Fenchurch Street Station

“It’s Christmas time and there really is no need to feel afraid.” Well, speaking personally Paul, if I was to ever wake up and find you whispering those words into my ears I’d bloody well shit myself……..but that unlikely scenario aside, that introduction is just meant to inform readers (still hopeful that I can use that noun in the plural) that this will be the last posting before we stuff our faces with turkey whilst wearing paper hats.

Again in an amazing piece of planning, the square on this festive week is Fenchurch Street station, which if you’ve noted that Vine Street was the nearest square to our offices then you’ll know that this is the second nearest square. An ideal opportunity to rally the troops and force all the previous excuse-mongers and tour-dodgers out on the street.

 

Fenchurch Street Station - One of the prettier London Stations.

 

In reality what happened was illness claimed Aussie Pete, early Xmas holidays claimed Buddy Rob and most of the other fair-weather tourists cried off for one reason or another. Still, we had the welcome return of No-Nickname Michael after his dry month of November had ended, New Guy Micky had come back from the wilderness of working from home and tour regulars Charlie and Spiky Haired Ed can always be relied on. We also had the surprising appearance of Big-J, who apart from a fleeting appearance during Cask Ale week in a non-tour venue had avoid the tour so far, quoting excuses ranging from guitar practice, family taxi duties, bicycle repairs, filing claims against other road users and writing the 10^th volume of M&S memoirs (I understand the working title is “Mark, Spencer and I”).

 

Talking about Spiky Haired Ed (well sort of) I haven’t heard anything back from Debbie and her cut and keep Spiky  Haired Ed but in other blog news I did stumble across another pub review blog site thanks to a tweet from Beery Nate – It would seem that the mysterious Pubman79 has visited several pubs that we’ve also took in as part of the tour and it’s interesting to see his opinions compared to mine. But imagine my surprise when on his review of The Blue Posts (we did this for Pall Mall) the cheeky beggar had gone and used my photo! Not that I’m particularly bothered and if someone else has decided that my awful quality snaps are good enough to borrow then I’ll take it as a compliment!  

 

No-nickname Michael and a blurry New Guy Micky do their Flanagan and Allen impression - "Underneath the arches....." - Just ask your gran.

Anyway, onto the tour. Much in the same way as when we did Vine Street, it was but a short stroll past Tower Hill tube station and into Crutched Friars and the first pub, Cheshire Cheese. I promised this one when we visited a similarly named pub during Strand, not that I’ve found out in the meantime why this seems to be an not uncommon pub name whereas there doesn’t seem to be anywhere called The Wensleydale. This Cheshire Cheese is tucked beneath the arches that the tracks from Fenchurch Street Station run from and is owned by the Stonegate pub company, who I have to admit I’ve never heard of before (we have previously visited one of their pubs, The Earl of Camden) but they’re the company behind chains like Yate’s and Slug and Lettuce. The Cheshire Cheese is part of their “Great Traditional Pubs” brand and the pub is certainly traditional in the sense that it has a bit of an eighties feel about it. Dark red wallpaper (flocked?), patterned carpets and large hanging chandeliers. The beer range was a bit limited, nice to see 5 handpumps but all had fairly regular ales on, Pedigree, Hobgoblin, London Pride etc. I plumped for Shepherd Neame’s Spitfire with Big-J and Charlie following my lead whilst the other three went for Krombacher – which came in very nice branded and fluted glasses.

 

It looked more 80's in real life

 

Even though it was only a Tuesday I think a lot of workers had decided to celebrate the lead up to Xmas as the place was quite full with a raucous crowd, which wasn’t helped by the loud music being unnecessarily pumped over it all. We also had several big screen TVs playing footie repeats (at least the sound was off) which no-one was watching.

 

On the plus side the Cask Marque certificate was easily found, pinned on the wall just above the sink behind the bar, but accessible to lean over and scan. One drink saw us through though and we made our way further along Crutched Friars to the aptly named Crutched Friar. But before we discuss this pub, let’s have a quick history lesson. The name Crutched Friars comes from a religious order so named because of the staff the monks carried. There will be a test on this later………………. 

The Crutched Friar (the pub) is another from the Stonegate stable but this time from their Classic Inn brand. It certainly has a more up to date feel than the Cheshire Cheese and seemed to attract a plethora of “suits” as again the pub was heaving. I seemed to wait an age to get served but to their credit there were hundreds of barmaids and as soon as I was actually being served they all seemed to want to ask what I wanted. The one that did serve me failed to get three pints from the barrel of Black Sheep Bitter so Big-J and No-nickname Michael actually got pints of Cocker Hoop (they didn’t know this on the night) but the other three got their desires of Meantime Pale Ale, Cobra and Grolsh (no prizes for matching the beer to the drinker) 

 

BGC and Big-J - I am the crutch to his friar.

Again to Stonegate’s credit the certificate was hanging nicely available on the wall but as I was scanning I noted that there was a duplicate certificate opposite it. It turns out one certificate was running out at the end of December and the one for next year was already hanging up. Charlie tried to scan them both but Cask Finder is wise to this trick! 

Again it was a rather hurried drink and another hurry along the street, turning right into New London Street and the Windor, which ducks beneath Fenchurch Street Station itself. Amazingly again this was another Stonegate pub (they must save on delivery costs to these three) but we were back to the Great Traditional Pub brand now. It’s a compact little place not helped by the fact that half the pub was cordoned off for a poker evening. Unfortunately the framed and hung certificate was in the cordoned off area but that didn’t stop Ed and me sneaking in for a sneaky scan.

 

At the Windsor, not! Geddit, Windsor Knot.....Oh please yourselves

It was another different ale for the ale drinkers, this time being Adnams’s festive offering of Shingle Shells although No-nickname Michael and New Guy Micky went for a different Admans offering of Ghost Ship.  

We started to take casualties on the night now. Charlie had to leave for a family gathering whilst New Guy Micky had to scoot off to the late night Marks and Spencer to buy a dinner jacket for this Thursday’s Xmas Party. No-nickname Michael was getting a taste for the demon sauce again and persuaded us to take in one more pub. Just around the corner from the station is the Shepherd Neame pub of the East India Arms – the last remnants of the East India Company whose offices used to stand in the area. 

 

If Ed had taken the photo properly you might have been able to read the history here.

After the crush of the other pubs we elected to stand outside keeping ourselves warm with pints of Late Red (Oranjeboom for Ed and diet coke for Big-J)  and after the rather identikit fittings of the first three pubs the unique and charming character of the East India Arms was quite lovely. On return from the toilets I asked the barman what the interesting looking bottles in the fridge were. The answer was a 5% Double Stout, a 7% Christmas Ale and a 9% IPA. I volunteered to start No-nickname Michael and myself off on the Double Stout whilst Ed changed to Asahi. Big-J knowing that a wobbly bike ride home was still to come sensibly stuck to the coke.  

The Double Stout was gorgeous and when asking for the Christmas Ale I even got the choice as to whether I wanted a chilled one or a room temperature one. I went for room temperature which was a good idea initially but as the pint went on it did get quite heavy and claggy.  

Although I would have been most interested to see what the IPA tasted like, I think at 9% it would have landed me in the same position as the previous square so good sense won over and I decided it was time to leave – a short stagger down Fenchurch Street to Aldgate Station and a journey round to Paddington muttering to myself on the tube. At least this way you always get a seat. 

The final funny to report is when ordering some sustenance from the buffet car on the train I asked for “something with bacon” – The host turned a puzzled look on me and replied “something with pain killers?” – Well she did have a point! 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 133 – I do declare the first visit where every pub had the certificate available!

 

Why are the Crutched Friars so called? = Please provide your answer in the form of a 200 word essay.

 

Will there be ale at the office Xmas Party on Thursday? = BGC reckons "no" and that means he'll have to winge and moan, boring the tits off those around him as he decrys how come no-one in Britain seems to respect the British brewing industry.

 

Next Stop = Leicester Square

Trafalgar Square

Thought I'd start with a picture this week.

I think it’s actually a pretty good achievement that I’ve (we’ve) managed to complete two whole sides of the Monopoly Board and got nearly half way along the third side when finally we hit our first “venue issue”. Basically the nearest Cask Marque pubs to Trafalgar Square are the Silver Cross and the Lord Moon of the Mall, pubs we previously crossed off the list when we did Whitehall. The next nearest seemed to be The Harp, which again had already been  visited as part of Northumberland Avenue and going by the Cask Finder map, the next grouping of pubs were all centred around Leicester Square, a place we have yet to visit and therefore not one I wanted to encroach onto just yet.

Blue Peter never seemed to shut up about this tree - Now I've finally seen it!

Luckily though, Leicester Square has an absolute plethora of Cask Marque pubs surrounding it, so I decided that if we concentrated on the easterly side of this pub grouping we could still cover a nice little section of the pubs but still leave a sizable bunch to be done come Leicester Square time.

So although the location of the pubs was decided we took rather a hit on the number of attendees as come Friday when we finally decided to make the trip it was only Aussie Pete, Spiky Haired Ed, Charlie and myself on board. Buddy Rob had prior engagements, New Guy Mickey was feeling under the weather and No-nickname Michael was coming along all until the last minute when he bailed on us! And this even after his dry month had ended!

Never mind because although it was only the four of us who ventured into the biting cold of Trafalgar Square to take the all important photos – I successfully managed to ignore the encouragement of the others to straddle a lion – and have a look at the twinkling Xmas tree, both Charlie and I had been in contact with old friends who were hoping to make an appearance sometime during the night.

Ed wanted me to lie in the lion's paws! Yeah! Right!

From Trafalgar Square we dodged the traffic and made our way up St Martin’s Place to the first pub, a Taylor Walker place called The Salisbury. Absolutely rammed to the gunnels, as one might expect on a Friday night near the heart of Theatreland we never the less threaded ourselves through the throng and somehow I found myself nominated as kitty man, again! Amongst the more common ales (Bombardier, Tim Taylor & London Pride) I spotted a festive special from Solebay Brewery called Santa’s Spirit. Puzzlingly I cannot find anything about this brewery on both the internet and in CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide and I wonder if this is a test-microbrewery from Adams? Any further information to the usual address please!

The Salisbury, all gleaming lights and brass.

The beer itself was fine, nice deep ruby red with a good bitter hop character and even lager boy Ed was kept satisfied with a pint of proper Budweiser. Although the pub was full, service was excellent and the polite barman even touched his heart after I paid for the round - I can’t even say the bloke behind me yelling in my ear “3 pints of Bomba mate!” put me off! Amazingly although the pub was a real squeeze we easily found the certificate, framed and on a pillar by the bar. We did need a little bit of extra light help to get the scan but it was soon in the bag.

The pub is one of Taylor Walker’s gems, all gleaming etched mirrors, low hanging crystal lanterns and bronze arte nouveau lamps so it was a bit of a shame that we decided to escape the squeeze after just one pint and made our way just round the corner into St Martin’s Court and another Taylor Walker place, the inappropriately named Round Table. I say inappropriately named because for starters, it’s not round and secondly there’s not many tables, and none of the ones that are there are round too!

The Round Table - not in the least bit round or tabley

Initially the pub was just as full as The Salisbury and it was a fight to get to the bar and get our order of 3 pints of Bombardier and 1 pint of Estrella. Spiky Haired Ed had the audacity to correct my pronunciation of Estrella (apparently it’s “estraya”) as we installed ourselves in a cramped little corner of the pub by a table (not round) with two Norwegians and the biggest camera in the world.

We spotted the certificate on the wall behind the bar but it was an old style out of date one without the QR code. Aussie Pete asked the barmaid why they had an expired certificate up and she raced to get the bar manager who explained how the new one was “in the post”.

Although the pub isn’t anywhere near as decorative or attractive as The Salisbury we decided to stay for another round and passing the kitty over to Pete I asked him to get 3 pints of Abbot Ale as this was the last beer we hadn’t tried. “3 pints of Abigail?” repeated the antipodean special one. So maybe I can’t pronounce Estrella but there are limits…………….!

Just as we were half way down the pints of Abigail, Charlie reported that his old schoolmate One-Time Tom was in the vicinity of the pub, and he wasn’t wrong as One-Time Tom joined us with a pint and an immediate download of Cask Finder as soon as we explained what it was we were actually doing. He then went on to demonstrate his uncanny party piece of being able to list the highest chart position and number of weeks on the chart for any 80’s song. A very impressive if not a little bit worrying talent.

And then talk about good timing, just as we were pulling on jackets to leave my old Army mate, Romanian Reg appeared! No time for a drink Reg we’re off to the next place!

The next place was The Angel and Crown which meant retracing our step to The Salisbury and crossing to the other side of St Martin’s Place as the two pubs are opposite each other. The Angel and Crown is one of a small chain of 9 pubs across London run by the ETM Group, or brothers Ed and Tom Martin. The pub is a cool trendy venue, attracting a cool and trendy crowd, which means I certainly don’t fit in, but the beer range was excellent with a couple of pints of DoubleDark Oatmeal Stout from Caledonian and a couple of pints of Jugged Hare from Sambrooks Brewery. Ed got the lovely treat of a pint of Bitburger Pilsner, a real German classic and one I hope he enjoyed!

Charlie took the plunge to ask the barmaid about the certificate but it was one of those occasions when we could have been asking if the chiropodist was free as the poor woman didn’t have a clue what we were going on about. So we escaped the cool and trendy throng and stood outside to drink our pints which enabled Reg and myself to catch up on old times and for Aussie Pete to get someone to take our photo whilst we were all still standing.

Outside the Angel & Crown - L-R, Romanian Reg, Spiky Haired Ed, Charlie, BGC, One-Time Tom, Aussie Pete - I win the best turnups competition. The others didn't know that was happening.

We pushed on up the narrow and winding New Row to the junction of Garrick Street and Bedford Street and the corner pub of The Roundhouse, a Fuller’s pub which at least has the decency to be round, well at the front anyway. One-Time Tom led the rush to the bar and secured pints of a Fuller’s special limited edition ale called Traitor’s Gate. The website says it’s only been brewed in limited supply and only stocked at a handful of specially chosen pubs, which on the one hand is great because I now feel privileged to have tried such a lovely pint, but on the other hand a shame because it’s such a nice tasting brew it’ll be a shame to not see it regularly.

It was about now that the evening started to get a bit wobbly and I can remember getting a handful of bottles of Fuller’s Black Cab Stout (I’d asked for London Porter, but they didn’t have any) and a single shot of Jägermeister for Ed because he wanted a bomb but the barmaid told me it was a waste of money for the can of Red Bull for just one shot – so I drank it.

Next thing I know I’m sat on the floor amongst the coats, jackets and bags.

Taxi for BGC time; Aussie Pete kindly guided me to the Leicester Square tub station but that still didn’t stop me making a torturous route back to Paddington, via Euston Road where I dashed through 6 lanes of traffic and vaulted over a central reservation and somehow didn’t die.

Paddington saw me board a sleeper train to God only knows where until I realised that I might be better to get off this one before it left and instead take the last proper train home instead and someone or something must have been smiling down on me as I managed to wake up at the right stations to change trains and eventually successfully navigated home.

I blame the food.

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 126 - It was a scan disaster. Only one added - TREVOR!

Walking tip = Bouncing from one curb to the other increases your distance by at least double.

Is Spiky Haired Ed original? = Well apparently not. Charlie found this blog and this character. The resemblance is uncanny! I’ve mailed Debbie, the owner of the blog, to see if she agrees!

Next Stop = Fenchurch Street Station

P.S. We didn’t have any food.

Fleet Street

Apologies, apologies, apologies………to all the faithful tour readers out there, a hundred thousand heartfelt apologies. There was no update last week and if each and every one of you have now gone off and are reading blogs about baking cookies or the mating cycle of wading birds then I can only hope you’ve checked back now that you know the Reddish Egret uses bill clacking in its courtship rituals (it’s true – honest) and you just have to know what the Monopoly boys are up to.

The reason behind last week’s no-show was a company music quiz on Monday night and then the gang couldn’t settle on a day for the rest of the week. So we took the ready-made excuse and had a week off, which in retrospect was probably a good thing if not for our livers, definitely for our wallets.

But just a quick note about the music quiz, we didn’t win, nowhere near to be honest although we did briefly hold the lead, but we did receive a prize for the best team name. So congratulations to Charlie, Spikey Haired Ed, Mags for allowing me to name the team Gang Bang Style and winning each of them an advent calendar.

The sort of victorious Gang Bang Style

So onto Fleet Street, that street once famous for being home to the majority of the UK’s daily newspapers and apparently former home of the demon barber, Sweeny Todd. It’s basically a continuation of Strand (remember no “the”) but instead of continuing the tour from West to East, I decided to approach the street from the other end and begin by getting off the tube at Blackfriars. It was but a short hop straight across Queen Victoria Street and into The Blackfriar, a Nicholson’s pub saved from destruction by Sir JohnBetjeman no less. I’m certainly glad he took the effort to do that, and so should everyone else because it’s an absolute gem.

A pointy cornered building.

From the outside it appears as a tiny pointy cornered building perched on the junction of Queen Victoria Street and New Bridge Street, a row of gleaming mosaic tiles shining with the reflection of the passing traffic spell out “Brandies” and the number 174. Twinkling lights peep out from behind the stained glass windows and promise a warming welcome inside, and thankfully the interior doesn’t fail to deliver with carved relief pictures of the Blackfriars themselves cavorting around the top of the bar.

Charlie & BGC, tempted by the twinkling lights....

I could carry on in this vein for more paragraphs so I’ll just end by encouraging all pub fans to seek this place out and raise a glass to Sir John, and instead will turn to the attendance of the tour for this square.

All the faithful were there apart from No-nickname Michael who was having a month off the sauce, so it was Aussie Pete, Charlie, New Guy Micky, Buddy Rob and me who travelled the 4 stops on the tube and met up with the housewives’ favourite Spiky Haired Ed, Munchkin Steve (back down from up t’north on a visit) and a newbie to the tour, Mike who for guessable reasons I will name Bam for the purpose of the tour – We’ve already got one Michael anyway!

Pumps at The Blackfriar

Munchkin Steve and Bam were quick to come forward with their recommendation for a pint of Ding Dong from Andwell Brewery, which is apparently brewed specially for Nicholson’s. It was a good recommendation, a ruby red seasonal ale just right for a gloomy November evening. Not forgetting the real reason we were there, the Cask Marque certificate was easily spotted, framed and propped up on a stand by the door and one scan and one pint later we knew if we were to be able to cover the 6 pubs I’d got planned for the evening we have to move on – a shame really, pubs this special shouldn’t be rushed.

Munchkin Steve & BGC, tempted by the single twinkling light.

Heading north towards Fleet Street, it was a quick detour into Bridewell Place and the aptly named St Brides Tavern, a Greene King pub but on the way there it was Buddy Rob who got treated to the BGC’s very special guided tour. A quick potted history of the area records that when the Bridewell Royal Hospital was destroyed in the Great Fire of London it was rebuilt as a prison which later became school buildings. The original gatehouse has now been incorporated into an office block on New Bridge Street. This can be seen complete with relief portrait of Edward the VI who granted a charter to Bridewell Hospital, and I pointed this out to Rob as we passed. He seemed to be more interested in the office girl that looked as if she’d just been knocked over but you can but lead horses to water! (Oh, and for the record the girl already had a host of people looking after her – we didn’t leave her sprawled in the road!)

BGC fitting well in with the 70's look

Anyway, St Bride’s Tavern – a lovely little oasis tucked away from the crowds and has a feel of a 1970’s working man’s club. The beer, something from Titanic, (it had red on the label but I can’t see it on their website) came in traditional dimpled jugs apart from Ed and Micky’s lager which was something I’d never heard of, Noble, a 5% brew from Greene King themselves. It also came in a very nice stemmed glass and didn’t taste too bad to boot. The certificate was hanging proudly on the wall unfortunately just over the head of a chap with a very dodgy Movember moustache. Now when I say dodgy, I mean dodgy – I know I’m calling the kettle black, and Aussie Pete currently looks like a 1980’s car salesman but this guy looked like a German Porn star and in fact if you have a minute, he looked like a German Porn star that was actually playing the Bontempi Organ (with his socks on). But did that stop Pete starting up a very brotherly-love conversation with the chap. In fact for all the time it took us to drink our pints, for us to try to surreptitiously take a photo of the pretty barmaid, for Charlie to download Cask Finder and get his first scan and various other activities Pete and this dude talked each other’s hind legs off. In fact it makes you rather suspicious as to whether it was just hind legs they talked off.

Charlie demonstrates that the beer comes in jugs

Poor Munchkin Steve had to leave us now as the border to the north closes at 21:00 but the rest of the gang finally reached Fleet Street proper and quickly entered The Old Bell Tavern, another Nicholson’s located right at the east end of the street. Although not as ornate and decorative as the Blackfriar it’s still another lovely olde worlde pub.

Aussie Pete and BGC, tempted by the lights of the shop next door.

We spotted the certificate instantly, as it was hung on the wall behind the bar, but in a dark and dingy corner. I was surprised when the barmaid was more than happy for me to go behind the bar to scan but I needed Charlie to come to my rescue and illuminate the certificate with his phone in order than my phone could “see” it. Pretty soon there were about 6 of us behind the bar all clamouring to get the scan or help others do the same. It was then that the shortest little bar manageress in the world asked what we were up to. “Where are you from?” she demanded, “Just regular drinkers” I tried to explain “doing the Cask Marque thing.” For a minute I wondered if she would think we were actually from Cask Marque and perhaps I should demand a free sample from all the beers………… But I didn’t, and anyway I’d already spotted another guy in a Cask Ale Week T-Shirt and thought perhaps he was a real inspector and he might then challenge me to a “taste off” which I’d no doubt lose in disgrace…………………..and back in the room. 

Bunch of Octopodes getting the scan.

The pints of something or other (see note at end of page) were quickly downed and after a profuse thank you to the diddy manageress again it was back onto Fleet Street to what I thought would be a bit of a slog to the western end of the road, but actually turned out to be a gentle stroll to the next pub, Ye Olde Cock Tavern, which is a Taylor Walker pub and also scores top points for having the words “Ye”, “Olde” and “Cock” in its name – yeah childish I know, but still makes me giggle.

After the Old Bell I was expecting the Cock to be similarly crushed even for a Tuesday but surprisingly it was quite empty with only a couple of its tables filled with drinkers. Pints of Hooky were ordered (for those of an ale persuasion anyway – it was Staropramen for the others) and we retired to an empty table only to find it occupied by a forgotten scarf. Quickly adopting this as my mascot for the night we then began to discuss the problems of trying to drink with a moustache as it doesn’t let you form a seal around your mouth. Well that was my excuse for the dribble down my shirt front anyway. The Cock was another impressively decorative pub with some fantastic low hung lanterns along the bar; it boasts Samuel Pepys and Charles Dickens as former clientele but they didn’t seem to be in tonight. A pit stop of crisps and nuts was called for, anything to stop Pete dashing off to order a three course meal, and then it was up and away to the next place.

BGC & Scarf outside The Knights Templar

Across the road, and slightly up Chancery Lane is TheKnights Templar, a pub whose name conjures up images of chain-mailed, sword wielding, red-crossed men at war and crappy books by Dan Brown. The pub itself is a Wetherspoons emporium and looks and feels like it, occupying the vast interior space that used to be a former bank. The ceilings are enormously high and the artistic suit of armour pinned high on the wall behind the bar looks impressive. What wasn’t so impressive was the stop of our run of 4 consecutive scans as the ruddy faced Irish bar manager explained his certificate had got knocked off the wall and smashed. We made an order for pints of “something” but found that the “something” had run out after pouring three of the pints. I then had to have a pint of Naked Ladies which I presume is this one from Twickenham Fine Ales.

Suit of armour behind the bar - note twinkling lights.

The problem with the big Wetherspoons are that if you don’t have a crowd in, the size of the place can make you feel like a pea on a drum. Although for the Tuesday night the crowd was pretty healthy the place lacked a little atmosphere so we didn’t linger over our drinks.

Finally we came to the last pub of the evening, back onto Fleet Street and the Fullers emporium named The Old Bank of England, which isn’t just a name as it’s the old law courts of The Bank of England. It’s also apparently situated between Sweeney Todd’s barbers shop and the pie shop owned by Mrs Lovett………………it’s all bollocks but it makes for a good story! We were greeted by an enormous Xmas Tree just inside the door and the second bank conversion of the night. I have to say that Fullers have done a better job than Wetherspoons did in the Knight Templar. In the Old Bank of England, the centre of the room is dominated by a massive oval bar and then tables have been arranged around the outside whereas in the Knights Templar the tables are arranged like theatre seats, lining up facing the bar cum stage. Obviously you can take your pick and there’s different strokes for different folks and I reckon that was Aussie Pete’s second chat up line of the night as he moved in on a poor unsuspecting father and son combo and subjected them to ½ an hour’s worth of inane chatter. We, instead, had to put up with a very attractive but grumpy barmaid who didn’t react at all positively to one of us telling her she looked like Pamela Anderson. Bam actually went so far as to ask if someone else could serve us but to give her  credit the poor girl persisted and at least produced the Cask Marque certificate from behind the bar where it was wafting around like a scrap piece of paper.

 

Charlie (or Caspar) celebrating his first scan - this actually happened in St Brides but I don't have any good photos of the Bank of England!

We tried to order pints of “something seasonal” at first but happy Pamela informed us that this had run out (then turn the pump clip round!) so we settled instead of pints of Chiswick Bitter which is a good alternative in anyone’s books. Once Pete had finished chatting up and no doubt organising his three way dad-son-marsupial gangbang, (never thought I’d get that word in twice in a blog entry!) Bam decided to round off the evening with a round of Jägerbombs. I’ve got to say for a tour newbie, he certainly knows how to impress the old soaks.

And finally-finally, I’ll say another thing for the Old Bank of England – it’s got some of the most impressive toilets I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. Excuse me.

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 121 (Speedy Trevor already added the Knights Templar)

“something” beer? = I usually Unttap all my beers that I drink but was cursing the 10-15 mins it takes me out of the conversation to do so. So this time I didn’t and promptly forgot half the drinks we ordered. Normal service will be resumed.

Who’s in the closet? = Not Petey! He’s samba-ing down the street with pink feathers in his hair singing “I will survive!”

Next Stop = Trafalgar Square

Just to prove we were in Fleet Street - Look at the sign, not the tramp in the foreground.

Chance #2

So dearest reader, do you remember Chance #1? It was quite a while ago now but for those who require a memory jogger then you’ll recall that I solved this square’s problem by buying a lottery ticket and visiting Camelot’s offices…………………and then going on to lose my season ticket. Remember? Ah those happy sunny carefree days!

Anyway it’s now time for the second Chance square and this led to a great deal of head-scratching to decide where to visit. Once again the ideas of throwing darts at a tube map or rolling a dice came to the fore and I even sent out an email plea to the constant tourers for suggestions of where to go and then we’d pull a selection from a hat but with only two suggestions there didn’t seem to be the point………..and no-one had a hat anyway.

Then, whilst surfing around the net, I stumbled upon an on-line BASIC programming environment called Quite BASIC. Now hands up, who remembers BASIC? Anyone who was brought up in the classic era of ZX Spectrums, BBC Micros or Commodore 64s will remember this very “basic” programming language like yesterday. I cut my computing teeth on the awesome AcornElectron, and before you all take the mickey just remember this far outlasted all those other models I’d previously mentioned, and spent many a happy afternoon faithfully typing in lines and lines of BASIC code from the latest ElectronUser magazine. So, whilst I’d love to boast that quick as a flash I’d created a random pub generating location program, it was more like quick as a stumbling pensioner I’d created a random pub location generating program.

For all the geeks, here's the actual program

Now I won’t bore those less technical with the ins and outs of the program but basically it randomly chooses a tube line, a direction, the number of stops and the number of pubs to be covered. We obviously needed a glamorous assistant to press the buttons to do the selection and fitting the bill with plenty to spare is the lovely Chrissie, every IT team’s favourite administrator. Pressing the button as only she can the random journey generator conjured up the following combination.

Debbie McGee, eat your heart out! The lovely Chrissie makes the prediction. Note BGC's colletion of Steins on his desk!

“You will take the District Line in a West direction. You will travel for three stops and visit two pubs.”

The predictor's prediction brought to life.

So a quick referral to the Tube Map and the Cask Marque website revealed that we would be travelling to Mansion House and there was a Cask Marque accredited O’Neills just round the corner from the tube station. The other nearest pub from the station was the Green Man in Poultry but Aussie Pete and I had already visited this basement pub as part of Cask Ale Week when we were on a lunchtime pub frenzy to get the special T-Shirt, so casting the net further afield the next pub was the Ye Olde Watling (in Watling Street). But threatening to derail the random prediction was the fact that almost next door to the Ye Olde Watling was the Williamson’s Tavern, which (and here we go again pub fact fans) holds the oldest excise licence in the City of London – it was also a residence for the Lord Mayors of London and William III and Mary dined there – Surely we couldn’t miss this pub?

It was a cold blustery and pretty damn miserable Friday night which saw the faithful tourers (Aussie Pete, Spiky haired Ed, Buddy Rob – with Charlie to follow) step out from the offices and immediately defy the random predicting program by electing to walk to the first pub rather than jump on the tube. It was only a brief 15 minute walk down Great Tower Street and onto Cannon Street that saw us into the first pub and with Buddy Rob announcing that there were delays on the District Line it would seem bending the rules had been a wise thing to do.

I was initially very surprised to see an O’Neills pub with Cask Marque accreditation in the first place. These “Oirish” themed pubs seem awfully dated now with a real whiff of everything that was bad about the 90’s in abundance. From the mosaic tiled “Fáilte” on the doorstep, to the row upon row of Guinness taps everything screamed no Real Ale here. I did spot one hand pump with the very unexciting Doom Bar on sale so determined to try to enjoy “the craic” I ordered pints of Smithwicks Irish Bitter for Aussie Pete and myself, Ed went with a Coors Light (got to watch his figure after all) and Buddy Rob went for………yep, you go it!

Conrad (l) joins Spikey-Haired Ed, BGC and Buddy Rob outside O'Neills - It can only get better Conrad, only get better........

Friday nights obviously mean rammed pub nights so we escaped outside to try to find some breathing room and were soon joined by an ex-work colleague of Aussie Pete’s, Conrad who with obviously nothing better to do on a Friday night had elected to join the tour. I went back into the melee that was the queue for the bar and after ordering Conrad’s pint asked the most barmaidy looking barmaid in the world whether they did indeed have a Cask Marque certificate. “To be sure, I’ve only been here 2 days” she liltingly replied proving that whilst 90% of the pub might be fake Irish she was at least the real deal. Unfortunately neither she nor her colleague knew anything about the certificate, or Cask Marque at all if I’m to be honest.

A visit to the loos just before we left was quite amusing as the pub had decided to use the Irish for “male” and “female” on the toilet doors. Now who would have guessed that the Irish for “male” starts with an F (it’s Fir) and “female” starts with an M (Mna) and who would have also guessed that your brain only seems to read the first letter of the word and who would have guessed that she’d be so furious………..well luckily it didn’t go that far but it could have.

M for Ladies

A quick jog across Queen Victoria Street saw us into Watling Street and the packed rafters of Ye Olde Watling and as Ed correctly said, a pub with “ye” in the name is going to be good. First thing that hit us was the very Christmassy scent of spiced mulled wine and the second thing was a large group of young guys all dressed in awful Xmas jumpers and sporting even worse Movember moustaches.

Ye Olde Watling - Note Cask Marque plaque in foreground.

Charlie now joined us (you missed nothing at O’Neills) and was just in time for pints of Ruby Mild (in cracking form) bottle of Heineken for Buddy Rob and pint of Blue Moon for Ed. The unframed certificate was wafting around behind the bar and the enthusiastic and attentive bar staff (seriously, there were hundreds of them and all seem genuinely willing and wanting to help) were glad to pass it across to be scanned. The pub, out of the Nicholson’s stable, is a cracking little place and unfortunately it’s the “little” which was the downfall for us, although we found respite from the crowds outside the patter of raindrops saw us only have a single pint before dashing just across the road to the Williamson’s Tavern and the breaking of the second of the predictor’s rules.

Although the Williamson’s Tavern boasts the colourful and interesting history I reported earlier the back alley way outside doesn’t match the rather uninteresting ad boring inside. Again, wrestling through the crush to the bar it was another bottle of Heineken for Buddy Rob (Heiney Rob?) Veltins Lager for Ed and Conrad and three pints of something called Vicious for Charlie, Pete and me.  

Pump clips at Williamson's Tavern. Vicious pump clip furthest left. Unfinished Vicious in foreground.

The pump clip said it was an American Wheat IPA but to our English (and Aussie) taste buds it was pretty awful. Now I like wheat beer and I also like IPA but mixing them together just didn’t work for me or the other two and saw Charlie digging his hand into his pocket to buy pints of Ghost Ship for him and Pete and a bottle of proper Bud for me (Buddy BGC?). Williamson’s Tavern, another Nicholson’s, could have done with half the staff from Ye Olde Watling as there seemed to only be two very overworked chaps on bar duty. Luckily the certificate was hung on the wall in such a position that we didn’t require their help and distraction from their thankless task of serving the hoards.

Buddy BGC in Williamson's Tavern

Again it was the crush that beat us and fighting our way to the exit saw a quick leap up Queen Street to the Golden Fleece, a Greene King pub which again Aussie Pete and I had already scanned on Cask Ale Week but slightly larger size gave us some much needed breathing room. I remember pints of St Edmunds Ale and slightly more worryingly remember Aussie Pete trying to kiss me (?) but most of all I remember Monika and Adriana, the poor young Polish barmaids who had the misfortune to be on duty when the tour was in town. I took a shine to Monika’s fringe and with Ed turning on the charm to ascertain the poor thing was only 20 I probably scared her to death by handing out BGC business cards and explaining how they would star in the next episode of the blog. When Monika appeared in her coat and I offered to walk her to the tube, she fled…………………a wise move in the circumstances.

In my defence I was really leaving at this point, just as another ex-colleague of Pete’s arrived so I never got to properly meet Marcin but he’s probably quite glad of that………………

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 113 (with one to come)

Moustace Advice = No-one enjoys kissing a moustache. No-one.

Language Advice = Przepraszam, nie chciałem cię przestraszyć.

Next Stop = Fleet Street

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Post Update!!

I was more than delighted to receive a text message from the lovely delectable Monika saying how much she enjoyed reading the blog (finally, someone has actually read it!) but was most disappointed that I’d failed to mention her cut thumb (or finger – there’s some disagreement about the exact nature of the wound) which happened as our demands for beverages of various styles and flavours increased during the evening. She also let slip though that apparently her escape from me was not down to being scared but was because there was Karaoke in the bar downstairs! The cheek of the woman! (but "Thumbs Up" for the fringe!)

Strand

OK, let’s get something straight. It’s not “The” Strand, or Strand “Street” or Strand “Road” or any other combination of road related words, it’s simply “Strand”.

See - Strand. Now move on.

OK, clear enough? That does mean of course the composers of “Let’s all go down The Strand”, a certain Harry Castling and C. W. Murphy no less, have a lot to answer for but maybe we should forgive them their poetic license. Perhaps the “ ‘ave a banana!” chorus didn’t scan right without the all-important “the”.

Anyway we digress much too much and we should concentrate on the beginnings of the red topped squares and the start of our third side of the board.

For those of you who are glued to every episode of this famous saga you’ll remember that when we did the first of the Chance squares we inadvertently encroached onto Strand (sounds weird with the “the” doesn’t it?) already but luckily for the tour there are lots of possibilities along this street and a nice conglomerate of three pubs at the east end of the street seemed to excuse us the necessity of any repetitions.

But before we slake our thirst at the first of these hostelries we need a quick word about why we were out on a Tuesday night which in anyone’s book is hardly the party night of the week. In short other engagements between me and Aussie Pete (that’s engagements we each had, not an engagement between the two of us!) meant no other day this week could be arranged and it was either go on Tuesday or miss the tour for the week. As we hadn’t had a “proper” tour last week I was keen to ensure we didn’t miss a week and although at first the lads all moaned and groaned it was a still a very well respectable if not understandable but definitely comfortable 4 of us who set off for the legal district of Temple and the three pubs which I'd arranged for tonight's sojourn.

First on the list was the ancient George on the actual Strand itself. Currently run by the Capital Pub Company, a smallish chain of 35 pubs across London. This is a marvellous "ye olde world" half-timbered building which looks to have been here since the great fire but was actually built much more recently give or take a couple of years.

Outside the George - Rubbish photo doesn't do it justice.

The inside is just as amazing as the exterior with low black beams, stained glass partitions and an amazing selection of 9 or so gleaming real ale pumps. The purple legginged barmaid quickly served Aussie Pete and me a lovely dark pint of Dark Star Stout, whilst New Guy Micky ducked out of my recommendation circle and plumped for a pretty average pint of Fosters. At least Spiky haired Ed pushed the boat out somewhat by choosing a pint of Meantime London Lager which he declared to be "very nice". A compliment of the highest order no less, especially from someone who thinks fine dining is picking up a rotisserie chicken from Waitrose! The Cask Marque certificate was easily spotted on the wall just next to the doorway and in terms of scans we were off to a flying start.

Although the pub is an amazing building, unfortunately it does have a slight tourist feel about the place, as if it's almost theme parked to look like an “ye olde world” English pub rather than being the authentic thing. That's a shame because it's much more than that and shouldn’t need to play on this sort of thing.

By George! The range of pumps inside the George

As previously attempted with other pubs, I'd tweeted the pub yesterday that I would be in with the tour, hoping for a red carpet welcome, but unfortunately it wasn't until we were long gone down the lane to pub number three that I saw they had actually re-tweeted the tweet and, high five glasses in the air, actually "favoured" my tweet also. So although we've still not achieved the accolade of being welcomed into a pub by the power of the Tweet, this was at least a step in the right direction. (Quick postscript on this factor – when looking at the George’s website when arriving home it was my Untappd Tweet that was featured on their page!)

Fame at last!

We moved on and slipped silently down the next door passage of Devereux Court into The Devereux itself. This is a secret and silent Taylor Walker pub, tucked round the end of a side street so unobtrusively that almost no-one would know it's there. Which is a shame because it's a little quiet oasis only a couple of hundred metres away from the West End but yet has a local feel about it that The George would probably give its right arm for. That said of course, if everyone knew where it was it wouldn't be a quiet oasis, but leaving stating the obvious aside, it's still a nice tidy place. Unfortunately for all the merits of it's quietness and speed of service, the Hispanic barman couldn't lead us to the certificate and although he threw us a line of "ah, yes, there was someone yesterday looking for it but we don't know where it is", it smacked more of desperation that actual customer concern. Aussie Pete managed to record my bar pump pose for posterity so once again we'll have to rely on Magical Trevor to add to the scans, which also is a shame because Spiky haired Ed was on course for his 25^th scan and that would mean celebrating his Cask Marque bottle opener!

Feel pity for Trevor - This is going to land on his desk sometime today!

One beer did for us at the Devereux and it was only a short hop down Little Essex Street to the oddly named Cheshire Cheese for our third and final visit of the night. Now I say "oddly" but in reality it seems that this is a not uncommon name for a pub. Firstly, not too far away in Fleet Street there is a much more well know pub called the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, a Sam Smith's emporium which boasts such historical luminaries as Samuel Johnson and Charles Dickens having drank, played dominos, arm-wrestled and flicked dry roasted peanuts at each other in times past. Also there's another pub called Cheshire Cheese just further along to the east in Crutched Friars, not a million miles away from our work place (which we'll be visiting on the Fenchurch Street Station stop in a couple of weeks time – so stay tuned!). So quite why we have plenty of pubs named after this particular brand of fermented curds and not after Cheddar, Gloucester or Leicester I'm not too sure……..answers on a postcard please.

Outside

Inside

Anyway this particular Cheshire Cheese is a lovely little boozer (with a ceiling full of chamber pots) again seemingly tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Theatre Land. Obviously it was a Tuesday night so perhaps fearing crowds of swilling drinkers was a wrong assumption but the local type feel to the place was a lovely difference to some of the pubs we've been in lately. The Cask Marque certificate was on display right next to where we chose to sit (well actually there was no choice, it was the only free table) but it allowed Aussie Pete and I to pull a classic pose for the  tour and showed off Aussie Pete's bright yellow jumper to the best of its garish and  gaudy ability.

Note manly difference in Movember 'taches

One pint led into two and two led into three, especially as New Guy Micky kept the salt and vinegar crisps flowing and charging each new round to his credit card, which certainly was generous if not a little misguided.

It was perhaps one of the more sedate evenings on the tour and certainly I was able to put my new tablet to good use typing the story up on the train home rather than the last time I tried to use it and it looked like a cross between a Tourettes sufferer and Stephen Hawkins had tried to type up the adventure.

A final postscript – Those of an observant nature will see that the appearance of the blog has changed somewhat – This new styling is all down to the design skill of New Guy Micky and my skill at wheedling this marvellous work for free. Micky is available for all types of design work and can be contacted at his cousin’s strip club……………..

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 108 (with one to come)

Fashion Advice = Yellow isn’t always mellow

Relationship Advice = Don’t play ‘Indecent Proposal’ with Spiky haired Ed

Next Stop = Chance #2