BLADNOCH continued from page 38
lived, drank and made babies here. Part of the special guest ritual is to allow them to sit in Rabbie’s chair, upstairs in his original bedroom and recite some of his poetry. So there we were, Frank sitting down, reciting a verse or two of Burns, and of course we got the pictures to prove it.
From there we hit a carry-out where the boys dug into a meaty donnair (or schwarma).Then we had a last pint in Slipstream, bade farewell to my relatives and headed to our beds.
June 13: Bladnoch and Becky. A windy road from Bladnoch to Troon, and Brent turns green We headed for breakfast, a full Scottish breakfast, sausage, bacon, eggs, beans, tattie scones, mushrooms, grilled tomato, toast and tea.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Frank failed to finish his meal. Must have been something he ate the night before. Anyway, we bid farewell to our hosts, ( the husband actually used to run the restaurant at Royal Troon... small world), and headed out on the A75 from Dumfries towards Wigton.
Just south of Wigton is the River Bladnoch, and right beside it, taking its name from the river, is the distillery (See Bounder, summer 2011, in which I featured Bladnoch.) We entered the distillery and presented the ladies behind the desk with several Bounder magazines, as well as some nice whisky and shot glasses.
Repaying our generosity, we received some nice momentos of the distillery, along with a complimentary tour of the facility. We were lucky to have the charming Becky Flannigan give us the guided tour, which lasted
www.bounder.ca
about one hour, and covered everything from the history of the distillery, to the warehouses to the entire production process. We, of course, took some nice and interesting photos ( Becky included), and one of us all standing behind the counter holding our Bounder magazines.
Both Frank and
Brent also visited the distillery lavatory, just to check that the plumbing worked okay.
So after a wee shot of Bladnoch ( somebody couldn’t even finish their wee half), we headed off through New Galloway towards Ayr , Turnberry and Troon itself. To say the road had a few bends would be an understatement. Signs kept popping up, warning of bends ahead, but in reality the entire road from Bladnoch to Girvan was one big bend.
This fact was borne out by Brent, whose face colour alternated between green and grey. I offered several times to pull over, but the lad was a trooper, and never once woofed his cookies.
And so, after a wee windy drive, we finally arrived in Troon, and pulled into the Piersland Hotel grounds, a rather splendid house once owned by the Johnnie Walker family. We checked into a rather nice chalet with two rooms, dropped our bags and headed out for a quick walk, to look over the fairways of the Championship Course, which scared the shit out of us. So we retreated to the hotel bar and drank some more.
That night Frank feasted on pork chops and new potatoes. I had chicken. Brent went with Fish and Chips, and we had a few more bevvies.
BOUNDER MAGAZINE 53
We sat outside and smoked a stogie before heading back to the bar, where the night caretaker continued to serve us. A few loud Americans spent an hour telling each other how rich they were. It got a bit tedious − why I love Cuba. NOTE: The bar never closed It was open all day and all night. You have to love how civilized the Scots are.
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