Well, it's a Glasgow institution for some.
If you've ever travelled on a bus to the south side, then you'll have passed it. You'll more than likely have sat outside it on a bus, waiting as the drivers change shifts, exchange pleasantries and complaints about the big bosses and decry the latest fitba' results.
If you've seen it, you'll know it promises a three course meal for just £3 (inflation has bitten and a raise from the £2.50 it was for years has kicked in) and karaoke and... well, who knows? It's a place of mythicalness. And that may not be a word.
I've often wondered what lay behind the slightly manky doors. This evening, faithful reader, I delved into the underbelly of Glasgow legend.
I arrived after 6pm so no food for me. Instead, an anaglypta covered throwback to the 70s. At the bar ahead of me, a woman bought a quarter bottle of vodka to take into the cinema with her; 2 guys sat at the tables behind me with dominoes debating what to put on the jukebox.
"none of the depressing Radiohead crap, Boaby. It's Friday night! Put some rock n roll on!" // "aye, awright. Keep yer hair oan!"
Off he toddled to the jukebox. I ordered my pint. Carling. Cold. Under £3.
I sat down, took a photo to commemorate my journey into the unknown as the jukebox fired up. Rock n Roll, indeed. The Big Bopper.
The door crashed open and in stumbled a man on crutches just as the jukebox lurched into "Singin' In The Rain". The man's face broke into a grin and he asked who knew he was coming in and put his song on.
"It's Friday Night, Jimmy. Yer always here on Friday night!"
I finished my pint, and returned the glass to the bar on my way out.
"Ye no want another wan, big chap? Ach well, see you again!"
They may well see me again. They may very well. read more