#100. 1780, 167 Rose St, Edinburgh

Owing to the tyranny of round numbers, pub 100 on my list deserves to be numeric in name. The 1780 was a pleasant surprise, with two Broughton ales on tap, and a cozy, warm atmosphere spread across two rooms. I opted for the Exciseman 80/- (pronounced "eighty shilling") on the advice of the barkeeper. She noted that Robbie Burns was on the label for a reason: by day he collected taxes.


The Style Council was playing on the stereo when I walked in; the classic track "Long Hot Summer" from the embarrassing EP Introducing the Style Council.


The '80s are still waiting for an apology, guys. Their follow-up, Cafe Bleu (known as My Ever Changing Pretensions in America), contains perhaps the most self-aggrandizing liner notes ever in the history of modern music. I was never a fan of The Jam (other than "A Town Called Malice"), but for those of you that are, how tough is it to reconcile Paul Weller's involvement in both projects? Is it like watching Morrissey turn into Burt Reynolds while trying to explain to your kids that The Smiths were actually once a pretty good band?


That's Morrissey on the right. I know, it's getting harder to tell them apart.

But I digress. It is New Year's Eve in Edinburgh, or as they call it, Hogmanay, and there is a massive street party taking place down around Princes Street. Edinburgh seems effortlessly able to provide temporary structures, facilities, security, fireworks, and planning to pull off an event, regardless of the number of drunk people it may attract. Here is the scene down on Rose Street on my way to the 1780.