Wham Bam Thank You Dram

If you’ve plumped for Glasgow as your next port of call, nothing better embodies the city’s spirit than The Pot Still on Hope Street.

The Pot Still is a glorious institution, undoubtedly some sort of opus and well worth spending a couple of idle hours in if you can handle it. Those crumpled notes baring a burden in your wallet? Iron them out and and nudge them over the bar. Let the libations be arranged for you.

Tenebrously lit, classically outfitted and recalling a primitive standard with which to bunker your gut within, it is assured terroir for true respectability in drinking.

It had been mentioned that the bar becomes overwhelmed at weekends but I had no problem on a Sunday afternoon snagging a front row seat amongst a handful of other dwellers and thus was the focal of attention for the duration of my layover.

So, the motivation for the visit is stocked nobly alongside the full length of the wall. A skyline of bottles, a high-rise of scotches and bourbons that ranges from decades old and dust-cased to glistening and local. A conglomeration of greens and crystals and jets that wets every corner of the globe, no distillery left unnoticed. The whiskeys you’ve come to know and love are probably stood amongst at least ten other variations you probably didn’t know existed let alone supped.

Naturally, the roster of bottles will overwhelm you. Prepare for a thousand labels ogling you whilst your head whirls uncontrollably, burdened by choice. No matter, there is a whiskey to fit all tastes and budgets.

Besides, the service alone, a flawless, cordial hub of knowledge that even if you’re popping in for a dram or two is certainly worth your time. It’s the kind of service you don’t get from other acned barkeeps crouched over their Twitter feeds, lousily saving for their gap year hoola and halving their day between over-toweling your glass and contending with the fickle dishwasher.

Each whiskey clutches a backstory so you will undoubtedly be regaled with all manner of folklore before your seat is even warm. It’s all an amicable accompaniment for sampling each whiskey with true vigour. Before you know it you’re suitably anointed and armed with a pleasant anecdote or two.

I ventured in for a brief ninety minutes before my train was penciled in to depart. Half a dozen whiskeys plucked from the shelf with part-adherence to a couple of mumblings on my part and much initiative on his part sure made the doldrum of withdrawal abstain until at least Crewe.