Liverpool Street Station

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

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

 

Liverpool Street Station and a rare picture of Spikey Haired Ed

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

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

 

A crowded Hamilton Hall - Note pathetic awning

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

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

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

 

Merchant of Bishopsgate

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

 

The most boring pumps in the world.

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

 

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

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

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

Crests of the former railway companies

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

 

The Lord Aberconway - Buddy Rob leads the way.

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

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

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

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

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

 

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 186

 

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

 

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

 

Next Stop = Chance #3

Bond Street

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

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

 

Exactly what it says on the tin.

 

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

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

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

 

Not compulsory to "adopt the position" inside.

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

The Duke of York as photographed from inside Bonds

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

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

Iron Duke - BGC with cast iron constitution.

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

Cheers BGC! We'll bring grapes and Lucozade.

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

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

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

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

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

Number of Cask Marque Pubs visited  = 180

 

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

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

Next Stop = Liverpool Street Station