last November, or recent visits to Borders. But far superior to the Kingdom of Fife, Edinburgh & Lothians and Dumfries & Galloway.
But you're always going to get a few gobblin' turkeys, even in a West Mids, Derbys or Worcs, so in this first part, I recall the seven occasions I thought 'yuck', 'ugh' or 'I wish I was somewhere else'.
When it is Haiti 1-0 Scotland in a couple of weeks time, I'll be sticking two's up to all seven of these.
Muirs Inn, Kinross
A Deuchars the temperature and consistency of Scotch Broth, a lingering background smell of puke and a rude arsehole with a dickhead boutique twog is the reason this pub finishes in last place. A first GBG appearance since the year 2000, and for an old pub in south Tayside, that sets alarm bells ringing on its own! The barman is pleasant in fairness, but he's trumped by Mr Rude who tells me off for not lifting the table to ease myself into the bench, and when I do, tells me off for not being careful with it despite its ancient wrought iron legs. Because I'm nice, I overlook this later on by joining in his 'Wu Yize thought he was being booed at the snooker, but no they were just chanting 'Wuuuuuu' chat. His mates across the room don't understand what he's going on about, so to stop him floundering like a dork I step in. But he blanks my contribution, necks his shit lager and gets up and leaves. On my birthday too!
Crimewatch Anthony Gordon didn't help
Rude arsehole + twog
Kimberley Inn, Findhorn
With a dying array of hanging wall plants and an even deader approach to cask ale, I'm left with no choice to put this in second last., the Burnley FC of Scottish pubs. No one wants that. Such a shame because the bar with its antique clock. inner stone walls and little old fireplace bubbling down towards my left knee really show the pub's potential. Angelic barmaid doesn't understand cask, my half a Guinness replacement is heavenly by comparison, and there's a dearth of seating for the pissed evening drinker. I can't even enjoy my misery alone because I get chatting with a grey shaggy insane thrillseeker from Seattle who likes jumping out of planes, windsurfing and stuff. He says we should stay in touch. I say I'll think about it. At least he wasn't a rude arsehole. He even waited for my bus with me and cycled off on a rusty old thing, a let down as I thought he'd have a jetpack.
Deep breath. Looks like he knows I'm going to be an awkward customer!
Our Seattle mate to the right, before we made friends
Pitcairngreen Inn, Pitcairngreen
Unkempt closed looking down at heel Wild West style village inn, chilly and airy inside not helped as they were trying to let two trapped bees out of the top window. The poor couple having an unlikely nice smelling meal in the corner are shivering in their thermals. The Wasted Degrees pale is grim, although I've had Wasted Degrees before and I've never enjoyed them once, not even the Norwegian Spruce 'collab' from a can. Our saving grace is the barmaid, 8.75/10 eyelashes. Facial structure and voice of 1990 Carly Morris/Lucini from Home & Away although Scottish accent obviously. I'd arrived here by emergency taxi, diverted due to a closed road. My plan to get a bus out of here, a 30 min walk from here. It was the most hopeless I felt all week. I sit at the bar and bore her and a local with BRAPA chat / logistics but they're both lovely. And I'm recommended a non-GBG cask free pub called Beavers or Badgers which is cask-free, full of women who like to say fuck, but very cosy.
Star & Garter, Dundee
The carved up road outside prevents me from doing justice to the gorgeous green exterior, but fear not because the beauty extends inside. I'm getting Lismore Partick, and Bull Paisley, and is my most ornate pub of the week. But its first EVER appearance in a Good Beer Guide? With THIS interior? In THIS part of the world? Yup. the alarm bells were ringing and no wonder, the ale was utter tosh. Like a whining Shetland detective. Only Findhorn's Kimberley served me a worse beer all week. I'm not at my most sociable today either so after a brief chat with a Dundonian 90 year old barfly I cannae understand, I hide in the saloon behind some etched glass. Our landlady is a force of nature, on the phone with her boss when I arrive but still manages to give me a friendlier welcome than 75% of staff this week. And I think she fancies herself as bit of a songstress too. Warbling operatically whatever came on the jukebox. Her highlights were Human League 'Don't You Want Me', Wham 'Club Tropicana' and just when I thought she couldn't go up another gear, Madonna 'Like a Prayer'. But it was impossible to overlook THAT pint. Even if Quinno did find a Dennis the Menace badge here.
Havelock, Nairn
Looks bloody weird, is bloody weird! Well intentioned, but it didn't work 'as an ensemble'. The pool table is as anaemic as the atmosphere on this eerily quiet Sunday lunchtime. A bloke in gloves stands guard over a carvery brandishing an electric knife smiling expectantly at me. Not quite as sinister as it sounds. His legs are tired and he needs a wee, jiggling up and down on the spot. I'm here a good 40 minutes nursing my pint, Driftwood by Fyne. An apt beer name. I don't see the poor bloke carve a sausage, or any beef, pork or anything else for that matter. The ale is passable, just. Five cask ales on seems incredibly amibitious, three of them are Sassenach too. Boo, down with that sort of thing. I'm willing the time away until my bus to Inverness.
The Bunker, Perth
'Here's what ya couldda won?' the ghosts of BRAPA past seem to be telling me as I glance left to see the majestic Silvery Tay, my favourite pub in Perth. I would get back there later in the day and can confirm, still great. It all just made The Bunker feel even grimmer and inconsequential. Fair play to the barmaid, a real ball of seratonin on this moody Wednesday morning - yes, the pub was a victim of 'time of my visit' to some extent. She chirrups on about how the 'Haggis Hunter' ale is 'fresh on' and how much I'll enjoy it. Well, put it like this .... I'd HATE to taste an unfresh Bunker beer! She'd later put Michael Jackson on the jukebox (not the dead #BeerMan). Her colleague, a Kamil Grosicki type seems purposefully unfriendlly, well until two local old dears turn up and then he bounds over, tongue out, all flirty sweetness n shite. The nob. On my birthday too. I'm willing the time away for my bus to Crieff.
Much in the same vein as the Bunker and Havelock, this wins my Weekly Awkward Award (WAA) - as I wander in to this small corner hotel bar. Silent American couple, silent old zimmer couple who leave quickly (well not quickly, but you know, 'soon). And Silent Stern Dour Scottish Paul Godden (SSDSPG) don't respond to my 'hello'. The bar lad ain't much better. And it gets cringier, because I need to ask if The Barrel is indeed the Glenaden Hotel which must sound a weird question to the layman. Suddenly all eyes are on me. One beer on, Deuchars. It drinks far better than my Kinross pint, and easily the best beer of part one. Things get worse as the American lady's scampi and 'fries' (they're called chips luv) comes with peas when she expressly told them 'no peas please!' You can't go expecting Americans to eat anything green. Some angry scooping onto her husband's plate ensues. He doesn't like them either but wants a quiet life. Then a new couple arrive, I can tell they find the atmosphere as awkwardly silent as me so I say hello, SSDSPG glares at me like I'm scum. Our barman has gone AWOL for about ten mins. It is left to me to reassure them that he's around here somewhere, but the wife's like 'cant you serve us?' ERRM HOW ABOUT NO! SSDSPG looks at his watch and tuts. Pea-lady whispers to her world weary husband it 'just isn't good enough'. Considering what a boiling ball of energy Ballater was apart from this agonising half an hour, it made this gloom hole the more bizarre.
Well that was fucking dreadful wasn't it?
Hope you enjoyed it though you sadists.
See you on Friday or Sunday but probably Sunday for part two. We'll go for a 8-pubber.
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