[Part 1: The quest begins.]
[Part 2: Ever closer to McTavish.]
A commendable thing about Glaswegians is that they love a good mystery.
At a pub later that night, the three bartenders got very involved in my mission, one of them going so far as to ask the entire bar if there were any McTavishes in the house. (There were not, but there was plenty of derisive laughter.) A charming drunk named Michael White gave me a promising lead: Two pubs right down the road catered to Highlanders. He also asked if I’d tried the phone book. Almost everyone I’d met had. I was beginning to think my ground rules sucked.