Still Game Location Tour - Part 1 (Prologue)

I have travelled Scotland recently.

The reason I chose this country for my holiday was not because of its stunning scenery, historical landmarks or Harry Potter locations, but Still Game - a quirky Scottish sitcom about pentioners who live in a fictional town called Craiglang, located in surburban Glasgow.

Like many others outside Scotland, I discovered this series on Netflix. As a matter of fact, I didn’t pay any attention for a while. It looked like one of those obscure sitcom that no one gives a shit about. But one day, mostly out of boredom, I hit the "play" button.

Here’s what happened. I finished the first series in one go, and in less than a year I have watched every single episode at least three times. Let’s be honest, it’s not a perfect sitcom. There are a lot of flaws and later series are not as well-written as earlier series. Some episodes are downright cinge. Despite that, I fell in love with its silliness and strange warmth of Craiglang community. Still Game has unique charm that other sitcoms have not. I was completely hooked.

At that time, I was thinking about going on an international trip. I’m not particularly an avid traveller, let alone going overseas, but I needed some adventure, like Jack and Victor’s trip to Canada. But where should I go? Now it seemed obvious - Craiglang. So I decided to embark on a journey from a small town in a far-eastern country to the sacred place.

But the journey did not start in Glasgow. It started in Edinburgh.

Here’s Looking At You, Kid

It was mid-August and Edinburgh city was full of Fringe-goers and Oasis fans. I was there to attend one of many Edinburgh Fringe Festival shows. That show was: Casablanca The Gin Joint Cut. A play starring Gavin Mitchell, a.k.a. Boabby the Barman. I found out about this a few months before the trip, and I nearly panicked at the thought of seeing him in my own eyes. Is is really happening!?

Just hours after my arrival, I found myself standing in front of a bar called Ghillie Dhu, the venue for Casablanca.

A bar! Just so you know, there is no way that an introverted nerdy Asian lass like me to be familiar with such a place. I was a bar virgin. And seeing a play there? I felt like Boabby in the City Chambers. I arrived an hour before the door opened, as I had no idea about the rule of thumb. There were no queue outside. I stood on the porch for a moment like a lost child. After a while, I finally mustered up enough courage to go in to the bar. I catched nearby staff in desperation and asked if I was in the right place. She said yes, but it was actually an upstairs auditorium that I should go. I was thinking of coming back later, but she was so kind to tell me I could wait here without ordering anything. I took a seat and ordered food and drink anyway. I couldn’t bear if my stomach started rumbling throughout the show. Now I felt much better.

All I had to do was just wait, and wait, and wait…

Clock striked seven.

This was the entrance I should’ve come in.

There was a little mishap before going upstairs (the QR code I was given from Ticketweb was totally useless) and by the time I arrived at the auditorium people were already starting to gather. I secured myself a middle seat in the fourth row. The audience were mostly middle-aged couples, chatting merrily with pints or glasses of wine in their hands. I was completely out of place, but I tried not to care. I kept telling myself I was going to have a good time.

It was hilarious. I had seen the film before (it was actually one of the subjects of subtitling course I took a few years back) and I wondered how on earth they were going to turn this classic into a comedy, but they nailed it and Gavin Mitchell was surprisingly spot-on as Rick. I’m glad that I came all the way down to Scotland to see this show. I felt rewarded. I cloud have stayed longer just in case the cast pop in to the bar (I’m half joking), but I was completely star-strucked by then and left the room as soon as possible before embarrassing myself.

Back in the hotel, I was reminiscing about what I had experienced. I was beginning to feel sad that it’s over, almost on the verge of crying (I was exhausted).

And then, I heard a familiar tune coming from the telly. I looked up, and saw this:

Sunday. 10PM. BBC Scotland. Boof!

My sadness flew away like Winston's false leg.

The journey had just began. Why feel sad about it? I had more ahead of me. Next day, I was going to take a train to Glasgow, where it all began.

(Continue to part 2)