Abattoir #45798 was easy to infiltrate, particularly after I recruited a cadre of animal rights activists to assist me. While they released as many turkeys as they could, I chose only one: Turkle the turkey I dubbed it, and it would receive a Thanksgiving pardon for the ages when we hit three American bars in Glasgow. As I cradled it under my arm, my new activist pals promised to catch up later. ‘Go on,’ they said, ‘give that turkey the night of its life.’

Our first gobble-worthy goblet guzzler of choice was Malo, a wine and negroni bar embodying the spirit of smooth American jazz. We chose the most Yankee of cocktails, a Manhattan, to which Turkle responded ‘gobble gobble gobble’. I assumed this meant its cocktail was perfectly formed and the atmosphere relaxed. Turkle downed both my Manhattan and its own and, with a stagger of its supine (some might say sensual) neck, we left. 

Next, we found Chinaskis, named after LA literary icon Charles Bukowski’s alter ego. There’s every chance even the symbolic presence of Bukowski will put you off this slice of Americana; depending on your side of the fence, he’s either a masterful underclass poet or a proto-Andrew Tate. Yet Chinaskis remains stellar, a seductive combination of 2010s hipster chic and low-lit romance. Turkle grabbed a Neck Oil (very apt) and made friends while it padded around the outdoor seating area. 

We crammed into Campus, a student bar for which the less said the better. I try to be nice in these articles but the deviant-red lighting, plastic glasses and overbearing chart choons were enough to make a thirtysomething geek and his recently jailbroken turkey wilt (though little could dispel the spark between us). 

It was a sad end to the night, particularly because it was time to send Turkle back to Abattoir #45798 for slaughter. ‘But we thought you wanted to stop the murder of Turkle?’ my activist pals asked me. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I just wanted to see what a turkey was like when it was drunk. And frankly, it was hilarious. It let me snog it in Campus and everything.’ With that, my new friends left. For some reason, I never heard from them again. 

No animals were harmed in the writing of this article, except the turkey that features in it.