Friday 24th October 2025
The final day of my week in Glasgow, and a final go on my (almost) homemade concoction of haggis, scrambled eggs and blueberries for breakfast, none of which I'd foraged myself.
I was ever so slightly hungover as predicted in Scotia Bar the previous night (my last three pints had been 6%, 5.9% and 5.6%), so an extra special can of Irn-Bru was supped in Central Station to take the edge off whilst I wait for the train out Inverclyde way.
Only two ticks left for me in Greater Glasgow & the Clyde Valley. Although it seems silly now, at the time I feared having to leave one undone as I had plans to take a ferry to Kilcreggan before getting stuck into Helensburgh etc. But BRAPA days are full of surprises.
My 'easy' tick was, unsurprisingly a Wetherspoons ....
Handsome building but the shiny metal Brewdog plaque above the bar doesn't do a lot to dispel any notions that this James Watt, Greenock (3105 / 5946) was named after the wrong 'un, and not the steam engine legend, which of course it is supposed to be. I'd been pronouncing the place incorrectly as 'Grenuck' for some weird reason which I can only think dates back to idiot 90's BBC football result readers. Yet another Mudgie voucher fail .... "Cheap enough!" he tells me, an insult to the great man's memory, but whilst £1.49 is cheaper than £1.99, I couldn't really complain. In a handled jug, this must be one of the toughest Titanic Plum Porter's I've ever tried to drink. Most likely my hangover, the Irn-Bru, haggis and scrambled eggs were more responsible than the pub. Took me an AGE to drink, but on the upside, this pub represented 69% completion of the GBG (again) .... and this year, I'm determined to remain well above it come next September's churn.
So now it got interesting / awkward. I was willing to forgo my final tick in Inverkip for a ferry at Gourock across to either Kilcreggan or Dunoon, from where I could take a bus to Innellan for my first ever 'Argyll & the Isles' tick.
But Gourock ferry terminal felt even more Wild West than Greenock, not a sausage was stirring. I went into the poor excuse for a ticket office to study the scant information available, one ferry I'd narrowly missed (the next wasn't due for two hours), and the other had been delayed / cancelled due to technical / weather reasons.
I felt utterly stranded at this juncture until I saw a bus with 'Wemyss Bay' on the front. HOW HAD I NEVER CONSIDERED A POSSIBLE BUS OPTION? I can be dense at times.
It is chock-a-block with kindly faced elderly crones, but there's one seat left. "You don't happen to stop at Inverkip do you?" I ask. He nods in dour stoic Scottish tones. Hurrah, fate really DID want me to complete Greater Glasgow in full.
But hang on, I'd not even reached my seat when he calls me back. He DOESN'T stop at Inverkip. We go through it, but there is no bus stop. Crazy! With the entire bus watching and waiting, and my face flushing, I tell him no bother, I'll go straight through to Wemyss Bay, though about ten people correct my 'Wemyss' pronunciation for added embarrassment.
And just when I've relaxed and stopped concentrating, he pulls into a random lay-by, shouts that I can cross the road for a connecting Inverkip bus from here. Again all eyes on me, cheeks burning again as I do a bit of Googling, and tell him no, crack on to Wemyss.
Traumatic, but once there, a one stop train hop takes me to my required destination ....
And so here we were, by hook or by crook, Greater Glasgow & Clyde Valley completion comes at Inverkip Hotel, Inverkip (3106 / 5947) and it felt real good! Your archetypal Scottish coastal hotel bar done to a very high standard. The hard working warm professional staff impress me most. There's whisky in the jar aplenty. There's even more tourists and food, and yet I don't feel any sense of being out of place despite having just popped in for a pint on my own. That pint is Jarl, a superb drink when in good nick. It was marvellous here. You can see why this is a GBG mainstay. The carpet is a tartanesque 9/10. Good levels of warmth, comfortable benches, even the music is a cut above the national average, Proclaimers, Amy MacDonald, weird folky fiddly stuff, Scottish to the core, oh and Shane McGowan who is so Irish, he's practically Scottish. This is the life, as Amy is singing. I make a tit of myself trying to find the Gents even though there's only one place it can be, all very BRAPA, but the sense of a good job well done had me floating back to Inverkip station.
I might have been buzzing like a Scottish bee, but reality soon set in. I only had two ticks to my name today, time was racing, I'd nothing left remotely near Glasgow of course, so there was only one thing for it. Back to Wemyss Bay and a ferry across to Bute which has three pubs which all look busable.
Flexibility is required in this pub ticking game. One discipline I've had to learn over the years. I was an incredibly rigid stubborn typical Taurean back in 2014 when this challenge started. I'd not even considered the Isle of Bute when I'd woken up this morning, and here I was, landing in Rothesay.
It is school chucking out time when I arrive, and in misty rain I start getting paranoid that the bus south isn't running until a kind woman who looked like she had a pocket full of shortbread (I never delved) reassures me and gives me the local bus App to download. Her place in BRAPA history is assured, and she doesn't even know it.
The last ferry back to Wemyss Bay is as early as 7pm. A bit of mental maths told me this wasn't gonna be easy, but doable if everything runs to time.
Bus driver is a hero too. Like the one earlier, his demeanour is all dour & stoic, but his heart of gold shines through when he asks "is it actually the pub you want?" when the southbound bus doesn't seem to stop there (according to Google Maps or the bus App). This means I may be able to make the connection back north. I try asking him how long before he comes the other way, but he's vague. "About 7 minutes after I leave Kilchattan Bay which won't be for a bit" didn't really help.
Best get suppin' then. Welcome to the Kingarth Hotel, Kingarth (3107 / 5948) and it would help if there was anyone around to serve me. "Hello?" A low slung mustard coloured pub, pool table far end, a few foody booths. yes it did feel more 'other wordly' than anything I'd encountered this holiday, but quite pleasant. Barmaid Siobhan appears, a real doll, as we say up here. She'd been having her tea. I miss the guest Fyne handpump, but nae matter as the Jarl is of Inverkip quality. But a strange young Andrew smashes the calm into smithereens with a madcap display. Pretends he knows Siobhan from school / college, but he's only joshing. Then claims his Mam is hiding somewhere around the back of the pub looking for him. Says he's a dodgy character, and he might even be barred from this pub! Siobhan looks bemused and terrified, as am I when he notices me. Asks if I'm having a great day about ten times. Then Mummy calls him and they drive off to Rothesay, to much relief from me n Siobs. I tell her I'm paranoid about this bus, so even though I'm probably about 8 mins early, I'm off to stand outside and wait (half hoping she offers to shut the pub for 10 mins and give me a lift, but she doesn't).
I'm really nervous for this bus, as I can't see it on the live bus times App, but no way I've missed it so all I can do is wait. But when he leaves Kilchattan Bay, it clicks into life and sure enough, the bus appears on the horizon shortly after. Phew.
Of course he doesn't smile or say hi, being all dour and stoic, but at least I force him to raise an eyebrow when I say 'Port Bannatyne this time' as he'd been expecting me to return to Rothesay. Ha!
Back on schedule by the time we reach the pub, though I temporarily poo my pants thinking it is shut down, but I'm looking at the building next door. This is the real pub, taken after my visit from the bus stop back to Rothesay .....
Despite being far more touristy and lively, and best of all a more homely pub, my issue with the Anchor Tavern, Port Bannatyne (3108 / 5949) is it rather cliquey verging on island incestuous, and also a doggie stink hole. I HATE these pubs where a local rocks up to the bar, gets the warmest welcome from all and sundry and then a tourist (or in my case, pub ticker) wanders up, is kept waiting for ages and given short shrift and po-faces. Especially with next bus 25 minutes away and me determined to get my Rothesay tick in and hop aboard the 7pm ferry early for fear of being stranded here overnight! As well as dogs, it smells of peanuts and I'm allergic to them. Oh, and fusty old books. Which would be an atmospheric pub smell on its own. At least the fire was in, though the heat inside the pub was only making the smell worse. My third consecutive Jarl didn't taste as good as Kingarth or Inverkip and is it any wonder?
In fact, it is only at the bus stop when any Port Bannatyne humanity occurs. A lass wanders out of the pub, on her benefit sticks for a cigarette, and starts shouting over to me from across the street. Weather related I think. The wind, traffic and her strong accent mean all I can do is smile, nod and say 'aye'.
But our old mate, Mr Dour Stoic turns up right on cue. Only bus driver on the island? And yet a MUCH better bus service than I've ever witnessed in England. Rothesay here we come, I can't pronounce that either, but I was buzzin' for my last tick, even if Leon Foster wrote cryptically that he's looking forward to seeing what I make of it! Ominous much?
It certainly was! In the best way possible. At the auld sign of McEwan's, Mac's Bar, Rothesay (3109 / 5950) was just about the ballsiest bar (never a micropub, despite the similarities) you are likely to encounter. Had I realised a hidden back room down near the loos, I might have retired to a beaten up old settee after being served, but as it was, it was front and centre vertical drinking squashed like a sardine between uproarious pisshead locals. I'm just glad it was my fifth pint and not first so I was numb to any feelings of self conscious insecurity. I felt like I was on a hot spin cycle in a washing machine. The two ultra polite gents behind the bar had clean white shirts and dickie bows on, very proper, not exactly in-keeping with the clientele. I firstly chat to a man from Battle who hasn't lost his southern accent despite living up here for 34 years. I remembered the Squirrel pub was a long walk from the town centre, and they had a dull Tap and he was 1% impressed by that. Even more interestingly, the man to my left had worked on oil rigs and helped build the Jubilee line. He was about 180 years old, and told me of a mysterious Scottish house, the biggest in the world, which no one is allowed into apart from him. It has 58 bathrooms and 16 snooker tables, or something. The Orkney ale was insanely good, and in all the chaos, I only took one indoor photo which was a shame.
At least I was done quickly, and even had time for a quick half of the spooky Belhaven in the Black Bull which had been in the 2025 GBG and dropped possibly only due to a long spell of closure earlier this year. Tasted dreadful in comparison to the same beer I'd had in Bearsden all those days ago. Pub sort of okay.
Back on the ferry for 7pm, much more relaxed re departure time than the website claimed, and I counted NINE of us, watched The One Show which was dreadful, and ate my remaining SIX mini babybels cos I'd promised SeeTheLizards I'd try, and then I made a Comic Relief style nose with the wax cos I was drunk and it felt good.
All in all, a great holiday. And I gave myself over a full week before my next BRAPA outing, and six days til my next pint, which is very good for me!
See you for the Hallowe'en Special next time out, possibly Thursday.
Keep on pubbing, pubbing from my arms.
Si
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