The Gatwick to Glasgow run is becoming so familiar that, for the first time ever in our travelling history, we negotiated the automated Check-In and Bag Drop without requiring human intervention.

After a quick airport breakfast, we boarded the bus—I mean, plane—and an hour and a half later we were being disappointed by our hotel. Well, I was, at least; my wife is a little more sanguine about these things, but I was looking forward to a repeat of the truly lovely time we had at the Premier Inn on George Street last June. I even sang its praises in my post about it: good-sized room, nice view, plenty of space for our stuff, helpful staff, great breakfast.

This time, not so much.

We arrived at noon, and the guy on duty was the same guy who had greeted us last time, exuding enthusiasm and a desire to help: “Your room isn’t ready until 3PM,” he’d said, “but I can check to see if it’s done up yet. If so, you could check-in now. Otherwise, we can store your bags for you while you take in the sights, or you can wait in our bar. Hold on while I make some calls.”

This year, I rolled up, showed him my reservation, and he looked at me as if to say, “Check-in isn’t until 3PM. What the fuck are you doing here now?”

He didn’t say that, of course. In fact, he didn’t say much of anything until I asked if we could leave our bags, which he readily agreed to.

And so, unencumbered, we had lunch at The Tinderbox Café, explored Glasgow Cathedral and, out of options, returned to the hotel at 2PM, to the same “What the fuck are you doing here now?” look, until I asked if we could wait in the bar, to which he readily agreed.

When we got to the room, further surprises awaited. I know I’m coming across as a real curmudgeon, but they raised the bar on our last visit and, while I know this isn’t the Ritz, I did pay extra for our Premier Plus room, and I don’t feel like I got much Plus for my forty quid. It’s not as big as I remember, there is no place to store our stuff, part of the curtain rod is dangling down in front of the window, and they failed that most basic test of a quality, budget hotel: there isn’t a soft-close lid on the toilet. All I can say is, I’d hate to see what the Normal rooms look like.

Also, the Free WiFi isn’t free. They say it is, and they advertise it as being adequate for checking emails and sending messages, but when I tried to check my emails, all I got was the buffering symbol. If you’re planning on doing any real work (or, more realistically, downloading porn) you need to opt into the £5 per day upgrade.

On the other hand, the Fair-Weather Fairy accompanied us yet again. As in our previous visits to Glasgow (as well as to Shetland, Orkney, Cambridgeshire, and Skaneateles) we came armed with jumpers and waterproofs in anticipation of foul weather, only to be greeted by clear skies, sunshine, and unexpectedly mild temperatures.

The only blip in the weather throughout the entire holiday came on our second day when we visited Ayr.

We had wanted to see Robbie Burns’s cottage, but it was blowing a gale, and we didn’t feel like walking all that way in the rain, so we headed for the beach instead. Along the way, there was ample evidence of holiday activity—coach parks, Pirate Pete’s Adventure Land, a broad, sandy beach—but on that particular morning, it was virtually empty. Still, there is little else to do in Ayr during the off-season, so we went to the beach. Then we retreated to town and visited a café.

Unfortunately, the café was in a Waterstone’s Book Shop, and we ended up buying two books (to add to the books we had brought with us). In our defence, they were on Waterstone’s “Buy One Get One at Half Price” offer, so we had to buy them. One was Strange Sally Diamond, a book recommended to us that I was keen to put on my reading pile. However, against my better judgement, I looked at the first line, then the second, then the third, and before I knew it, I was on chapter nine.

By the end of the day, I was halfway through it, and I finished it the following morning, but that was mostly due to our plans having fallen through.

Our agenda had us visiting Dumbarton castle that day, but a text-exchange between my wife and her cousin, whose husband happens to work at Dumbarton Castle, confirmed it was going to be closed due to lack of staff.

This was a good thing to know because there is little else to do in Dumbarton and it kept us from taking the train there, looking at the Closed sign, and taking the train back to Glasgow. So, instead, we went back to the Tinderbox Café and read.

After finishing our books, we decided to re-visit the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery. We’d been there before, but it was well worth a second visit and, seeing as we had the time, we decided to walk, but it was a looooong way so, when we returned, we decided to take the subway, which was also a long way, but not quite as far as our hotel. Then, once finding the subway (or, the underground, which they call the Clockwork Orange because it runs in a circle and is orange in colour, though which came first, the colour or the name, I don’t know) we then trekked to find a place for lunch. Eventually, we landed in Nic’s NYC diner, where I had a very fine Reuben-esque sandwich.

This morning, we went back to the Tinderbox (suggested motto: Where the FREE WiFi is actually FREE) to have tea and read, then we went to Marks & Spencer to buy a bundle of knickers, because you can never have too many spare knickers on holiday.

Tomorrow it’s up early for our 7:30 departure to the Outer Hebrides. Fingers crossed that the Fair-Weather Fairy follows.

Next Up: The Outer Hebrides South