For a few Glaswegians, a glass of chilled wine after a hard days work is sufficient. For the other 93.4%  of Glaswegians, it's the whole fucking box. (Readers Digest survey, 2009)

You deserve it after your every movement has been controlled by your boss during the majority of daylight hours, a beverage, a platter of Lidl Beef Olives and a hardy episode of Pointless is usually enough to help you quell your anger.

Fair enough, but while you relax, bitching to your partner about Wee Tam who farts his Roll and Egg lunch through his frankly vile stone-washed jeans between the hours of 1-3pm, whilst boring the fuck out of you as he recites the set-list of the last 17 Peter Gabriel concerts he has attended since 1978, spare a thought for those who are just awakening and are ready to hit the night shift.

The ones that sort your mail, fill your supermarket shelves, prints your morning paper and delivers your cow juice to your local shop.

You know, the ones you don't think or care about as you tuck yourself into bed.

MacKinnon's Bar in the Gallowgate do. They care alot.

I heard from a few Twitter layabouts that MacKinnons opens at 8am, providing a service that to myself, (speaking as an ex-nightshift worker for many, many years), is as important to Glasgow's shift workers as famous Dodgy Dave from Castlemilk, standing outside Saltire Press in Cardonald at 22:00 punting wraps of speed is.

So I fucking strolled on in.

First impression was the heat. The kind of sticky heat that instantly sticks your Huey Lewis and The News tour t-shirt to your well ripped thorax. Perhaps that was just me but.

The second impression was the smell of bleach. 

I understand a good level of cleaning in a pub is vital. However, this level of bleach I thought, had no concern about cleanliness, but the buggers were trying to hide something. Possibly something dead, or very close to it, whatever the rodent/human it is, it must be something fucking huge I figured.

Undeterred, I took a look at my surroundings.

It was nice enough, a horseshoe bar that began at the Public Bar door, and meandered itself towards the Lounge where I noticed there were some very nice ladies placed.

If the extras from the Cantina Bar scene in Star Wars tickle your fancy, I suggest you stop reading this, and haul arse to MacKinnon's now before they are all nabbed.

On top of the bar I spotted about 30 breakfasts. For the establishment to open at 8am, all customers must purchase food before their drink.

In this case it was a couple of very, very well fried sausages, a smither of beans and a what I presume was mashed potato.

Not one of them was touched, not even a fork mark making valleys in the mash. It didn't matter anyway for it was bevvy o'clock.

I stood at the bar, between the only two gentlemen who had a space, and asked for a pint of Lager.

I placed £2.95 into the hands of the Barmaid, took one sip of the Lager and was instantly aware this was no disco.

The End.