An Unexpected Night In Perth
If I had wanted to risk death on the A9 I would have taken my own car to Glasgow. That's why I refused to get into a taxi when the 1741 from Queen Street trundled into Perth fifteen minutes late thus missing the connection to Inverness. They blamed a slow freight train on the line ahead.
I've written before about those hair-raising 80 mph taxi journeys that First ScotRail think is the best way to allow passengers to complete their journey. Tonight I simply wasn't feeling lucky so I marched out of the station and checked in at the hotel across the road. I phoned Mrs Z. and she supported my decision. She said something about me waking the dog if I came home late but I think she really meant to say that she was worried about my safety.
So here I am in Perth's answer to the Overlook Hotel - you know, that place Jack Nicholson went mad in in The Shining. I didn't hang around to chat with the ghosts. I dumped my bags and wandered out to explore downtown Perth and find a hostelry where I could quench my thirst on a pint of cider and eavesdrop on local gossip.
Perth, tonight, is cold and frosty and the streets are mostly deserted. The shop windows are full of Halloween masks. In St John's Place I wandered past empty restaurants and finally settled on a pub called The Ring O' Bells. There was only one other customer at the bar and he and the barman were glued to the big-screen TV where Arsenal were playing Spurs.
I bought my pint and perched on the next barstool like a regular in Cheers. I tried to blend in. I even made a few gasps and groans as I followed the action on the telly, but something about me must have made the barman suspicious. After a few quizzical glances he finally confronted me.
"Are you one of those mystery shoppers?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"A mystery shopper...sent to spy on me...cause I dont want to be sacked."
He had a smile on his face but I could tell he wasn't really joking. I assured him that I wasn't a spy and ordered another cider. Two Polish girls appeared at the bar. One told the barman she was a student and was studying English at a local college.
"Do you support Celtic or Rangers?" she asked him.
"Neither," he said, "I hate them both."
"But Celtic have a Polish goalkeeper," she told him, as if that would suddenly make him recant his life-long hatred of the Old Firm.
When I had drained my glass and run out of football-related exclamations, I returned to the streets and found a late-night Tesco. Inside, the shelf-stackers out-numbered customers by about three to one, but there was no one on the tills and you had to use one of those annoying self-service things where you scan your own shopping. They never work for me and tonight was no exception. Apparently my packet of crisps was too light for the "grocery deposit area" and I had to keep asking the shelf-stackers for help.
And now I'm back in the spooky hotel, typing this on the coin-operated internet terminal in reception. Tomorrow I will add the photographs to illustate this little episode.
Unless the ghosts get me during the night, of course, just like they did to Jack in The Shining.
All work and no play makes Jeff a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jeff a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jeff a dull boy.
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