From dancing to drinking and all that jazz, the party never stops at perfect city pub

The band looked like they had an average age of at least 75 and the folk on the dance floor weren’t much younger.

But my goodness have they got it all going on. Pub Spy has been to many a weekend shakedown over the years, even reviewing nightclubs for other publications in another life.

But if I’ve crossed the threshold of a place where a greater zest for relishing the moment and the riches of music, dance, food, drink and laughter, then I honestly can’t remember it.

Having walked past this spacious boozer tucked behind Argyll Street many a Saturday afternoon, I’ve paused once or twice to peek over the door. Because whatever is creating that much condensation on the windows, spilling that much jazz through the Trongate streets, has to be a place where priorities are right. And so it was that Pub Spy arranged a family swing-by to Avant Garde, as part of a day celebrating the birthday of a beloved

76-year- old, with classic jazz, drinking and dancing.

The band are Merchant City Jazz, a rag-bag of older dudes and mature ladies singing the blues as a dance floor sways, swirls and shuffles oblivious to the Saturday afternoon rain or the latest news.

It’s tempting to say this could be somewhere else, like New Orleans or Paris. But it isn’t. It’s here in Glasgow. And how special it is.

Smartly dressed barmen harried to and fro to keep the mood right and, as the trumpets, bass and sax played, the dancing didn’t stop from one song to the next. There’s food on the menu, too, and the lentil soup and steak pie were as good as the notes from that sax.

Pub Spy’s dad ran a social club in a working-class town for 30 years, where ladies’ nights were a Tuesday, dominoes and darts a Wednesday and people came out of their houses for the dancing at the weekend.

Weddings, funerals, birthday parties and anniversaries tethered joyful memories to the warmth of community.

And as the band played on at Avant Garde, for the gallus Alices who’d had their hair done and their gentlemen companions who’d polished their shoes for a Saturday afternoon tripping the light fantastic down the Trongate, it felt like being back there – where a space at the bar, carefree dancing, singing and swinging and lentil soup are all anyone needs.