84.
South London, Easter weekend 2005, Friday 25th to
On the run up to Easter 2005, Richard
Bradshaw and I had exchanged e-mails to organise a
bit of drinking over this period. One crawl that we thought might be worth
doing was an expedition to Caterham on the 407 bus on
Good Friday which is treated as a Saturday in the world of bus timetabling
because Ken Livingston is in charge. I met Rich in Sutton for the 407, and we
opted to break our journey at the Plough, Beddington.
This is shabby Young's pub, large but irritatingly with far too many people
congregated around the bar. Although not dire, it did not score well in any
category whatsoever - the beer was very lacklustre
for example.
Deciding not to linger, we drank up and
got back on the bus all the way to Caterham, where
our first stop was the reasonable Valley. Rich sang 'Into the Valley' by The Skids as we went in, a band that
records the acceptable face of punk. The clientele were a little higher class
than in the Plough, and the beer was better - Young's Bitter, London Pride and
Broadside. Caterham's second pub was the lively Old
Surrey Hounds, although its interior was not quite as fresh as the Valley. Very average in all respects - London Pride, Young's Bitter, Abbot.
Caterham is spread out, and we could not be bothered
to walk to Caterham-on-the-Hill, so we boarded a
train that was about to leave the station.
Alighting at Purley,
we went into the Jolly Farmers which is surprisingly not a gay pub, although
wasn't particularly nice. Once again an extremely mediocre pub, selling
Bombardier and Greene King IPA, its only point of note being the fact that the
urinal cake in the toilet is green. Elliot's is a shop converted into a wine
bar, and is yet again somewhat mediocre, although it does at least have London
Pride on draught. Rich and I sat on some stools at the side watching some
underage
Having had enough of Purley,
we got a bus up to South Croydon and the Swan and
Sugar Loaf of typical South London boozer
architecture. The pub is a bit tatty and has a high ceiling, a long bar and a
row of booths against the wall, and occupies a prime site where a road forks.
The selection of beers was just as tatty and I ended up having to drink lager
which was a shame, so Rich and I retreated to a safe distance, halves in hand,
to spectate on the karaoke put on for the shabby
punters drinking there. One tone-deaf woman tried to perform Sinead O'Connor's
'Nothing Compares 2 U', and performed very badly. This is a song that I have
never really liked (though given the current preponderance of shite in the charts I have now mellowed to it somewhat), so
it was mildly amusing to hear it butchered in this way. However, as I mentioned
to Richard, two wrongs don't make a right...
There is a small knot of pubs in this area
near South Croydon station. Three excellent barmaids
were serving at the Folly just up the road, a bar that had some bouncers
serving, though one wonders why as its pine clad interior was pretty empty. The
staffing arrangements have given the bar a mark higher than it might otherwise
get, for there was no beer on and lots of chavs
hustling their way around the joint, factors which do not cut much ice with me.
Up the road slightly is the friendly (and
busy!) Croham Arms, a far cry from the Folly, with a
more middle-aged clientele, plush interior and possibly a hint of the Irish to
it. Had it been slightly less busy, it would have been extremely pleasant.
Nevertheless, it was still OK. The beer choices were interesting - London
Pride, Harvey's Sussex, Adnams Bitter. We however
wanted a seat so left for the final pub of the group, the Stag and Hounds. This
was a quiet boozer, reasonably smart inside, quite dark, with an island bar and
a barmaid of presumably Eastern European descent serving. Moderate London Pride
was the only beer available.
After finishing our halves, Rich and I
popped across the road at 10.23 for last orders at the Folly. Alas, the doormen
refused entry, even though there was no-one at the bar. Not being arsed to argue, we went back into the Stag and Hounds where
we were pleasantly surprised that time was not called until 11pm as the foreign
barmaid was presumably unaware of the archaic and to be quite honest absolutely
pointless licensing laws that still persist in our nanny state. In the event,
we managed to squeeze two more pints in before finally getting the 407 back to
Sutton. Remarkably, I had no urge to get off the bus for a piss until the
correct stop, perhaps because we were so engrossed in a conversation about how
Wayne Rooney was exactly the sort of thug that summed up the UK today, but how
I'd marginally prefer to punch Cristiano Ronaldo in the face because he is smugger and greasier (and
because he is less likely to fight back).
Two days later, I met up with Richard
again, this time at Andy and Christie Pidgley's house
in Dorking for what was originally planned as a few afternoon ales. It is a
very nice house, complete with resident child, but from my viewpoint, the most
outstanding feature was the bar in the attic which is pictured at the end of
this paragraph. Andy had commented that the attic had already been converted,
but owing to its unconventional shape, was not suited to being used as a bedroom.
Therefore it had been converted to a bar, complete with glass fronted fridge,
dart board and shelves of authentic bar paraphernalia. Andy reported that it
was possible to achieve this effect with some effort and not ridiculous cost. I
consumed an out-of-date can of Special Brew in homage.
|
At about 8pm, Richard and I left Chez Pidgley, along with David Brown who conveniently (but
perhaps on retrospect unfortunately) was driving. This meant that we could pay
a few visits to some more pubs on the way home. A few yards up the road was the Lincoln Arms Hotel. It is a sedate enough local bar
with comfortable seats, quite large actually, but on Easter Sunday no-one was
really drinking there. Spitfire, London Pride and Adnam’s
were on. There is also a very good trough in the gents. In Mickleham,
there is an expensive, foody, but quite Olde Worlde pub called the
Running Horses. It is really an inn because there is accommodation I suppose. Lots of beams and a higgledy-piggledy bar. In terms of beer
the moderately pleasing range of Spitfire, London Pride, Young's Bitter and Adnam’s were on.
I expect that there is a very nice garden somewhere at this pub.
By the time we had reached the idiotically
titled Leg of Mutton and Cauliflower in Ashtead, I
had started to lose the plot. Before I descended into a state of swearing, I
did note that the pub's alright, quite a lot of room
and comfortable areas, and the Tim Taylor Landlord was very good, as I imagine
the London Pride was also. Time was marching on, and the final stop of the day
for last orders was the Brewery Inn across the road in Ashtead.
As I recall this was another quite formulaic foody
pub, a little like the Harrow in Cheam. Not much else to say really. I have a
feeling that their
The next day I felt surprisingly chipper,
and so after a walk on Headley Heath with the parentals,
rewarded myself with a half in the Cock Inn at Headley. I think that this pub
has been refitted since I last paid it a visit, and it affords good outside
views over the Heath. Inside is a bit foody, but
there are a number of comfy chairs for those waiting for food or opting to go
out on the piss instead.
Much later on in the evening I met up with
Richard yet again for a few quiet ales in the North Cheam area. In Wetherspoon’s that evening we had a reasonable choice
that included Bateman's XXXB, Cain’s, Spitfire and all the usual Wetherspoon’s suspects. They weren't particularly
well kept however, but still damned cheap. The North Cheam branch is probably
the most basic Wetherspoons in the land and I am sure
that it has not changed much since it opened about 10 years ago, and still has
about the same crowd of a few scattered chavs and
some old buggers (though I haven't seen 'Half-of-Scotch-Bitter Man' for ages).
Seeing as the ultra scummy Queen Victoria
was closed (which was a shame as it is always good to rub shoulders with its
clientele once in a while), we made our way to the equally disappointing Tone's
Bar which is basically a shop unit that sells beer, only not hand pumped beer
any more (did it ever?). The interior is incredibly spartan
with a scattering of stools and high tables around and about, and about a dozen
people who had obviously been drinking all weekend. Pleasingly it scored
8¼ out of 25. We made swift work of our halves and headed for the Old
Drill.
The Old Drill used to be one of the most
expensive bars in the district, though its prices have plateaued
a little since those days. It is a reasonable pub, situated on a corner with a
locals bar down one arm and some more cosy seats leading
to a restaurant down the other arm, and is fitted in dark wood. They had very
average beer in the shape of Courage Best and Special, so I opted for a shandy. Because on a bank holiday no-one has a fucking clue
what is going on with regards to licensing in this country, we were denied last
orders at the North End Tavern, Worcester Park. However a sensible man who
looked a bit of a wide-boy was aware of the laws served me a half of London
Pride at Rumours, Worcester Park. Again this is a bar
situated in a shop unit, but unlike Tone's, is quite friendly and has a
reasonable welcoming clientele. All in all though, it is nothing special and
the toilets need attention. During a few minutes pause waiting for a bus, Rich
and I reflected on our weekend's fun; after Rich boarded the 213, I resolved to
go on the wagon for a couple of days, which at the time of writing, I can
report that I finally got round to doing, about a week later...
Dan
Lovegrove
dan@doctor-lovegrove.com
Last updated 3rd April 2005.