1. Circle line, Saturday 15 December 2001

Involving Messr. D. Wacey, E. Lewis, and G. Buckley, with interference from P. Cooper. This crawl was the historic time when the Pub Scoring Marks were initially thrashed out although they have been subsequently reworked. Orginally this had been intended as a complete Circle Line circuit, but in fact turned out to be a measly 7 pubs. Still, a good way to kick such a thing off.

After much pissing around and lateness [mainly to do with some awkward sods in the Shepherd’s Bush KFC], Messrs. David Wacey and Edward Lewis arrived at Liverpool Street station to meet Mr. Graham Buckley off the train. He was late, because he had got pissed up the previous day, so we decided to go for a pint. The pub on Liverpool Street station was avoided because it was full of Spurs fans, so we had a look along Bishopsgate.

Woodin’s Shades was the first port of call where three pints of expensive ale were purchased. The pub itself was a bit like a small East End boozer, and had pokey downstairs toilets. Buckley rang up and arrived, so we headed back to the station for some refreshment at Hamilton Halls, now devoid of hooligans. Standing around a high table, we could not fail to marvel at its Michaelangelo-esque ceiling fresco.

After arseing around the Moorgate area because the pubs were not open on Saturday afternoon, we found the Masque Haunt at Old Street. Four pints of Orkney Skull Splitter ensued, but Wetherspoons protocol demanded they had to be ordered, and served, as eight halves. Crisps were fetched from the basement and took approximately 10 minutes to appear.

Retracing our steps a bit lead us to the Betsey Trotwood at Farringdon, a pub that looked worse than it was, especially with its shell-suited publican. But fine ales were had, and the jukebox, though not working, showed vision. A further lengthy traipse followed, to King’s Cross station, and a rather crowded Cooper’s station bar, of very artificial nature. The wheels were shortly to fall off our plan, since we managed to blag our way into Phil Cooper’s flat for a party.

There was time, however, for a couple more ales. Hot footing it out of the station, we happened upon the Jeremy Bentham, a rather poor and underpopulated grotty pub mostly dominated by a long bar and some scattered seats. Crap toilets also. Moving swiftly on, we went to Victoria for some solids [many McDonalds and KFCs], and washed it down with some appalling beer in an appalling hole of a pub, the Victoria Tavern on the station concourse. To be fair, it is virtually just a hatch which dispenses fizzy piss, so it was never going to score well. Wonder where one goes to urinate in there though? Probably the Fosters keg...

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Dan Lovegrove
dan@doctor-lovegrove.com

Last updated 26th July 2002.