Park Lane

“When two worlds collide.” Stuck on the train writing this I can't remember whether this was the name of a song or the title of a book but it sounds like something Annie Lennox might have warbled about whilst simultaneously making us feel guilty for living in the west. So why did I start this episode with that title? Well all may come clear dear reader, all may come clear.

At first this square didn't get off to a good start. After the measly turnout that was Chance #3 I immediately emailed all the previous tourists asking them to respond with which day of the following week would be suitable for the next instalment. Out of an audience of several thousand, guess how many replies I got?  Well if you guessed anything over 2 you were dead wrong.

The first was from Munchkin Steve, who actually should be credited with much kudos in that he’s managed a phenomenal amount of tour appearances considering his actual living location in the wild remoteness of Lancashireland. Anyway, he declared that if the tour could be run on the forthcoming Wednesday night he would gladly come along before dashing off to catch the iron-horse back up to the coal face of a different degree latitude. The other reply was from Aussie Pete, who has been conspicuous by his absence on the last few tours, but who also declared that Wednesday would make a suitable night out. 

To the rest of the people who didn't reply, I can only cry a House of Commons style "shame" and say that I won't ever ever ever invite you again. Wait a minute, that's what they want isn't it, the sneaky so-and-sos…….......right I'm going to invite you all twice a week from now until the end of the tour! I’ll break you down eventually! 

 

Park Lane - Exactly what it says on the tin.

So Wednesday it was, leaving the only other decision to be made was to mark out the pubs nearest to the featured square, the second most expensive on the board, Park Lane. Upon checking the Cask Marque website I was dismayed to find so few pubs highlighted near to this main thoroughfare. There were several near to the south end of Park Lane, but I wanted to save those for when we do the Mayfair square, but at the north end, apart from one Wetherspoon’s just across the road from Mable Arch there were none until you were reaching into the areas around Edgeware Road or Marylebone.

 

Marble Arch in the sunshine.

Surely something was stinking in the state of Cask Marque-land so I fired off a quick email to my tame Cask Marque employees and sure enough they discovered that all the pubs of a certain major chain, for one reason or another (far far too boring for this blog) were not showing up on the map. Quick as the flash of a hand-pulled-pint the issue was rectified leaving me which a much healthier choice from which to plan this week's tour.

So, date and venues sorted, it was just the actual tourists to fall into place. Munchkin Steve and Aussie Pete had their seats reserved so it was just New-Guy Mickey (another one who's missed far too many of the recent squares) to put in a welcome return and that old perennial BGC wannabee, Spiky Haired Ed to make up the numbers.

But then (and this is my reference to the two worlds) I heard from me old china TimThomas, he of the local CAMRA branch newsletter editing fame who'd previously appeared on the Community Chest #3 feature. Tim was in town as he's really nothing better to do with his days that stroll round art galleries and visit pubs (really, he literally lives the life that us working idiots only dream of) so thought he might hang around in the big smoke and catch up with us on the tour, especially as he knew the first pub of the evening, the Tyburn on Edgware Road.

Spiky Haired Ed wasn't finishing work until 18:00 so in a great show of sympathy we told him to catch us up in the first pub and made our way there via the endless tunnels of the Monument/Bank station (see last week's episode for full details) and a long drag along the Central Line. We popped up though directly on Park Lane, which allowed for a quick snap of the road sign and then a death defying dash across Oxford Street and up to the pub where Tim was already installed. So all that was left to do was make the quick introductions between my two worlds.

 

Horrible, bland, boring Tyburn.

The Tyburn is a perfect example of a Wetherspoon’s and highlights everything that’s both right and wrong about these particular places. This is a modern building and is obviously being looked after by the Wetherspoon’s team as it was clean, neat and tidy and doing a healthy trade. The service, along with the handy location of the certificate at the end of the bar, was fine, just a short wait for the two pints of Heineken (£4.05) and the two pints of Titanic Brewery’s Molly Brown Ale (£3.05 – Hey, you do the math(s)) - but yet it's still a horrible, horrible pub. Bland, uninspiring and without anything approaching a soul, the most interesting thing was the bowl of lemons on the bar which we tried to convince Steve were complimentary. 

 

I think Steve did suck one of those lemons.

The beer was fine though and on a hot day that promises a great summer, was quickly downed which led us to the quandary of what to do as Ed still hadn't turned up. Move on to the next place or stay in the Tyburn and wait for him there? I suggested an alternative in that I explained the Tyburn took its name from the Tyburn Tree, the old gallows that used to stand near the site. Apparently at its peak it could cope with 24 simultaneous hangings, which is quite something no matter which side of the capital punishment debate you sit. There was, I'd heard, a commemorative stone set somewhere to mark the exact site of the gallows, so full of intrepid adventurership we elected to kill the waiting for Ed time by locating the thing and recording it for posterity. Needless to say we didn't find it. We found a massive horse’s head standing next to Marble Arch and some pretty fountains and some bemused tourists which Steve decided to entertain but that all aside, there was no stone to be found.

 

I'm not sure whether finding the Horse's Head deserved a kiss Steve?

Adventure over we returned to the pub and Pete, Steve and Mickey were given ownership of the kitty and directions to the next place whilst Tim and I hung around on the street corner like the two most uninviting prostitutes in the world. After a suitable delay Ed sauntered around, picked us both up and we ambled down Seymour Street to the next place.

The ThreeTuns is a Taylor Walker pub and I have to say one of their better places. It cuts a nice line in pubby kitch (rows of jugs along the mantel piece) without being too false and charms you in a way that the Tyburn wouldn't be able to do even if Benedict Cumberbatch was taking a shift behind the bar. Behind this bar however was a devilishly dark Irish girl who poured my pint of Ghost Ship very well and Ed's Stella Black (“I’m going back to the old days” he cried before ordering) as well as the mechanical pump will let a barperson. 

 

Steve seemed to do a lot of standing the middle of roads waving this night. A sulky Ed paces in front.

Another certificate was located although this time in a slightly awkward position of directly behind the main door. The door was chained open for reasons of easy access and also air conditioning so we had to run the gauntlet of unchaining it, closing it, taking the scan and then reopening the door all before either someone wanted to get in or before someone inside fainted. 

 

Inside of the Three Tuns.

We’d managed to secure a cosy little corner table complete with banquette and in other circumstances could have probably whiled away a very pleasant evening, but time stops for no Monopoly Tour and we had to move on.  

The next place lay south of Oxford Street so again it was a brave negotiation around the bus which decided to stop right on top of the pelican crossing and a short jaunt down North Audley Street to the Marlborough Head another Taylor Walker place which a huge decorative painting of (presumably) the Duke of Marlborough above the front door. (The pub is named for Blenheim Palace, the Marlborough ducal seat.) 

 

Marlborough Head. Exactly what it says on the tin.

Although bigger than the Three Tuns, it lacked any of its charm and the service seemed to be creaking as the three bar-people gamely tried to keep the bustling crowd satisfied. I took my cue from the falsely red headed barmaid and order BathAles Ginger Hare for Pete and me, whilst it was three pints of various lagers for the others.

The Ginger Hare deserves a mention on two counts, firstly unlike a lot of beers that are brewed with a "special" ingredient this one had struck that magic balance of being able to instantly tell that there was something special in it, in this case a massive whiff of ginger on the nose, but still being a well balanced beer that you can drink. The other count is the note advertising the ale on the “beer blackboard” which will remain a mystery as to whether someone on the staff was having a joke or just really didn't know the difference. But the other mystery is how Steve managed to get the two strange blokes to participate in the snap I wanted for the blog.......he literally will talk to anyone.

 

"Quick Bill, point at this sign before the little munchkin fella kicks off!"

Before he turned into a pumpkin Tim had to make a move for home so we left him finishing the dregs of his pint and made our way down to Grosvenor Square and walked past the American Embassy to Carlos Place and the short jaunt to the final pub of the evening The Barley Mow. Another Taylor Walker hostelry this one was even more crowded than the previous two, possibly something to do with the European Cup semi-final that was playing on the many television sets hung around the pub. The bar staff here were struggling to cope though and I seemed to have picked the worst spot to stand in, as the waiting queue moved forward I seemed to get pushed out to the edges and away from the serving action in the centre of the bar. 

With the finishing line eventually in sight I could tell that a huge lanky chap in white trousers (who had definitely joined the throng after me) was readying his money to flag the barmaid’s attention and before I quite knew what I was doing I'd challenged him to his position at the bar. Of course he deflected my peevish irritation with a suave smile and a gracious "arr, sure you can go first" delivered of course in a lilting Irish brogue, making me look like a little red faced tit, which is of course exactly what I was behaving like. At least I did give him what I hope was a similarly gracious apology in return after I'd been served with the two pints of Welsh Red Ale (sorry brewery name forgotten), Hoegaarden (complete with lemon slice) for Mickey and pint of yellow coloured fizz for Steve.

 

Barley Mow. Exactly what it says on the tin.

We escaped the noise of the television, the press of the crowd and any chance that my charming Irish man might decide that the little red faced tit needed teaching a lesson by retiring to the pavement. Perhaps it was the cool of the evening air but everyone seemed to instantly turn into a copy of Nuts magazine and started whoar-ing and grunting at anything of the female sex that walked past. Luckily no-one was uncouth enough to wolf whistle but for a time I think it was a close run thing. 

Nurse………..! The Trains!

 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 193

Strangest thing seen = This football graffiti in the gents at the Barley Mow. French? Mais non! Apparently it's for Derry City?

Did the two worlds collide? = No, they got on very well I think. I'm very choosey about who I drink with you know!

Next Stop = Super Tax

Chance #3

I'm starting to think that no-one likes me anymore. Well, I say "anymore" but it could be of course that no-one has ever liked me and their attendance on some of the evenings  out during the tour were just excuses to discover new and exciting drinking holes in London. But at least it made me feel like I was popular and needed and not like a sad old man who keeps pestering people with emails.  

The arrangements for this square however seemed to show a positive effort to avoid the tour at any costs and I have to say that some of the excuses that were made showed a huge amount of ingenuity if not a large slice of imagination. If these people put as much effort into arranging their lives around the tour, everyone would be much happier. But on no, these folk seem to think they can have a life outside of the Monopoly Board! The cheek of it! 

That said though I do have to give credit to Big-J who not only put in a welcome return to the fold, actually made up excuses to attend and pulled off some marvellous bargaining with his nearest and dearest to wangle a night out. The only other attendee was my ever faithful Tonto otherwise known as Spikey Haired Ed......perhaps he just has a worse social diary than me! 

And whilst we're on the subject of Ed, I must give much kudos for his idea of where to go for the evening in the first place. The actual square was the third and final Chance square and when I asked if he had any good ideas for it, quick as greasy flash of lightening he replied, "How about Chancery Lane?" - I couldn't have put it better myself! 

Ed caused a massive pile up stopping commuters entering the station to take this photo. And was it worth it..............?

So like a very boring version of the Three Stooges (Doh, Gary & Shirley perhaps?) we made the convoluted tube journey to Chancery Lane which seemed to involve more walking around the endless corridors of the train stations themselves than actually travelling any meaningful distance toward our destination.  

The first pub was the Melton Mowbray which is on the main road of Holborn itself. It's a very smart Fuller Pie & Ale house (normal pies I think, not special pork ones) and seeing as it was probably the first tour we've done this year in the recent good weather, nicely full with no problems to get to the bar.

And not a pie in sight.

The cheeky eastern European barmaid asked what I wanted and using my usual skill of picking an ale at random I went for the Spring Sprinter, Fuller's seasonal beer for the season. Big-J followed suit and when Ed started umming and arring the barmaid pinged an imaginary bell and told him he'd ran out of time and that she wouldn't serve him. But she did, especially when he made it easy for her and went with the Spring Sprinter as well. 

We retired to a nice seat in the bay window and finally puzzled out the latest series of adverts that have started to appear on the tube. Dara O'Briain, in the way that Brian Cox has made science sexy, seems set to become the prime time entertainment voice of maths and has started posing some arithmetic questions which presumably help people while away their tube journey whilst also promoting his UKTV show School Of Hard Sums. Well good on you Dara, better looking than Carol Vorderman and an improvement on the version I had as a kid, Magnus Pyke. The puzzle we'd spent most of the time chewing over whilst traipsing around Bank Station went something like this. If you have five mice and the first one weighs 16grames and the average weight of the mice goes up by 1g each time you add a mouse (i.e. when you weigh the first two the average increases to 17g) what's the weight of the fifth and final mouse?  

If you can work out the answer before you've read the rest of the blog there's a prize! 

If left the two brainiacs to their puzzling and went to find the certificate. The pub, in the same way as The Chamberlain, had put an outdoors plaque on the inside of the pub but of the actual certificate there was no sign. Risking another run in wit the the barmaid I asked and in what is a rare occurrence she knew exactly what I wanted, and pulled a rather crumply looking certificate from a stack of papers behind the bar. Still a scan is a scan.

No dancing here for Chris

One final point about the Melton Mowbray if you ever go there; check out the brass ashtrays screwed to the sides of the bar. Obviously not used now but somewhere to plonk your loose change I guess. 

It was a quick dice with death as we crossed back over Holborn (remember how Ed is with buses) and popped down Leather Lane to the next pub, the Sir ChristopherHatton, a rather scruffy looking Nicholsons where the drinking crowd had definitely heard about the good weather as they were sprawled all in front of the pub. The inside was much less crowed so we had no problem getting served, three pints of Sticklebract from Itchen Valley Brewery my good man, and finding a table inside.

A huge area of the pub had been cordoned off with signs reading "Reserved, Alex, 5PM) but it was a rather stroppy annoyed looking barmaid who was tearing the signs down a little past 7 o clock, which means I guess that Alex wasn't coming.Well Alex may not have been there, but the certificate was, stuck on the underside of the bar hatch, which meant that Ed and I were two up for the night.

 

The entrance in Hatton Garden

The final Cask Marque pub of the night was just around the corner in Hatton Garden. Well when I say the pub is in Hatton Garden what I really mean is that the entrance to the pub is in Hatton Garden as the pub itself is down a little alley making it one of London's hidden gems. Almost any pub book that features the capital's pubs will mention Ye Olde Mitre and well they might because it's an absolute gem. Built in 1546 and with stories of Queen Elizabeth I dancing round with SirChristopher Hatton (remember him?) it is like stepping back in time. All the guide books say how hard it is to find but obviously the information is filtering through to some people as there was a healthy crowd teaming both inside and outside the pub. But that said there was a team of eager to serve bar-people and we got served in double quick time, 2 pints of Dragon Slayer from York Brewery and 1 pint of Honey Dew (2 packets of nuts), and still managed to get a free upturned barrel table outside.

 

If you do decide to visit this place don't leave without visiting the toilets. For a start its one of the few remaining gents where the actual loos are outside (a wee in the evening air is somehow much more satisfying don't you think?) and the positioning of the hand basin must make for the friendliest toilets in the land. "Oh, excuse me. Did I spray on you?" (That could be the washer or the wee-er talking)

Oops, excuse me sir.

Both Ed and I located the certificate, hanging on the wall by the Snug. Alas even after moving the rather arrogant Rodney bloke out of the way we still couldn't get a scan as the pub was too dark.

Can you see the certificate? No, neither could the app.

So we'd completed our three Cask Marque pubs for the night but if you're in this part of town another classic pub you must visit is the Cittie of York. Part of the Sam Smith's stable, who seem to shun any sort of publicity or PR focus, its not Cask Marque accredited but still well worth a visit, and like Ye Olde Mitre seems to feature in each and every London pub guide worth its salt.

Big-J, with an hour's worth of bike riding still ahead of him switched to coke and Ed in an amazing show of self discipline chose just a half of the Taddy Lager. Idiot BGC went with a pint of Sam's Wheat Beer, which proved to be a struggle as perhaps the last remaining vestiges of his latest illness were still around and had decided to show themselves during the 4th pint.

Still a good solid tour night and to all those who missed it, I hope the sock drawer tidying and hair washing was worth it! But, like that horrible cheesy old advert used to say, like the Murphy’s, I'm bitter.

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 188

Did you get the answer = Well it’s 24g.Your prize? Take the weekend off

You want more quizzes? = Name the 30 teams of the NBA in under 6 minutes? Ed got 29.

Next Stop = Park Lane

Liverpool Street Station

So, it's been some time my old friend, constant reader. I'm sure you'll excuse me though after the delays caused by my near death experience and public holiday to celebrate the Great King Rabbit, but it's time to get things back on track and where better to do it than a place full of tracks, Liverpool Street Station.

Actually thinking about it, I can think of 101 much better places to do it as I've done a little bit of drinking around this area already and to be perfectly frank, it's a bit of a dump. I know mainline train stations have their work cut out to be attractive places to go to for any other  purpose that catching a train but compared some of the others on the board (the new Kings Cross is lovely and Marylebone has much in the way of charm) Liverpool Street is definitely on the dumpier side of nice.

 

Liverpool Street Station and a rare picture of Spikey Haired Ed

But the one thing it does have going for it is that it's another square just a 10 minute stroll away from our office location. I did then foolishly suppose that we would have a good turn out for this square, especially as it's the last one anywhere near where we all work. But alas concrete promises of attendance petered away as the week went on and by the night of the tour I couldn't get a volunteer to buy me a Jägermeister for love nor money. So it was a rather depleted crowd of five regulars, Spikey Haired Ed, Charlie, Buddy Rob and Sybil who made up the numbers but on the plus side we were joined by Niresh (who we hadn’t seen since Vine Street) and the lovely Chrissie whose only previous appearance had been to crank the handle of the random pub generator when we did Chance Number 2. Buddy Rob had also managed to get in touch with an old work colleague, Stretch Arm-Max who was hoping to make an appearing sometime during the night. So actually, on reflection perhaps a tour of 8 wasn’t such a bad turn out after all. 

So anyway, the stroll to Liverpool Street was easy enough, especially as it was quite a balmy evening compared to much of the awful weather we've been having and the first pub was easily located as it's right by the main entrance, a huge Wetherspoons emporium called The Hamilton Hall. And for those who can’t get enough of the boring pub facts this place was named after Lord Claud Hamilton, chairman of the Great Eastern Railway Company (1893-1923). The building itself it actually quite decorative with an impressive ornamental ceiling adorned with cherubs and the like, unfortunately Wetherspoons seem to have done all they can to make the place as unattractive as possible by fitting a horrible wooden bar and inviting as many horrible Wetherspoons clientele as possible. Ok, I know they can't be blamed for the latter point but the cheaper beer does seem to attract a less salubrious crowd. The other distraction was a set of scaffolding in the pub which didn't seem to be serving any other purpose than holding up the bunting for the Wetherspoons beer festival. 

 

A crowded Hamilton Hall - Note pathetic awning

Anyway, architectural criticisms apart, Ed was forced into being kitty monitor for the night and bravely forced his way to the crowded bar to get the first round in. Only Charlie was joining me on the ales (lots of pints of lager and a cranberry juice for Chrissie) and I spotted a very interesting looking beer called Ionian Coffee Porter by the Corfu Beer brewery - unfortunately though when it came to pour it the barmaid only managed to squeeze one pint out of the barrel meaning either Charlie or I would have to make do with the next pump along. (Sorry can't remember what this was.) But seeing as Charlie hadn’t expressed a preference he got the alternative! We then retired outside just in time to witness the end of the balmy evening as the heavens opened and we had to crouch for shelter under the world's most pathetic awning.  

The Coffee Porter seemed ok at first, but I don't know whether it was the "last in the barrel" syndrome or just the fact I seem to have lost my beer appetite but the pint soon became heavy and claggy and became a real struggle to get down. I had a sip of Charlie's beer which was much sharper and more refreshing so perhaps the joke was on me for insisting I had the porter as I gamely forged onwards. 

The scan for the Hamilton Hall was one I had already got on a previous visit but it was good to see the certificate hanging available for Ed and Charlie, who in the absence of Aussie Pete were the only two scanners out tonight. 

 

Merchant of Bishopsgate

The next pub was also in the station itself, the recently refurbished Merchant of Bishopsgate, a very smart looking place on the lower concourse which markets itself as a Free House. This also had an easily spotted certificate hanging just inside the door and apart from having to ask the young lady guarding her wheelie suitcase to move so I could scan, it was another capture safely in the bag.  

 

The most boring pumps in the world.

You can't fault the decor in the Merchant of Bishopsgate but it's very much a question of style over substance. A more detailed investigation of the ales of offer showed the most ubiquitous brews available in the UK at the moment, London Pride, Greene King IPA, Doombar, Wadworth 6X and Old Speckled Hen, hardly ones you spot and say "oooo haven't had that in ages!" Luckily there was a more interesting alternative in Bohemian Dark by the Meantime Brewing Company, Charlie also went with the Meantime option choosing a pint of London Pale Ale whilst I think the others all had pints of Heineken mixed with a Carlsberg tops, apart from Chrissie who was making sure her prostrate was getting a good workout with the Cranberry juice. Still not trusting my beer mojo had returned I opted for a half pint of the Bohemian Dark and in the end was very glad I did. I don't know whether it's still a hangover from my recent illness or perhaps I've undergone one of those life changing experiences like RichardHammond where after his accident he now has to eat Spinach with every meal (or something like that......) but the beer just wasn't tasting at all tonight and to my shame I couldn't even complete the half pint.

 

The view of the Railway Tavern from the station. No pigeons cos it's raining.

The aptly named Railway Tavern was the next stop, just a quick sprint up the escalator and out the station by the world's scruffiest McDonalds where you're positively encouraged to kick a pigeon on the way. Again this was another pub which I'd already scanned so with Charlie having made an exit after the second pub, it was only Ed who needed to avail himself of the certificate hanging on the wall. The Railway is a Greene King pub but I singularly failed to notice the beers on offer as I capitulated entirely and ordered a diet coke.  

Apart from the crowds and the big screens showing the Masters Golf the Railway Tavern actually isn't that bad a place. For the spotters amongst you, you might like to visit to see the various ex-train company coats of arms adorning the bar and reminisce about the golden age of the railways. Whether the golden age was actually that golden I have no idea, but I'll say this, the coats of arms of the Belfast andCounty Down Railway Company for example beats First Great Westerns shitty logo any day of the week - and I bet they paid a considerable amount less than FGW did! 

Crests of the former railway companies

It was well and truly exit time then as Chrissie, Sybil and Niresh all made tracks for home, leaving just Rob, Ed, Max and I to cross the road to the Lord Aberconway, a Nicholson's pub which had not one but two Cask Marque certificates on offer. What a shame I wasn't drinking still as this was the choice pub of the evening, a lovely multi-level place; it had a spiral staircase and lots of little booths and cubby holes dotted all over. Again I can't comment on the beer selection as it was the demon diet coke that was my tipple once again but at least I got what I wanted as Ed's none specific ordering of a bottle of Budweiser had resulted in Rob being presented with a bottle of Budvar, something as we know from Bow Street doesn't tickle his fancy. 

 

The Lord Aberconway - Buddy Rob leads the way.

At least I wasn't having any trouble drinking the coke, a check of the watch showed that I should easily be able to make my 22:00 train from Reading station so I left the guys to it, made my excuses and left thinking in my present frame of mind, an early night might be best for all concerned.  

The best laid plans of mice and men though are of course scuppered by broken down trains. I made it to Reading in plenty of time for the 22:00 service but the wonderful company that is First Great Western decided to cancel it when it became stuck behind a broken down train. To cut a very long, very cold and very boring hour and a bit wait on the platform, we were eventually shipped home by bus, with me getting in at 1/4 past midnight - not quite the early night I had envisaged! 

Now I hope you, my faithful constant reader (yep, not optimistic enough to suppose I have constant readers) have felt through my writings that I'm a nice and fair minded chap. If you haven't felt this then you must be reading it wrong, but let me assure you that I am. First Great Western however are slowly but surely, with each delay and cancellation turning me into the sort of person I would avoid in a broken down lift situation, making me a curmudgeon vying for the undisputed world moaning cruiser weight crown. This latest highlight in my commuting relationship with them called for a strongly worded letter much in the style of "Annoyed from Tunbridge Wells" so here it is. 

Petty, point scoring and all rather pathetic, I'll accept all those criticisms as they are no doubt very true but all I can say in mitigation is that they were asking for it and no doubt next week I'll be doing it again! 

Never happens when I'm drunk though..........interesting.......

 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 186

 

So BGC, is it the wagon for you? = I don't think so. I may have had a dodgy week but can break the habit of a lifetime just on that.

 

And did Ed drink lager all night? = Oh I don't know, probably not and he'll probably have another go at me for suggesting that he did.

 

Next Stop = Chance #3

Bond Street

And it had all the ingredients of a classic Monopoly Tour visit and yet ended in beers, tears and something else that rhymes with …ears. Years perhaps? I’ll deal with the visit first and then the fallout and aftermath second. 

So, here we were, steaming down the final side of the board and reaching the final of the green squares, the slightly more expensive Bond Street. Again for those Monopoly egg-heads and trivia buffs you might know that there isn’t really a single street called “Bond Street” but the place is made up of both “New” and “Old” Bond Streets. The streets themselves join at the elbow so to speak (look at a map and you’ll see what I mean) and there’s just a narrow pathway that joins the two roads together. It was whilst checking this out on Google StreetView that I secured an element that’s been missing from a couple of recent visits, the interesting and historical feature, but more of that later.

 

Exactly what it says on the tin.

 

So we had the venue and as any regular reader of the blog will have cottoned on by now, the organising of the pubs follows pretty much straightforward from that. There was a nice line of Cask Marque accredited places leading down from Bond Street Tube Station, following New Bond Street into Old Bond Street. So it terms of pubs, there were no dramas here, just the actual date of the tour to finalise.  

Without going into too many personal details, it was this week that I had to endure the annual ritual of moving one more year nearer to death (oh how pithy that turned out to be!) so with the agreement of the lovely family, I was allowed to have the tour on my actual birthday, which whilst not the best plan for a mid-week night, with only 5 pubs planned and Aussie Pete’s dad in special attendance what could possibly go wrong.

And whilst on the subject of attendees we’ll just confirm the other folk appearing in this episode; from the office the only original office regulars were Buddy Rob and New Guy Micky although they were joined by the two most dedicated of the female office drinkers, Gemma and Nicole. Both Aussie Pete (including Aussie Dad) and Spiky Haired Ed were on holiday but had agreed to meet us in the first pub so the only new face to introduce was that of James James Morrison Morrison. James had been slightly hoodwinked into this week’s visit after promising to come on the next “local” trip (which would be Liverpool Street Station) but somehow the scheduling hadn’t quite worked out that way and he ended up a rather reluctant extra on this birthday tour. 

 

Not compulsory to "adopt the position" inside.

The first pub was Taylor Walker’s Spread Eagle (which caused some odd requests for the obligatory photo) which is on Woodstock Street, a road leading off Oxford Street. Aussie Pete and Aussie Dad were already in position but the rest of us arrived almost in tandem with Spikey Haired Ed, although the latter was already moaning that he had another engagement and would have to leave early. Anyway just in time to get the round in, in fact, which consisted of some left over “Luck of the Irish” from Stonehenge Brewery, obviously brewed for St Patrick’s Day it was another coloured green beer from this brewery and to be honest they’d do better to concentrate on brewing better tasting stuff than the gimmicky stuff. My faithful ale girls, Gemma and Nicole at least joined me in trying the stuff whist the others had to make do with other beverages, which included James James keeping to his “no beer” promise and having a JD & Coke. 

 

Rob looks admiringly at Nicole's tackling of the green beer. Gemma is googling the treatment for ketoacidosis.

The Spread Eagle is a cosy little place and once we’d terrorised the single little old lady off, we had a nice comfy corner all to ourselves. Also to the pub’s credit the Cask Marque certificate was hung on the wall directly inside the door meaning we got off to a good easy scan start. 

We didn’t linger in the pub but moved swiftly on once the green beer was drunk. The next two places were another occurrence of pubs being located directly opposite each other. Firstly there was The Duke of York at number 8 Dering Street, which was the first of the two we entered after crossing New Bond Street. Another Taylor Walker place it was a similarly cramped but cosy place with much needed spaced dominated by a wrought iron spiral staircase. The beer range was worse than the Spread Eagle though, we could have pints of the green beer again or Fuller’s London Pride. Nicole and I kept the real ale fires burning as Gemma deserted us for horrible cider and the rest were committed to standard lagers although I have to give credit to Aussie Pete and Aussie Dad who were continuing in their own round of English Bitter. 

 

Spiral Staircase in the Duke of York. To give an idea of scale, James James's forehead is 11 foot high.

The chap behind the bar didn’t have a clue about the certificate though, although his one-toothed Irish colleague who he asked, seemed to think he’d seen the certificate once before. But despite much hunting neither of them could lay their hands on it and we had to admit defeat on the scanning front. 

 

BGC, James James & Gemma outside Bonds. After my illness I am now skinnier than both of them.

As previously mentioned the next pub on the list was but a short stroll over the road, to number 11 Dering Street, a rather smart wine-bar looking place called “Bonds” which is ran by the Stonegate Company. Alas though Ed wouldn’t be joining us as he decided that it was time for him to leave after many harassing text messages calling him to his other appointment. All I’ll say is that I bet you wish you’d stayed with us know hey Ed? 

The ale selection in Bonds was rather poor (I seem to recall only Greene King IPA available) but their full beer range was much more comprehensive resulting in Meantime London IPA for most of us. James James’s no beer promise finally cracked, as he joined Buddy Rob in a bottle of bud. 

 

The Duke of York as photographed from inside Bonds

Bonds certainly wouldn’t be my first choice of pub, being a dimly lit trendy sort of place, whereas I prefer to be able to see whom I’m drinking with and prefer a more scruffy bunch of fellow drinkers (not for a minute I’m suggesting the rest of the tour is trendy by the way). But the beer was fine and they had the certificate easily available so I shouldn’t be too harsh especially as I was treated to a nasty birthday Jägermeister shot from the ladies. 

So it was three pubs down, two to go but it was here than the group split. James James was obviously easing himself slowly into tour life as he decided to leave early and the ladies joined him after agreeing that perhaps a five pub crawl wasn’t entirely appropriate on a Tuesday night. Still the tour stalwarts carried on as we travelled slightly more south down New Bond Street and cut down the alley way of Avery Row to the Iron Duke, our second pub named after Arthur Wellesley. This is a small Fuller’s pub which compared to some of their very smart and gleaming premises is a rather muted place although the pairs of leather boots adoring the walls are quite fun. I had a pint of Fuller’s classic ESB whilst Micky treated the rest of the gang to crisps. The bar staff seemed rather indifferent to their clientele though and requests for the location of the certificate drew blank looks and therefore no scan. 

Iron Duke - BGC with cast iron constitution.

The final stop was the Coach and Horses in Bruton Close but first we had to visit the historical piece of interest which I mentioned earlier. Right on the path than connects New and Old Bond Street is a statue of two elderly gentlemen on a park bench. The gentlemen in question are actually Winston Churchill and Franklin D Roosevelt and the statue is called Allies and was a gift from the Bond Street Association to celebrate 50 years of peace.

 

I bet both Winnie and Frankie and well pleased to have fought for freedom for this!

Doing our best to break the peace, we each took hilarious turns sitting with the two statesmen and probably generally took away all the dignity that the statue has. But anyway, if you’re even in this area do look out for it as it’s the sort of thing you miss completely and is well worth a photo. 

 

This apparently is the way to treat statesmen and politicians in Australia.

Slightly retracing our steps to the Coach and Horses which was our third Taylor Walker pub of the evening. This is a rather incongruous black and white half-timbered wedge shaped building stuck in the middle of an otherwise very modern looking street. Not sure whether the pub is totally authentic but we got a warm welcome from the jolly barman even though the beers on offer included the bloody green beer again! 

 

BGC and Coach and Horses - That cocked leg is catching!

There was quite a funny dynamic going on between the two main barmen; one a younger oriental type was quite offhand and dismissive of us, especially when we asked for the certificate. He pretended to know what it was and then claimed he didn’t where it was when asked for its location, but when we asked the older chap he instantly pointed to it hanging on the wall. It was no surprise then who we asked to take a photo of us all having one final sticky Jagermeister for the road. 

The rest of the gang wandered back towards Oxford Street and a famous burger place beginning with M. I on the other hand made my way back to Paddington and a famous burger place beginning with B and the last train home. 

 

Cheers BGC! We'll bring grapes and Lucozade.

And that should have been the end of the night and the tour saga but upon waking the next morning, I had an immediate appointment with the infamous big white telephone, which is unusual for me as if I have a problem with over indulgence, it’s usually an immediate process, i.e. vomming on the actual night, not the morning after. 

Putting it all down to the bad burger I made my way to work via the train toilets and then had several visits to the office loos as well. Things were showing to have gone too far when I ended up not being able to make it in time and (apologies for the rich language) spewed in a little store room which Ed likes to call his “Teddy Bear’s Lair” (honestly, this is true). 

Sent home in disgrace, the rest of the day didn’t improve matters and to cut an awfully long story of aches, pains, lots more vom, chronic dehydration and a visit from the emergency doctor short, Thursday morning saw me in The Royal Berkshire Hospital’s A&E department being treated for Diabetic Ketoacidosis by means of a million and seven different pipes being stuck into various parts of my anatomy, pumping me full of various fluids. 

Friday saw me on a general ward being entertained by my three fellow bed patients, a quite quite mad elderly man who talked constantly to himself and had to be shushed all night by the nurses. Upon being questioned by the doctor as to why he was here he said that he’d “fallen out of a plane and smacked his balls” to which the doctor declared, “you’re fine, lets get you home.” There was also a puffy faced alcoholic who’d taken some sort of tumble. He amazingly turned out to be the same age as me although even my cruellest of critics would say I looked ten years younger than him. Highlight of our interaction was watching him bring up his Friday lunch fish and chips into his lap, an event he then proceeded to tell anyone who’d ring his mobile (which was everyone, every 5 minutes). Finally there was another elderly chap who had short term memory loss, something he never seemed to forget as he told anyone who was either interested or not interested all day long. 

Ah, the NHS, got to love it haven’t you? Still, it made me forget what agony I was in and saw me home for the weekend although I’m not sure Mrs BGC has completely forgiven me for making us miss our Berlin trip which was meant to be my main birthday present. On my return to work Charlie quipped “longest hangover ever that!” all I can say in return is that it must have been the burger. 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 180

 

Sympathy number 1? = Mrs GBC screaming that I “have to look after myself” whilst hitting me. So who exactly was in hospital? 

Sympathy number 2? = The “no vomming” sign now hanging on Teddy Bear’s Lair. Thanks guys. 

Next Stop = Liverpool Street Station

Community Chest #3

The idea for this particular trip had been floating about for some time after it had been suggested around my local CAMRA group to do a trip to London. A couple of the chaps had also been reading this blog so it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss to try to incorporate this trip into the tour.

My original thought was to visit some of the well known pubs in the West End but our branch newsletter “Ullage” editor-in-chief and all round good guy Tim Thomas had heard of a launch of Berkshire based Siren Craft Brewery beers at the Craft Beer Co in Clerkenwell, which made me focus in on this area instead for potential tour locations.

BGC finds the Craft Beer Co open

 

At first everything looked very rosy, not only were there quite a few Cask Marque accredited pubs in this area but they were very well regarded places that appear in many of the London pub guides. So quick as a flash I had a tour route planned taking in the Craft Beer Co itself and other places such as The Bleeding Heart, The Gunmakers, Jerusalem Tavern and the Ye Old Mitre. But like the best laid plan of mice of men it all went squeak when research showed that all these places were closed at the weekend!

It’s quite a well known fact that areas of “the city” are like ghost towns at the weekend and most pubs and shops don’t bother to open because of the lack of trade. But I was quite surprised to find that this practice had crept into the Clerkenwell area as well. Surely there would be enough locals on a Saturday to warrant opening?

But a closed pub is a closed pub, so I amended the route I’d planned and substituted another 4 pubs alongside the Craft Beer Co to make up the 5 for our trip. According to all the pubs’ websites, they were all definitely open, but I decided to keep the locations a secret so as to make it more of a mystery tour. The other thing I did to try to make the tour more entertaining was create an “i-Spy” type quiz, making the tourists spot various items on route. As I’d walked the route a couple of time, just to make sure we didn’t get lost, I made a note of interesting things along the route and added these to a list of other random things the boys would have to try to spot.

So there were items ranging from a “Blue Plaque” to a “Yellow Car” – from a “man being electrocuted” to “someone singing” – It’s all sounds a little pathetic when written down but it was quite amusing, honestly!

So we set off on a midday train with a couple of the chaps still feeling the effects of a heavy Friday night in Hungerford. Which gives me the opportunity to introduce today’s tourists. In addition to Tweeter Tim there was the branch treasurer Scrumpy Steve, branch secretary Mild Mike, social secretary Stout Richard and Sam Weissbier. And if you’re wondering about the names just ask the guys to show you their badges – it’s a branch joke!

Anyway the trains were running on time and before we really knew it we were alighting at Farringdon tube station and ready to being the trip. A swift turn up Greville Street saw us pass the first item on the i-Spy quiz, a Weatherspoon’s pub named after the Lollard leader, Sir John Oldcastle.

But were weren’t stopping there, and neither were we stopping at the closed Bleeding Heart Tavern and instead the walk up to the Craft Beer Co did prove that this area of London is like a ghost town at the weekends though, in fact it was more like a zombie town as we walked along the deserted litter strewn streets, causing Sam to comment that this was a like a scene from Get Carter.

Yes Steve, it's open!

 

The Craft Beer Co though was far from deserted with a healthy crowd of drinkers in place. The beer range was seriously extensive, I didn’t manage to count all the hand-pumps but there must have been between 10-15 different beers available. Four of these had beers from the Siren Brewery on and Steve, Sam and I had a half of their Under Current Pale Ale and their Sound Wave IPA – both were extremely nice and the only disappointment was that I’d failed to see another one of their beers called Liquid Mistress which has to be the best name for a beer ever!

The amazing mirror ceiling clock thing

 

We’d managed to find a table by the door which just about seated the 5 of use (Tim had swiftly left us for some “new” friends he’d found) and from there we could view the decorative qualities of the pub which included a huge Charrington’s mirror and an even bigger mirrored ceiling that might have doubled as a clock in a previous life.

Finally prizing Tim away from his new friends we moved further along the Clerkenwell Road (spotting the blue plaque commemorating Sir Hiram Maxim’s gun factory) and hit our first disappointment of the day. The Betsy Trotwood on Farringdon Lane was as dead as a dead thing. Not standing on ceremony I knew there was a Fuller’s place, The City Pride, which could stand in as an alternative but shock horror – this was closed as well!

By now the route had deviated slightly so we had to back track to what should have been the third pub, The Three Kings but by now weren’t exactly surprised to find that this was also not open.

Any (open) port in a storm - Luckily this was a superb port.

 

Thank god therefore for the Crown Tavern on Clerkenwell Close which was not only on my planned tour and not only a Cask Marque accredited pub, but was actually open! Oh for an open port in a storm. The troubled waters were soon calmed though as there was a nice selection of 6 ales in addition to a sizable bottle selection. Again Steve, Sam and I went for two different halves, which for me were half a Hoptimus Prime from Robinsons and half a Bitter Californian from the Bristol Beer Factory. Just about making ourselves heard over the cackling old crone on the next table I again apologised for the closed pubs and promised that the “final” pub of my planned 5 pubs would be open – all the time keeping my fingers crossed that it would be.

But before we left I got an easy scan of the certificate which was hanging very available by the bar whilst chatting with possibly the prettiest barmaid of the whole Monopoly Tour so far.

Looking like the world's worst boy band outside the Slaughtered Lamb - Nice cocked leg Sam.

 

A stroll along St John Street (and a bit of tattoo & grave spotting on the way) saw us at the Slaughtered Lamb on Great Sutton Street, which was thankfully open. This wasn’t a Cask Marque accredited place and although they had a few ales on tap their focus was definitely on the craft beer side of things with a whole collection of Camden Town beers, beers from Kernel and also a bottled beer menu that had us giggling at Arrogant Bastard and Slag Pilsner. I started with a pint of Camden’s Gentleman’s Wit, which was extremely enjoyable before managing to secure the final bottle of slag in the pub.

Richard shows off his tatoos

 

Talking about slags (sorry, that link was beneath even me) the pub was suddenly full of beautiful young women and suddenly every wine glass the barman had on his shelves was pushed into service. Apparently there was a PR company round the corner and I’m guessing the ladies were on a weekend training day or induction day or whatever but all of a sudden the average age in the pub had dropped by about 20 years making us feel very old and decrepit indeed.

Would you let this man edit your newsletter? Tim strikes a stylish pose with a flat white.

 

Leaving before we embarrassed ourselves that should have been it for the pubs I’d planned, but sensing that the guys could have done with a couple more we popped into the Three Compasses on the way back to Farringdon station. Not really a place of any merit but they did have the France Vs Ireland 6 Nations rugby match on even if they did serve their bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale with pint glasses.

 

Richard then took a call from his son and quickly recalling the name of the pub just outside Farringdon tube station we arranged to meet up with him in the Castle. Now I’d obviously done this place an injustice in missing it off the tour in the first place because not only was it Cask Marque accredited, meaning I got in a nice surprise scan that I wasn’t expecting but their beer range was quite healthy as well. I for some reason went for a pint of Erdinger and by this point in the proceedings I’ve no idea what the others went for.

This could be an album cover surely? Nice cocked leg (again) Sam.

 

There was just time before Jean-Christophe reclaimed his tables to present the prizes for the i-Spy quiz, which by this point also had descended into a bit of a farce. I can’t even remember who I awarded the prizes to but I’m guessing I completely got the scores completely wrong. But at least I awarded the prizes to our group and not the American girl with the big camera on the table behind.

Inside the Castle

 

The train journey back seemed to be mostly taken up with trying not to wet myself, luckily a parked train at platform 8 at Paddington came to my literal relief. The Thatcham bound personnel managed to sneak in a crafty Burger King and then topped this up with a visit to Tutti Fruitti at Reading, though I believe Steve got his can of Gin & Tonic from somewhere else.

Sam at Burger King. The weird angle is because of his cocked leg.

 

The lucky Newbury bound people managed to get a straight through train instead whereas we took the “more relaxed” route back!

The relaxed route home.

 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 167

Lessons to be learnt = Ring the pubs beforehand. Oh, and have a coffee every now and then!

Back to the usual tour next week? = Yes please! I couldn’t do this every weekend!

Next Stop =Bond Street

P.S. So how did this qualify for Community Chest? Well with this bunch of weirdos it was more like Care in the Community but somehow I think I fitted right in.