The Company He Keeps

So then Nige, Keith's Mum says you ran into a little trubba north of the border.
When I used to frequent the hoofs and hoosies of Auld Reekie, the Royal Mile and environs was the haunt of tourists, Nasty Nats and Old Labour. (Did you not, yourself, drink with your trot Chums in the Cowgate...Ed?)
Anyone with a thirst for genteel political debate (or anything else) would repair to Rose St., New Labour, or the New Town Watering holes for the Tartan Tories.
If you had played your cards right I'm sure you could have dropped in on Malaky for a drop of Sancerre, possibly not though.  That's frog juice, is it not?