Velvet Elvis to The Park Bar- a West End Odyssey.

“Keep Partick‘s Weird”  The mural on the wall of Velvet Elvis, an ex butcher shop turned groovy drinking den on Dumbarton Road in Partick, declares and does a pretty good job.  I love this place. It’s comfy and friendly and has tasty food and does a mean mojito.  We started off Saturday’s afternoon outing here with an ice cold glass of chenin blanc and a bowl of skinny fries with alioli.  I would like to point out, I don’t normally eat chips with every drink, but I do admit my last few posts would contradict this statement.  Sticking with this healthy eating plan, our next stop was Little Italy on Byers Road for pizza then coffee.  They do gooood pizza.  We then turned back on our route and headed to The Lismore to catch up with some old pals over a Malt of the Month…or two.  Highland Park was the current tipple on offer and it went down rather nicely.  The Lismore is a crackin pub, full of local characters with great banter.  Combined with some live music provided by musicians in town for Celtic Connections, it was a great afternoon.  It was also our downfall, as we had intended catching an early train home but instead found ourselves having too much fun to end it here.  The natural progression was a quick taxi ride to the institution that is the Park Bar, where Heilan’ lads and lassies gather in vast numbers for some ceilidh chaos.  The last train home came and went and we were still propping up the bar and talking mince.  I pity the poor taxi driver who scooped us up for the journey home at approximately 12.30, six hours after we originally intended to head home.  Still, what’s the point in working hard all week if you can’t throw caution to the wind and go with the proverbial flow?  I love nights like this- Unplanned joy.  It’s random nights in places like this I think helps keep Partick, and the rest of the West End, a wee bit weird but totally wonderful.

We Will Rock You-Cheesefest at the King’s Theatre

Sometimes it’s ok to be cheesy.  Thursday night was one of those times.

The last thing I felt like doing was declaring aloud that we were the champions after the worst day at work ever.  However, having bought show tickets for We Will Rock You several months ago, I was determined the show must go on.

My mood was instantly lifted when, on our way for a pre theatre bite, we stumble upon the starting line of the Monte Carlo rally outside the Blythswood Hotel on Blythswood Square in Glasgow.  All pre 1974 classic cars at the start line of the 2 day race across Europe.  I would have hung about for a bit of pre race start line shmoozing but the closure of the surrounding roads caused traffic chaos and this led to much lateness and car parking issues so we had no choice but to move onward and upwards.

As mentioned before, work was hell, so this was my justification for pre show school night daiquiris.  Two were sufficient to reach the desired effect before we took our front row circle seats.  Jolly good seats they were too!  I wasn’t sure what to expect and to be honest I didn’t have too high expectations.  It took me a wee while to get into it as I was still reeling from the worst day at work ever (it was really really that bad).  However, the power of Queen cannot be underestimated and before I realised toes were tapping and I felt the overpowering urge to sway and….heaven forbid…even sing.  I never saw that coming just a few hours previously.  A wee G&T at the interval topped up my happy levels and we were off again saving the world from Simon Cowell and the Killer Queen’s gaga world of mass produced synth pop. Even Noel Hearsay’s dodgy American accent was forgivable given that he was, and I say this in a hushed voice, actually quite good…at the singing that is. The accent was trully terrible.  Fortunately the rest of the cast were dodgy accent free.  I hear a few were various reality TV singing/dancing contestants, but at the risk of sounding like a pretentious arse, I didn’t know any of them as I don’t watch those programmes. (Aye, I sounded every bit of the dick I thought I might, oh well).

Anyway, cheese overload accomplished.

Scaramoosh scaramoosh, do I do the vandango?  Yes.  It appears I do.

Roastit Bubbly Sunday- A Sunday roast in Glasgow’s West End

Scotland is cold.  Scotland in January is even colder, therefore, forget salads, pitta pockets, couscous and flans, wraps, fruit salads and quiche.  A Sunday roast is an essential dietary requirement for survival through the winter months.  Happy am I that Roastit Bubbly Jocks on Dumbarton Road, in deepest darkest Partick does the mother of all Sunday roasts.  It’s a wee bit out the way, but so worth the journey.  And, you don’t even need your stab vest!  Not now Partick and Hyndland are practically the same place.

First we had a canape as a belly warm up.  A crostini with slow braised shin of venison topped with Apricot chutney.  Holy cow that was good…or should I say deer?  Followed by broccoli and butternut squash soup.  Sounds questionable, but it was delicious. For the main event there was a choice of beef, lamb or pork.  There was also a salmon in shellfish cream sauce option.  I have no idea about the veggie option, but who cares!  I was there to eat meat and load of it!  This I did having gone for the lamb and it was soooo good.  It arrived doing the back stroke in a pool of rich gravy accompanied by a lilo of mashed potato and a mini yorkshire pudding life ring.  Obviously it’s not a pool party till all you friends are in there with you, so before I new it my plate was also full of roasted beetroot, turnip, carrots, broccoli and roast tatties.  Heaven!  Unbelievably I finished every last bite, which I did regret having signed myself up for a third course- The mighty fruit crumble with custard.  Despite it’s deliciousness, I had to throw the towel in halfway through- I’m just a little lady and this was a monster of a Sunday Roast. Anyway, following a coffee to make sure I didn’t get the post feast doze on the drive home, I rolled back to the car and headed home where I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of a roaring fire, watching movies, rubbing my poor belly and swearing I would become a salad eater as of Monday.

Cringe drinking- Friday night Sambuca-thon in Glasgow

January is normally a time of hibernation, where, other than the Celtic Connections festival, not much else happens.  However, given the cancellation of many a festive night out in December due to the rotten weather that brought the country to it’s knees, January this year has become Christmas party season.  Yes, yesterday was my turn to wear something inappropriate to work, slide my normally flat feet into something far less practical or comfortable than I am used to, and totter off up through the bright lights of Glasgow’s Bath Street for a night of silly antics with my co-workers/reprobates.  We did the normal thing that people who don’t go out together very often do.  We got really drunk and embarrassing, said things we would probably never normally say to each other, danced in our seats like a bunch of complete fannies, split drinks, fell over, some of us (not me) even got escorted from the premises.   Was it a good night?  You bet.  Sometimes you just need to act like a stupid teenager on their first bottle of Mad dog 50/50.

Given the alcohol consumed, I am surprised I am functioning at all today, but I would like to think my anti hangover method of lots of tea before bed and midnight noodles went some way to vaccinating me from the worst effects.  As yet, the cringe has not set in, but I am sure it will some time between now and Monday morning.  However, whatever flashback I have, it cannot compare to hearing this morning that one of my worse for wear colleagues, on her train journey home, threw up….in her handbag.  I nearly fell on my arse laughing.  I can only imagine her frame of mind at the moment she realised she was going to be sick and thinking her handbag was the best place for it.  I have put this activity on my new list of things to never, no matter how drunk you are , ever do.