Go

Well, it didn't quite end in a blaze of glory, unless you consider sitting in a traffic jam on three of the country's finest motorways glorious, but it did end and with everyone's patience being tested the fullest, that's probably a good thing.

I think I've already mentioned that the idea for the "GO" square was to "go back" to a few of the favourite pubs we'd covered during the tour, a very fine idea suggested by none other than the Spikey Haired one. I'd done my best to canvass opinion as to what people thought were the favourite pubs, but probably like most things I do, I'd over complicated things, trying to ascertain which were peoples favourite beer, barmaid and tour experience when I should have kept it simple........stupid. 

In the end though, the answer was very clear from those who bothered to respond as two venues were mentioned by many tourists as being worthy of a second visit, so we settled on a simple rendezvous at the best of the "chain" pubs, the Viaduct Tavern in Old Bailey and the best of the "independents" the Hercules Pillars in Holborn. If you want to find out why they were voted the best I can only direct you to the blog posts they appeared in. 

 

The tour at the Viaduct - just to prove to me they did go there.

Attendance looked to be very healthy as the Payroll girls seemed to whip up nearly their whole department into coming out, including all the regulars of Nicole, Brenda, Gemma, Lucie, Carole and George, those we hadn’t seen for some time, Emma, Sarah-Jane, Charlene and those we'd never seen before at all, Natasha and Nicola (yes I know Nicola isn't in Payroll but for this exercise she is). My department on the other hand were rather scraping the barrel as only Ed, Mickey, Nick and Charlie put in appearances although we too had a new face in that of Charmer Palmer.  

But the full attendance doesn't stop there, my "local" drinking buddies Tim and Steve were also going to make it and even the legend that is NateDawg was taking the express tractor from Norwich for a swift pint or two in London before heading off elsewhere. 

I, just to make things interesting, had actually got a day off work on the day of the tour and this was to take another tourist, my now teenage Reubot indoor skydiving in Milton Keynes. The sky diving all went to plan, but what didn't was the journey home which saw me waste far too much of my life on the M1, M25 and M4 shouting at the SatNav. 

So it was a hot and sweaty and non-too impressed BGC who found himself kicking his heels on Thatcham station platform for the 1/2 hour wait for the 19:00 train to London. Luckily this dark and despondent mood was somewhat lifted by a text from Slowpoke Sam who initially texted to say how sorry he was he couldn't make it tonight having only just got home and was therefore running far too late. Needless to say, as soon as he heard I also was delayed as an apology from the Met Police was more than happy to sling on a very dodgy pair of shorts and join me for the evening expedition to the big smoke. 

Alas due to our late arrival we had to forgo the joys of the Viaduct Tavern and the company of NateDawg who apparently had much better offers of much better beers in Birmingham, so we rather dishevelledly made an appearance at the Hercules Pillars to a half hearted cheer and a demand for the "prizes". 

 

The only time the tour travelled by bus - and I missed it.

Perhaps this was the real reason why so many people had come out; nothing to do with my company and the beer but instead my misguided advertisement that everyone attending tonight would get a prize for coming on the tour. Well I was true to my word even if perhaps the reality of typing "Monopoly Novelty" into the eBay search engine only produced some pretty lacklustre gifts. 

For everyone who had attended at least one tour but not more than 10 separate pub visits, I'd managed to pick up some splendid packs of Monopoly branded tissues, just right for the handbag or pocket. These were eagerly snapped up by the lower-end tourists with many a comment of "exceeding personal charm" etc etc. 

For the boys who'd achieved more than 10 visits but hadn't made it to the dizzy heights of the top 5 they got a very nice Monopoly badge. It was just rather unfortunate that these people, No-Nickname Michael, Big-J and Munchkin Steve were all no-shows and therefore it was rather like those award ceremonies when the prize is presented by video link or "here to accept the award on his behalf....." except that we had no video link and no-one to accept the awards on their behalf. So actually it was nothing like that at all. 

For the girls who'd achieved a similar status (more than 10 but not in the top 5) I had actually managed to pull off a fairly decent prize. Little Monopoly houses fashioned into earrings. Nicole and Brenda seemed delighted, especially Nicole who favours earrings usually fashioned by Pat Butcher. Gemma seemed a little miffed though as she was the top scoring girl and I'd noticed she never seems to wear earrings I'd decided to get her something a bit more special in a Monopoly bracelet (hand crafted from little monopoly houses and a single monopoly hotel) which would show her scraggy wrists off to their best advantage. Although I think she liked the bracelet apparently she does wear earrings beneath that beaver pelt of a hair-do. But anyway with a couple of spare pairs of earrings (they only sold them in packs of 5) she also got a pair as did Emma who can turn on the charm when there's a freebie on the cards.

 

An ear - and an earring.

 

The final 5 all got individual gifts, well sort of as in the case of Charlie and Ney Guy Micky, they both got a luxury Monopoly mug. Aussie Pete, who sadly was another no-show got some Monopoly cufflinks, which were presented on the following Monday. He instantly put them on but strangely I've not seen them since..... 

Buddy Rob never took part in the Cask Marque Cask Finder scanning and so alas never qualified for a Cask Marque bottle opener. Seeing an opportunity I thought such an item would make a splendid gift and could only get a branded Budweiser one of course. 

At the end of it all, there wasn't much doubt about who was the winner in terms of accompanying tours. Spikey Haired Ed, he who'd almost laid his life down in the cause of the tour had made an appearance in no less that 100 pubs. Quite an achievement. But what on earth do you buy the man who has everything, including the best hair-do in London? In my case I bought some Monopoly tour books which I handed over saying "If you don't want them, I'd love to have them back!" I think he got the hint. 

The final prize of the evening was the free to enter raffle where the book of raffle tickets had cost me more than the prize. Anticipation was heightened as bar man Joe pulled out the winning ticket which, perhaps aptly was owned by Slowpoke Sam. To say he was delighted with the prize would be an understatement. Probably best to let his acceptance tweet speak for itself.

 

Sam - Charming. 

So there we have it. There were a few more drinks to be drunk, a couple more photos to be taken but as people started to slip away the evening fizzled out and the tour ended without any hint of fireworks and certainly not a top hat in sight. Micky and I were the last men standing but even we had packed things up by 10:30.  

Probably the most asked question of the night was "so, what are we doing next?" and although I do have a couple of bubbling ideas, I think it might be best to let it all lie for a while. Anyway if the suggestion of "let’s do Cludeo next" is a serious one, it's going to take me a while to think up how to apply the rules of that game!

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The final post reads far more melancholic that I want it to. The final tour was an anti-climax but that's not to say the whole tour hasn't been a success. Leaving aside all the rushing around and lateness which obviously put a dampener on the evening we'd also made that classic mistake of trying to recreate a fantastic evening by revisiting a location. When we firstly stumbled on the Hercules Pillars we'd had a bit of an awful evening, stroppy barmen and barladies, terrible weather and the company of the drunkest man in the universe. To cross into Pat's welcoming domain was a joy that evening and whilst he made us more than welcome again on this night and the beer was in fine form (haven't mentioned at all what I drunk this night) there was a sense we were all searching for something that just wasn't in the air this night.

Perhaps then we shouldn't dwell on this final night but think back to some of the things which really did stand out on the tour. Firstly there were the places we went to; London is such a fantastic location but even there it's very easy to stick to the beaten track of the West End and the tourist sights. Without the tour I'd never have had a reason to go down to Elephant and Castle and see the concrete monstrosity that is the shopping centre there. Without the tour we'd have never have gone up as far north as Camden for an after work drink. Without the tour we’d have never learnt the historical facts about the Old Bailey cells and where William Blake is buried.  

And then there was of course the pubs. There were the splendid, whether that was down to their history or their uniqueness (Olde Mitre, Viaduct Tavern, George) but let us not forget those which are just carving out a living for themselves at just being someone's local and being the sort of pub I feel most at home in (The Red Lion, The Kings Arms, The Cheshire Cheese) and by the same token, even though they're not my preferred kettle of fish, those pubs which are still making otherwise derelict and empty spaces into somewhere for people to gather and talk and live (Tyborn, Rockingham Arms) 

There were also the people we met; how lovely it was to bump into lovely Heike in the Edinboro Castle, remember the photographing artist Helio Teles (still friends on Facebook!), the nameless Spanish & Austrian IT engineers and I'm not sure whether Pete is still in touch with all his male chat up friends.

And finally how about all those things that happened and are the sort of things that will make you say in years to come, "Oh, do you remember when we went to the Red Lion in Angel, yes you do, it was when Ed got run over by a bus" - or "it was when BGC found himself in hospital just 24 hours after posing with Churchill and Roosevelt" or "it was when Aussie Pete let rip on the charity collector" 

There's just one final image I want to finish with, and maybe it's this that sums up what I was trying to achieve all along. When Sam and I walked into the Hercules on that final night, the first sight that greeted me was that of Brenda and Nicole just returning from the bar with pints of ale (turned out it was Hobgoblin) - so that's without coercion and prompting possibly a couple of people who's when next trying to decide what to drink will say, "do you know what, get me a beer....." 

 

There were some perks to doing the tour.

 

Now what were the rules of Cluedo...........

Packing away the pieces

In amongst the facts and figures of the "tour statistics" post I mentioned that the tour ran for a total of 367 days (or 1 year and 1 day if that makes it easier) and it's possibly worth revisiting why for the last 12 and a tiny fraction of the 13th months (see there's always another way of presenting statistics) I and the other tourists have been ploughing around doing this.

Obviously there are the reasons of gaining the Cask Marque prizes and the inbuilt nature of the male which seems to need to satisfy the obsessive nature of being able to collect something but I'd like to think there was another reason, that of believing in something that as a country we're blindly starting to lose and something we'll probably not really realise what we might be risking until it has gone. And that of course is the great British Pub.

I'm not going to get drawn into the minutia of figures and statistics again (see the last post if you want those!) but the pressures and hardships that are being faced by our pubs might never have been so great and I think even the most seldom of pub visitor cannot be unaware of the frightening rate of closure of both town and rural pubs.

Writers who managed to make a living from scribbling summed up the wonders and joys of the British pub much better than I ever can, so I’ll keep my eulogy brief and just say that the unique institution is surely something far too precious to thrown onto the scrap heap?

So to sum this sentiment up, if there's anything I hope I've achieved by running the tour is that the tourists themselves have also rediscovered and enjoyed a visit to the pub and possibly away from these rather silly nights out they'll continue to support their locals.

Back to the nature of the tour again though, it was the Cask Marque tour and we should focus a little bit on what being a Cask Marque pub means. Obviously Cask Marque are in the business of promoting good quality cask ale and as such with their close scrutiny of the standard of ale being served in their accredited pubs it's a very handy way to ensure that when in a unfamiliar area of town, you're pretty much assured a fairly decent pint. And if your pint isn't decent, well at least you have another course of recourse by virtue of the fact you can raise the issue with Cask Marque themselves, who'll deal with the pub themselves. 

I know only a little of the hoops that must be jumped through to gain Cask Marque accreditation but I know they're not simple, so there was one thing that had me scratching my head harder and harder as the tour went along. Why go to all the hard work of attaining the certificate and then not bother to display the certificate? I totally understand that some places might not have had them up on the wall for perfectly legitimate reasons (change of landlord for example) but far too many place seemed either completely indifferent to it ("oh I think it's in the office somewhere but I don't know exactly where") or hadn't a clue what we were going on about. The second point could possibly be dealt with by staff training but the first is a little more serious.

I wonder if it has something to do with how Cask Marque is perceived by the pub industry and how the pub industry is organised in the first place. 

As mentioned in the last post, it was no surprise to see the majority of Cask Marque pubs we visited were dominated by 4 massive pub chains. But even following on from that, the next groups of pubs were all chains as well. It's rather scary to see from my evidence that only 2 or 3 pubs seemed to be either free houses or tiny 3-4 pub chains.  

Now don't get me wrong, there was nothing wrong with the chains (I'm not going to touch on the whole issue of the beer tie or anything) per say, most were well run and the beer quality good but I wonder if gaining Cask Marque accreditation is as much of a boon for the single free house as it is for the chain? 

How Cask Marque goes about dealing with this is a puzzler for Alistair and the gang but I hope they continue to make gaining accreditation just as worthwhile and possible for every pub and not just those being run as part of a chain.

 But a further word about those chains, again referring back to Counting the Scores we saw that the "winning" chain, if that's the right expression was TaylorWalker with 26 pubs appearing on the tour; this was closely followed by Nicholson’s with 22 and Fuller’s with 19 and Greene King with 15. There's a well documented issue with chains in that they usually try to stamp a corporate brand onto all locations sometimes without a care for the origins of the pub or building, but I think I can happily report that maybe the days of someone like Watneys coming in a painting everything that moves “Watney Red” have now gone. Most of the chains still try to do a uniform decor job but I saw many fine examples where this had been done around and in harmony with the history of the pub and it was actually quite comforting to know that some of our very valuable pubs are safely in the hands on such caring companies. Want an example? Well how about the Ye Olde Mitre Inn which Fullers are obviously lavishing care and attention on, or the Argyll Arms whose fantastic ceilings and huge mirrors are polished lovingly by Nicholson’s. And in that analysis we see the two companies who I felt were doing the best jobs from the 4 majors. Now if Taylor Walker took on a “no blaring music policy” and Greene King a much more “extensive guest beer policy” then they could possibly catch up! 

But if we really want to give out prizes for the best places, then we need to "GO" back in time.....so let me take you on a journey......a magical journey....just close your eyes......(to be continued)

Mayfair

It somehow should have ended with much more of a bang and a pop, perhaps even a flash of fireworks, a ripped t-shirt and a night spent in the gutter. Well maybe not, but the final property square seemed to come and go with not much more celebration than a regular evening at the pub, which let’s face it, is still a cause for celebration. Mind you it was another lengthy absence since that last tour, a whole 4 weeks if I'm not mistaken and whilst these longer intervals do seem to have resulted in a better than average attendance, on the momentum side of things, the tour seems to have limped and staggered to its near end on dirty and bruised knees, wheezing like an asthmatic dog.

But let's not get too down about it all, we should still celebrate the 9 hardy souls who were up for one final regular outing, especially as we saw the welcome return of No-Nickname Michael, still on the wagon even if he does look like he's clinging on for dear life (joke!) and after much persuading Aussie Pete who's month long abstinence of anything remotely approaching fun still had 4 days to run. 

Even the most forgetful of Monopoly students must know that the final property square on the board is Mayfair, the most expensive property and that's something that hasn't changed since the game was invented as this area of London is apparently still the most expensive place to live in Europe, never mind just the UK. Again those with a passing knowledge of London geography will know that Mayfair isn't a street or a station but rather an imprecise area, tucked in the corner of Park Lane and Piccadilly. There's a plaque in Stanhope Row which explains that this was the site of the oldest cottage in Mayfair which I guess is a good a place as any to concentrate the tour on. 
 

The tube journey to Green Park was uneventful apart from the fact that Gemma and Nicole, the ever-dependables from Pay Roll, bumped into George, a fellow Pay Roll colleague who upon being encouraged to forgo all thoughts of a quiet night in, finishing a dissertation, showed all the strength and fortitude of a jelly fish and crumbled all far too easily to join the tour before it shut ups shop forever.

 

Outside Henry's 

Managing to herd the unruly bunch of cats out of Green Park station we were soon into the 1st pub of the evening as it was just round the corner on Piccadilly itself. Henry's Cafe Bar is a chain of similarly named venues across the country it seems and this particular one seemed to be very popular with a noisy bustling crowd thronging the place inside. Still service wasn't too bad and with pints of Henry's IPA (not sure if this was the well known Wadworth brew or something rebadged especially for the pub) for Charlie and I, halves for Big-J, Gemma and Nicole, vodka and coke for George (she later claimed all beer is foul (!)) Bud for Buddy Rob (quelle surprise!) and nasty fizzy water for Pete our only job was to try to locate the Cask Marque certificate. No dice on that front and with the staff whizzing past clutching plates piled high with all manner of deep fried goodies we had to admit defeat and leave sans le scan.

Inside Henry's

The next three pubs were all in a row along Shepherd Street and thanks to my awesome map reading (no one else was doing it people) we made it to number three in the row via the Japanese and Panama Embassies. Despite cries to the fact it was spitting with rain I forced the tour back down to what should have been pub number one, the Kings Head on the corner of Shepherd Street and White Horse Street.

The Kings Head - No, not the bloke at the front!

This is a very nice and cosy Taylor Walker place with low black beams and a country pub feel about the place. The pub was full but not bursting and we managed to get the order in (pints of Iron Maiden themed Trooper from Robinson Brewery for the ale drinkers - same again for the non ale drinkers) and find a place to stand that didn't cause too much of a blockage. We also managed to locate both the certificate and Spikey Haired Ed and No-Nickname Michael who due to work commitments were following on behind.

Pints of Trooper - Run to the Hills! (or something like that)

Now, I do have to explain the main topic of conversation of the night which I hope isn’t as a direct result of something that happened on the last tour. During the last evening out I was challenged to play the game of “Snog, Marry, Avoid” or rather the version that the Pay Roll girls had cooked up which was “Snog, Marry or Push off a Cliff”. Perhaps I should never answer these things as honestly as I always do but I really hope it wasn’t the fact that I declared that I felt Nicole would make damn fine marriage material that resulted in her resigning from her job and planning to move to New Zealand! But I’ll still be buggered if she thinks she’s getting the cat in the divorce! 

Number two pub in the row of three was the Market Tavern, an M&B owned place which, for those of you interested in spotting blue plaques, was the former home of East Enders actress Wendy Richard. The place had a much classier feel than the Queen Vic and it was beers all round again with Adnams seasonal Fat Sprat whilst Rob had to do with a bottle of Peruvian Cusqueña and George was downing the vodka and cokes like no tomorrow (hey, sod that dissertation!) We were much more cramped in this place and I unnerving ended up by the door to the gents which was signalled by a life sized poster of Michelangelo’s David, not necessarily the exact place you want to stand. The certificate was also nearby though and even though it was showing an expired date I managed to get a scan.

 

The Markey Tavern - Ed squirms out by taking the photo

Pub number three in the row, the one we'd originally arrived at first was the ShepherdTavern, another Taylor Walker place but this time decked out in their garish red paint job that they seem to do from time to time. The beer selection was also pretty garish with only a choice of London Pride and Sharp’s Doombar on offer. There were old Cask Marque certificates a plenty behind the bar but all of them the version without the QR code which meant our mini-run of scans came to a crushing end. The Thursday night crowds looked to be thinning out slightly though as we found a nice bug space to stand in. With the paucity of beer choice I chose London Pride for Charlie, Nicole and myself, the only three still sticking with beer. Big-J and Gemma moved on to coke, their excuses being a bike ride home and headaches (in that order) and we all took a big laugh at Ed who was ID’ed whilst buying his pint of fizz.

Useless certificates in the Shepherd's Tavern

The final place was back towards Piccadilly again and yet another Taylor Walker place, The Rose and Crown on Old Park Lane - This time the beer selection was even worse with only a choice of Old Golden Hen and some bizarre ciders, which Charlie immediately partook of. With Gemma and Big-J still sticking with cokes I was on my ale-lonesome especially when Nicole raised my eyebrows by asking me "to surprise" her - Perhaps the bottle of Grolsch wasn't quite what she had in mind and this was confirmed by the way she quickly swapped it for Ed's pint of Estrella. At least the pub did have the certificate out though, although it was oddly positioned behind the front door meaning each scanner was at risk of being crushed as the scan was taken.

No photos of the Rose and Crown, sorry. How about Ed, Rob and Pete outside the Shepherd's then? 

So I'd love to end by saying how the tourists had brought along a top hat and monocle for me to wear as they carried me triumphantly to Trafalgar Square (or somewhere equally notable) but they didn't and as I say, the evening, although very enjoyable, petered out in a late train home and a bloody bus replacement service resulting in far too few hours sleep. 

But this is not the end! Oh no! Firstly I need to write up a culmination piece on the tour as a whole and then finally, and I'm sure it's been noted by the Monopoly aficionados amongst you that we really do have one final square to complete yet as we haven't actually completed the GO square. The idea is in the bag it's just the date and the places we need to confirm and of course to invite all previous tourists along to celebrate. Perhaps then the top hat and monocle will make an appearance?

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited = 208

Will offers of a cocktail night and tea at the Ritz get the decision reversed? = I doubt it.

Would you like a Top Hat and Monocle? = Is anyone listening? Yes please!

Next Stop = Go

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

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