Subcrawl

Glasgow has its own underground railway. It is, according to Wikipedia, the third oldest underground metro system in the world after London and Budapest. The network is entirely underground, maintenance sheds aside, and consists of a twin loop of track that has not been expanded since it opened in 1896. The loop is six and a half miles long and you can travel on the Outer (clockwise) or Inner (anticlockwise) tracks between the network’s thirteen stations. The chances are, however, that if you visit Glasgow you won’t travel on it at all. Perhaps you would take it from the centre of Glasgow to the West End but to be perfectly frank there’s no reason to get off at most of those fifteen stations unless you are a local. Come to think of it, there are some stations that even the locals seem to avoid, located as they are in once populous areas where dwellings have disappeared in the ever changing urban landscape of Scotland’s biggest city. The Subway as it is now known has an air of Hornby about it. The trains are three carriage units and are rather small. Whilst there has been some modernisation of the stations, some still have island platforms between the Outer and Inner tracks and the orange colour of the network’s logos and the trains themselves lend a slightly toytown feel to the service. It is said that the locals refer to the Subway as the “Clockwork Orange” although it is more likely that no one has ever referred to it this way at all, ever. Such as any subterranean transport system can be, it is rather cute.

So why am I prattling on about it? It’s hardly the stuff a good blog is made of is it? The Subway is the base for a legendary Glasgow activity, namely the Subcrawl. This is where a group of chaps purchase an all day ticket for the Subway, a bargain at £4.10, jump on the train to get off at the next station and visit a local hostelry where they could quench their thirst before descending into the bowels of Glasgow once more. The two minute journey to the next station will have induced a raging thirst in the participants once again so another round of refreshing beverages will be sought from another nearby public house. And so it goes on, calling at every one of the thirteen stations. Glasgow, being Glasgow, one is never too far from a pub and whilst the quality of the establishments will vary, a successful Subcrawl can be had without much in the way of effort. This activity is beloved of students from the city’s seats of higher education. It is also quite liked by some of my work colleagues. Or should I say ex-colleagues? On Monday it was the two week anniversary of my final shift and what better way to celebrate the fact I don’t have to work with the buggers any more than joining them on their latest subterranean public transport based excuse for drinking slightly more alcohol than is recommended by the chief medical officer of Scotland who, as a graduate of the University of Glasgow, is probably no stranger to the Subcrawl herself. My word, that was a long sentence.

There was just one slight problem. When it comes to imbibing alcohol I am very much a lightweight. Now it used to be that a man who admitted that he couldn’t handle his ale was considered by his contemporaries to be a bit of a girl but nowadays most girls can put away a vast quantity of alcohol too so a different simile has to be sought. So as a self confessed wet lettuce it was with a little trepidation I arrived at pub number one on the Subcrawl, the Times Square, next to the Subway starting point for this particular day, St Enoch station. It was 11am. At this stage there was half a dozen of us and whilst five pints of lager were ordered, I opted for a bottled beer in the hope that less volume meant less alcohol. Drinks suitably quaffed we headed down the stairs and caught the first train of the day. We were doing the clockwise journey which meant passing under the Clyde to Bridge Street. There really is nothing at all at Bridge Street. It used to serve the community of the Gorbals but over the years the tenements and high rises have been cleared. Somehow though, The Laurieston pub has remained. From the outside it looks like the roughest old boozer you could possibly imagine. Inside, however, the good, ancient people that run the establishment have made an effort to make it a bit more welcoming with, it has to be said, varying levels of success. They love Subcrawlers though, possibly because no one else dares to venture in, and have several photograph albums full of previous Subcrawl groups. This meant upon the conclusion of our lager, a bottle for me, pints for the professionals, we were dutifully snapped for the benefit of future groups.

Our next stop was Kinning Park. Some of the more knowledgable amongst you will realise that West St and Sheilds Rd lie between Bridge St and Kinning Park and yes, we did miss out these two stops. It was deemed that they were perhaps just too depressing and besides which we had a lunch appointment to keep. This was not at Kinning Park’s District Bar from where we walked to the next station, Cessnock, where we took the train to Ibrox. Formally known as Copland Road, Ibrox station was renamed Ibrox in 1977 when Strathclyde Transport noticed that it was next door to Ibrox football stadium, home to Rangers FC. It is extremely busy on match days and deathly quiet at all other times. It proved a handy stop for us though as a reservation had been made in the stadium restaurant. It was here we were joined by some extra members and we enjoyed views of the hallowed turf that were unobstructed by footballers and suchlike. Of course lager was drunk with the meal before we set out once more to the last station south of the river. This was Govan. Made famous by one Rab C Nisbett, Govan provided us with a pub that was truly awful by even the low standards we had experienced up till then. Brechin’s Bar may have just been having an off day. Well, something was off, the place stank very much of an open sewer. Several group members visited the gents where they claimed the aroma improved slightly. We didn’t stay long.

Passing back under the Clyde, the next stop was Partick where the Rosevale Tavern awaited us. North of the river the quality of the establishments moved up several notches, or if we just compare them with Brechin’s, several hundred notches. I enjoyed my last lager at the Rosevale as after the short hop to Kelvinhall and discovering The Sparkle Horse, I switched to vodka and coke, another little ruse of mine for limiting total alcohol intake. Unless that is I got ordered a double. Maybe that did happen as my memories of the this establishment and the subsequent ones is a little hazy. By this time one bar was merging into another. At Hillhead we visited the Curlers Rest, yes, I know it should have an apostrophe, even Brechin’s managed that, and at Kelvinbridge we went to The Doublet, where presumably hoes were compulsory. Our penultimate stop was St George’s Cross. The organiser of this venture has a slight fondness to Rangers FC, hence the lunch stop at Ibrox. He was also looking forward to pub at the St George’s Cross which was The Royalty Bar. Something to do with a garden gnome in Rangers attire apparently. Alas, our walk from the station in the rain was in vain, the pub was closed so alternate facilities were sought. We found the suitably apostrophised Munro’s where more lager/vodka/assorted other poncy drinks were procured.

We stayed on the train at Cowcaddens for no better reason that Cowcaddens has nothing to offer and emerged from the Subway one last time at Buchanan St, where a short walk took us to the Schilling Brewing Co. There we settled down to discuss our conclusions, drink more alcohol and share a few pizzas. I made the 11pm train back to Troon. I may indeed be a wet lettuce but by pacing myself I survived the whole trip and returned home with only modest levels of inebriation. Alas, I can’t claim the Subcrawl certificate as we avoided three stops all together and combined two stations for one pub thereby only visiting eleven drinking shops. Perhaps I’ll have to do it properly next time by visiting fifteen, assuming my old colleagues want to bring such a wet lettuce along of course.