Here’s a wee story about why you should always make the effort to go there when you’re in Greenock: Picture this: it’s a dreich winter afternoon on the Clyde — rain lashing sideways, wind howling up from the firth, the kind of day where even the seagulls look miserable. You’ve just got off the train at Greenock Central (the pub’s literally across the road), soaked to the skin, starving, and skint after a long journey. You could brave the elements for some overpriced fancy spot, or you could duck

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