• 141 Dumbarton Road, Glasgow
  • 0141 337 3055

    Style: Relaxed real ale pub
    Cost: Pint of Biglamp Bitter £2.50; Pint of Rebellion Double Accent £2.50;
    Pint of Broughton Old Jock £2.90; Shot of whisky £1.35; Can of coke £1.05
    Best for: Chatting with random strangers
    Not for: A cheeky pint before passing sentence
    Wheelchair Access: No

    A tremendous little boozer and the haunt of an eclectic crowd, The Three Judges looks like any unremarkable corner room from the exterior - but inside has plenty to recommend it.

Most obviously, this is a real ale pub, though, apart from the regularly updated blackboard of guest brews and CAMRA award certificates lining the walls, it's certainly not defined by this and serves a broad cross-section of students, professionals and voluble regulars, even in the dreich and dank armpit of a wet February evening.

Presumably christened after some bewigged trio of beaks who regularly enjoyed one over the eight, the pub acquired an appearance better suited to the dignity of legal office following a refurbishment in 2003, acquiescing to the ongoing gentrification of Partick Cross with understated panels of dark wood and pale blue walls. Collages of proud brewery advertising hearken back to the days of subtlety-free marketing, while discreet bunting of home nations' flags runs above the counter. Unlike some Glasgow pubs I've had a drink in, and at the time of imbibing, no rascally patriot has yet taken a lighter to the English ones.

Although it's peaceful enough on a weekday afternoon, the Judges is no place to escape into your private thoughts come the evening, as the tiny, circular tables ensure random conversations percolate all around you and the crushing of thighs under neighbouring tables precede apologies.

Rather amusingly, in this era when each and every bar seems to be after the pub-cuisine pound, the menu here begins and ends with a pork pie, and the mustard is optional. Leaving by the narrow back door virtually guarantees having to squeeze between a couple of refugee smokers.

I can boast almost total ignorance of the relative merits of the real ales poured here, usually preferring to sup from the most ludicrously named pint in lieu of one evoking an ancient warrior clan or sexual congress with Highland cattle. Specialist brewers really do seem to have too much time on their hands, along with narrow preoccupations.

What I do know is that all these pints are reasonably priced, usually around £2.50, while the regular drinks are comparatively cheap too.

The staff toil efficiently to ensure you're seldom kept waiting long and seem happy to chew the fat with inquisitive barflies.