Last night, I met up with an old friend for a drink, or a ‘bevvy’, as he so naturally put it. But as he’s Scottish, I guess that’s hardly a surprise.
He’s clearly knowledgeable of his drink, and has the belly to prove it (sorry, pal), for he’d offer his opinion on everything from local beers to vodka distilled like whiskey. Thrappledouser was a good recommendation of his. It was light and fruity, almost what you’d expect from a white wine. And he’s not your typical lads-on-tour-two-Fosters-and-dancing-as-if-pumped-with-heroin kinda guy, which is great.
Journalism’s his game and he’s doing well for himself, and that makes me a tad envious. But he’s modest and down-to-earth, his achievements seem like they could be my own. It makes my envying a positive thing. I want to emulate him.
However, I don’t think I’m cut out for the reporting world, at least not the politics side of things which he’s covering during his placement in Edinburgh. I’m more inclined to have an opinion, review cultural events, the words I write being a transcription of my thoughts. And although I knew that journalism is demanding, I don’t think I truly appreciated just how intense it can be until he summarised his working day: up at 8am, research, research, research, and back home when you’ve finished your work, regardless of when that may be. Sometimes he doesn’t even get a word in print. And he’s doing that 5 days a week for the next month before heading back to uni.
Naturally, the way to unwind after a long day’s journalism is to head to the pub. I met him at the Earl of Marchmont, a teeny pub just south of the Meadows, Edinburgh. And it proved that size doesn’t matter. In fact, it was one of the best pubs I’ve been to.
Everyone in there was affable, and there were none of them twatty types with their designer suits, slick hair and boisterous banter. In other words, there was no one in there that you’d want to lock inside a freezer or cover in honey and feed to some ants.
The pub itself also conveyed a friendly, laid-back nature. The tables were close together, so you’d always have someone to sit next to, yet you never felt cramped. Someone was playing a guitar, others watched football on the TVs, one man brought his dog in, and it was but 5 seconds to the door for a cigarette. And for a pub, the toilets were especially clean.
Furthermore, they had a fantastic array of whiskeys to choose from, although having dived into some Guinness, I though it’d best not to mix things up. I remember all too well the last time I mixed drinks, because I recall nothing at all. I passed out.
But something I’ll remember from last night is that I had a good time. I hope to meet up with him again soon, and I’ll be returning to the Earl.
In a bit,