Sometimes the beginning of February can offer a glimpse into Spring, but on this February Sunday, the crawl that Richard Bradshaw, Avril and I undertook was in bitterly cold and damp conditions, and Richard was coming down with something. Still, we soldiered on and met up at Waterloo for a customary start in the White Hart which was its usual trendy self. Given the early time of starting, we were earlier than the late lunch brigade but later than the brunchers so managed to get a table. Beer offerings were Old Engine Oil, Leeds Monsoon and Woodford Norfolk Castle. It was quite predictable that we would go to the King's Arms, better known to us as the pub with the Amish Cowboy barmaid, for some of their excellent beer. It did not disappoint and a wide range was available: Orkney Skull Splitter, Worthington Red Shield, Clarence Smoked Red, Fredrich's 175, St George, Urban Dusk, Reverend James, Adnam's of some sort and Ale of Kings.

A pub that I had not visited in a long time is the Hole in the Wall at Waterloo. Misfortune struck on the way here as Avril slipped over under a particularly dank railway bridge, but we picked ourselves up and recuperated in the smaller and cosier front bar of the pub which has some nice bench seating along the front window. This is definitely the more pleasant place to sit and drink as the larger back bar is a bit more like a student union. Note however that the main beer selection is in the back bar, so at least go and have a look in there when you enter. Beer selection is good - Growler Hound Dog, Oxford BBB, Oxford Pride of Oxford, Young's Bitter and Special, Doom Bar, Cottage Goldrush, Greene King IPA and Hogsback TEA - so that's three excellent pubs within a short distance at Waterloo.

It had started to rain and our umbrella had started to disintegrate, so we battled through the tourists to the Southbank Centre, home of Melvyn Bragg and The Southbank Show no doubt. According to Richard, there were a number of bars that could be used but unfortunately, after an exhaustive search, we discovered that all but one of them were closed, so we had to sit in the main bar downstairs, rather than the ones upstairs with better views, and rub shoulders with various groups on days out and middle class modern parents trying to educate Crispin and Alice in the ways of culture. Despite all this and the lack of beer (I had Guinness), it actually wasn't that bad and was a rather interesting place to drink. Some people it seemed had just wandered in and were intent on spending all day in there and not actually buy anything at all. We on the other hand purchased an expensive umbrella because it was still raining outside.

The precipitation continued on the other side of the bridge and so we decided to seek refuge in the stereotypically touristy Sherlock Holmes which had a lot of people inside who were also seeking such refuge, but not seasoned pub goers like us and so not quite sure what to do with themselves on a wet Winter Sunday afternoon. We stood at the bar and drank up reasonably quickly. For such a tourist trap, the beer selection was actually quite extensive although not very visionary - Greene King IPA, London Glory, Old Speckled Hen, Abbot and their own 'Sherlock Holmes' beer which we wisely avoided.

A bit of a walk followed towards Soho, as Carnaby Street was another area that we wanted to crack. The Glasshouse Stores is one of the many Samuel Smith pubs in this area. We have been there before, but not sat upstairs and as it was mid-afternoon and the downstairs area was closed, this was to be our only option. The pub is a little bit inconveniently long and thin, but it makes up for this with some pleasingly traditional fixtures and fittings, and some very nice green upholstered high backed stools at the bar. Much closer to Carnaby Street is another Sam Smith's, the Red Lion, which we had not been to before. This was a far less grand pub, more like a monastery or something, with low lighting and a very understated exterior. Simple fixtures and fittings with bench seats around the periphery and a few low tables and stools. A very nice place for a quiet pint I thought.

There are many Blue Posts in London and there is one on Kingley Street, a few steps up from the Red Lion. It is a very average boozer, suitable for tourists, with large windows and a 'safe' and comfortable interior. It's appealing to everyone and will always have lots of passing trade from locals and foreigners, for example the pair of rich girls who had obviously just been shopping and were labouring over a mineral water and contemplating something to eat, alike so doesn't really have to try that hard. Nothing wrong with it, but the beer selection is not extensive. Just Abbot and Greene King IPA when we visited.

Richard's cold/cough was beginning to catch up with him by the time we reached the Clachan at the North end of Kingley Street. This is another one from the Nicholson's stable that sets itself up as a traditional pub primarily for the tourist. As it goes, they do a pretty good job and although the authenticity might be questionable, they certainly try and the result is a comfortable and pleasant pub. They also take some pride in their beers and the range on this occasion was especially good - Petersfield Porter, St Peters Mild, Leeds Monsoon, Adnams Lighthouse, London Pride, Trawlerboys Best, Windsor and Eton Star and Garter, Star of the Garter, Squirrel London Porter, Nicholsons Pale and Thwaites Nutty Black. After maybe a second round which allowed us to gawp at a barman who bore a passing resemblance to Adel Taraabt, Richard had to leave so Avril and I adjourned to the upstairs dining room where we were served by a very harassed waiter. We don't remember much of the meal however and indeed the difficulty involved in finding our way to and from the toilet forced our hand and we decided to head back to Banbury. There was one further stop however: the Windsor Castle at Marylebone for one more pint although the primary purpose of our visit was to use the toilets. Once again, the pub was up to its excellent standards although by that stage I can't even remember whether the nice barman was on or not. By this stage it was definitely time to wobble back to the station, and then home, and thank our lucky stars that we'd had the foresight to take the Monday off.