A Glasgow Story

It was during the mid eighties, round about the time when Glasgow was having its “miles better” campaign and being so smug as to knock back a twinning offer from Liverpool Council. Yes, Glasgow was too good for Liverpool and there was me visiting the city of my birth and meeting up with my brother and brother-in-law for a quiet libation and with no great desire to take the evening into the ‘Taj’ we opted for the wee carry out. “Whit ye wantin?” And there was brother-in-law ordering his usual half bottle of whisky and six cans of tennents and brother opting for the six cans of tartan and me …. well, there was me, influenced by the new Glasgow, the “miles better” Glasgow, and having become a thoroughly continental Jock, I asked the barmaid if she had any “Fürstenberg”, a German beer that had hit the new Glasgow and, which I had been enjoying in places like the “ubiquitous Chip” and there was the barmaid, who the whole evening had been flashing a lovely tattoo of King Billy on her biceps, simply replying, “fuck your “Fürstenberg”, I am still not totally sure what she meant but I do believe that to this very day neither “Fürstenberg” or any other decent continental beer has managed to penetrate that particular part of Yoker.
The picture shows a bottle of “Fürstenberg”, the beer that blazed the trail for other good foreign beers entering the city of my birth.

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About sanculottist

There are a lot of poor bastards out there being used and abused; it is just not cricket "old bean". Something tells me that ignorance is not bliss, but is, in fact, simply ignorance and in the global village we cannot look the other way.
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