There was Billy, who used to latch onto people sitting on their own and natter away for as long as they let him. His girlfriend, Nancy, was often there too. She looked like some faded beauty queen or something, or a fortune teller escaped from a circus somewhere. Billy was extremely thin and was always cracking jokes. He seemed to spend his whole life in there, as well as in the bookies.
Then there was Jim, who was a rather overweight and ill looking guy in his 50s or 60s, who was always there from the afternoon until after 7 or so, drinking constant pints of lager and very rarely speaking to anyone at all, although everyone knew his name. He was there just about every day I was ever in until, at one stage, he wasn�t in for weeks and I thought he must be dead. Then there was this story in the paper about a famous old football player called Bobby Murdoch who played for the Lisbon Lions. He looked exactly like this Jim guy from the pub so I naturally assumed they were one and the same. Why he was known as Jim was a bit of a mystery, though. Then, one day, I was standing in the pub and in walked Jim! I did a rather obvious double take, as I was so convinced he had been a dead football guy!
One guy, a business man who was always in a suit and carrying a briefcase, always came in and drank a pint of lager in about one minute flat and then left straight away. I always found this rather impressive. I called him 2 minute man, cause he was never in the place for more than 2 minutes.
Drunken Eyes was a guy who came in about 3 times a week and always had 3 or 4 pints in about 30 or 40 minutes, standing by the door. He looked sober enough mostly, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was very pissed indeed! Whenever I heard him speak, which wasn�t very often, as he didn�t normally speak to anyone, he sounded a bit under the influence too. One time I overheard him going on about safaris and �lion cunts�. God knows what he was talking about!
The pub had a plaque on the wall next to the toilets saying that it had opened in 1972, the year of my birth, so that was another reason why I felt like it was somewhere I belonged. I went there most week days, from around 5pm till after 7 or 8, usually (happy hour was from 5-8!) I went there a couple of times while I was working at the PDSA, then I went more regularly when I was on the dole. The place always inspired me somehow. I�d find myself scribbling down words on scraps of paper, trying not to let anyone see what I was doing (as if anyone cared!) It was a good place to go and collect my thoughts and to let whatever events were going on wash over me; inspire me or just be a backdrop to my drinking.
Most of my friends couldn�t understand why I liked the place so much. Whenever I would take people there and they would say it was shit, or else they wouldn�t go at all because they�d been there before and hated it. But this only made me like the place even more. It wasn�t the kind of place you�d see people hanging about trying to be cool, which was a big thing for me, as I�ve always hated places like that. Pubs are for drinking in, not posing.
The Clyde Bar closed on 11th August 2001, and remained empty for a couple of months. Sometimes I�d walk past and see what was happening to it, as workmen gutted it and eventually rebuilt it as what it is now which is, you�ve guessed it, a poncey wine bar/bistro place called Bonaparte�s. I went in once and once only, to drink an overpriced beer (the Clyde Bar had a cheap happy hour) and use the toilet (which was the only thing that was the same about the place � more or less). Very sad to see a favourite pub disappear like that.
I started drinking in Dow�s, across the street (just outside the train station). A lot of the regulars from the Clyde went there too, like Jim, Billy and Nancy. It wasn�t anywhere near as good as the old place � it was too bright and not as welcoming, somehow. And you couldn�t watch the trains coming and going or listen to the muffled announcements in the train station. The place I eventually settled on as my most regular haunt was the Horse Shoe bar, which is kind of a famous pub in Glasgow, as it has the longest bar in Britain or Europe or something like that (apparently) and has renowned karaoke nights 7 nights a week in its upstairs lounge. Turns out Drunken Eyes from the Clyde drinks there as well, still looking as pissed as ever!