I did some training before exploring Rose Street. At Deacon Brodies I learned to pronounce Deuchars "duke-arse" and things got easier thereafter. In my daughter's local (not that she had ever used it) I extended my knowledge via a complimentary bar snack of haggis and potatoes (it was named something that sounded like "sloshy"]. The pub was The Diggers (aka Athletic Arms) and a damn good pub it was too. I had got used to whacking price of ale; £3.75 seemed standard. At first I thought it must be tourist, town centre prices but out in Gorgie, just along from the Diggers, I paid a whopping £3.95. Steeling myself for this price onslaught I left Hilary and my daughter outside Harvey Nics and set off for Rose Street.
I started at the "top" end with a pint in Milnes Of Rose Street. It was a large, grand pub with splendid woodwork, very busy and with good atmosphere. I drank Scottish Homecoming - which was horrible. If this was the homecoming promised to Jock he would do well to stay away for longer. I left and decided to walk to the other end of the Rose Street and walk back towards my meeting place with Hilary. At the far end there was a false start when I was informed in the first pub that they had no pump ales. What a thing! Is that legal? If so, it shouldn't be! So I went across the street to Dirty Dicks setting aside misgivings about the name. I had a nice enough pint of Bitter & Twisted and enjoyed the excellent 1960s music that they were playing. My next stop was Gordons - well, I thought, because of the name I'll just have to try it. I found myself the only customer in a small pub that smelled strongly of polish. Choosing a beer was easy; they only had one - Duke Arse Deuchars - which, to my surprise was rather good and, at £3.30 the cheapest on the street. A quiet pub was actually what I needed at this stage. I had a three-hour pass and had to pace myself. So I had intended to find somewhere to read a few of chapters of my Kindle book. A snug bench in a window alcove was ideal. (I am reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and The Damned, am a quarter of the way through it and can't make up my mind whether I like it or not). The reason for the polish smell soon became clear. The tables were topped with brass set in wooden surrounds and the barman was going round each in turn (except mine) with a cloth and a bottle of BRASSO. I don't know whether Monday was his day to do this task, but judging by the impressive amount of elbow grease he applied to the task it might have been that the 1st was cleaning day for the whole month, or even April 1st for the whole year. My next stop was the Auld Hundred a rather undistinguished place, frankly it was dull, up a few steps from the front door but the Deuchars was again good, and overall the place was OK. My final stop was the Rose Street Brewery. I had a pint of Copper Cascade which was very good indeed; definitely the best beer that I had on the Street. The atmosphere was fine and, when I fell into conversation with the landlady/barmaid, she told me the pub showed all sorts of sport on the TV; all sports, that is, with the exception of football which was not allowed. I suggested that she put up a poster in the window displaying this so that people like myself would be attracted to the place. She replied that they had done this but had received a lot of objections on grounds of discrimination. The policy continued, however, without advertisement. She was from Melrose where they eschewed football and cared mostly for rugby. Apparently they have a fine women's team there.
So ended my afternoon exploration of Rose Street. I met up with Hilary and my daughter. Was reassured that they had bought nothing at Harvey Nics other than their lunch. And jumped on the 34 bus to back out of town.