Richard Bradshaw had suggested that it
might be quite a good idea to perform a pub crawl based on the route of the
zero emissions fuel cell bus which was running on route 25. Unfortunately,
these only run on weekday mornings to a supplementary timetable, which is of
absolutely no use to people like us who wanted to use this revolutionary method
of transport to get us from pub to pub. Instead we had to brave the internal
combustion engine powered vehicles, which can sometimes catch fire, which
apparently happened later that evening to a bendy bus on the 436 (again) as
demonstrated in the picture below. As we will find out, it was just as well
that I was not on that particular vehicle in the diminished state of sobriety
that I had managed to get myself in during the latter stages of this crawl...
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This was not the only transport related
hiccup that was experienced during the day. I had started if not allowing shed
loads of time, at least allowing enough time to get to where I was supposed to
be going or so I thought. However, on the Oxford Tube, everyone takes an
inordinately long amount of time to pay and board, so time was already being
lost. We stopped twice on the hard shoulder of the M40, once for no apparent
reason and the second to gawp at an earlier Oxford Tube which had packed up.
After a bit more pissing around, we arrived at Hillingdon,
at which point our female drivertrix said that she
felt like shit and could not go on, but luckily, after a bit more pissing
around, a kind passenger [who I presume was a qualified bus driver] took over.
Things took an even bigger turn for the worst when the Rozzers
decided that it would be quite a good idea to close central London on account
of some jumped up minority anti-war protest going on. Stupid
twats, this cost me valuable minutes to my quest. At least the pro war lot don't go on demos. Anyway, enough of these awkward sods,
and it was time to get on the Underground, and a travelcard
was purchased at Shepherds Bush Central Line station which was to prove very useful
for the rest of the day.
I finally met Richard, about 30 minutes
late at the Argyll Arms at Oxford Circus which was busy as usual. A plan was
hatched involving a trip to the furthest extreme of route 25 in Ilford, allowing us to survey the pubs on the way and
select the best ones. The Argyll Arms was done just before the Toyah gig last year and hasn't changed - it's a lively
cramped Victorian looking pub with several small rooms. It does however do a
bit of beer, including Bass, London Pride and Adnams,
although there may have been more, but it was off when the order was placed.
Crossing the road, we boarded a Routemaster on the 8
for a few stops to marvel at this 1950s technology, before changing to a 25 at Holborn. The ensuing trip was torture, stop-start, ease
forward, then heavy on the brakes, full of people.
After an hour, Richard looked bilious, and decided to alight for a vom. Feeling better for this, we strode gently over the
road to a nearby pub, the Rising Sun at Woodgrange
Park. This was a bit of a fleapit and had very few redeeming features, being a
shabby, high-ceilinged boozer. We eased ourselves into the day ahead with a
couple of halves of Toby, for there was no real beer, but at least they were
cheap. Hepburn was playing on the jukebox too.
We decided not to use the bus for the next
leg of the trip and got some fresh air walking up the road, into the William
the Conqueror at Manor Park. This, at least in atmosphere, was a little better
than the previous place, and actually had proper Spitfire on. However, it
tasted like piss. This pub was also a bit shabby, but much cosier,
and had a lower ceiling with wooden beams, but not olde
worlde - more like Clarets at Cheam perhaps. We
didn't enjoy our stay here much, so pressed on to Ilford,
and past this bike shop, where the proprieter had
ingeniously hung a bike on the wall. Actually, I can't remember where this shop
was - maybe it was before this pub.
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Anyway, bike shops aside, we went to Ilford, and just on the other side of the flyover, we found
the Rose and Crown. Again the quality of the beer was not up to much, but at
least there was some real Adnams Broadside on. Big
Country were on the jukebox, and Richard and I
reminisced about Stuart Adamson, formerly of that band, who hanged himself. The
pub's interior was very average, quite wooden looking, a bit like a branch of O'Neills or something. We filled our stay by watching
Arsenal v.
We just missed a 25, so popped into the
Black Horse Sports Bar for a swift half. This place had a hint of the Irish,
but was dire as it seemed to be in a very spartan,
pine clad shop unit. Some folky music was emanating
from the sound system, and the punters weren't up to much, so we made short
work of our halves of lager - there was less than no proper beer. On the
outward leg, we had noted the Earl of Essex at Woodgrange
Park [below], and commented that it was potentially the most awful pub on the
crawl. We came back to it, and true, it was bad, but not dreadful. It was an
enormous boozer with an ornate high ceiling. The bar was partitioned, but the
partitions did not attain full height. Scattered shabby tables and chairs were
dotted around. These were exclusively populated by old men with betting slips
watching horse racing. Beer - Courage Best and Directors - was poured by a
squashed Fatima Whitbread lookalike, who also had
access to decent bar snacks. All in all, we have been in far worse places.
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A brief bus ride took us to the Live and
Let Live at Forest Gate. Quite a small, smart pub with back
and front bars, and a solid local clientele. But there was no proper
beer and the bar was crowded, so we made our stay a short one. Disappointing
really, as it had potential. The centre of Stratford beckoned next after
another short bus ride. A rare, quaint pub was the first stop, being the Edward
VII, with low beams and cosy wooden interior, a
little like the Lamb and Flag in Oxford. We drank our beer in the slightly
newer looking back room. Noticeably, there were people who in general you'd
like to go drinking with. A good selection of ale greeted us - Adnams Best, Old Speckled Hen, Bass, Nethergate IPA - and was reasonable in quality. We
also noted a good array of bar snacks. This was also about the first pub that
we'd have been happy to stay in.
Next door was the Swan, a pub with a South
African flavour, as will be seen by the bundles of
biltong in the photo below. Again, it was quite a good pub, though with a much
lighter interior and more modern. Beer choices were Greene King IPA, Abbot and
Young's Bitter. A huge bottle of Galliano was also
noted. Once again, we could probably have tolerated staying here for the
evening.
Final central
On the outskirts of Stratford is the
Builders Arms, which is a bit of a toilet. I think it was a pub in a quite
circular 1960s building. Needless to say, there was no beer, but the lager was
very good value and we enjoyed it during our brief stay whilst having a look at
the big screen TV. I get the feeling that this is not the sort of place that
you would want to go to late in the evening... Having had enough of that, a
swift bus ride took us to the Bow Bells at Bow. This seemed like a good salt of
the earth East End boozer, busy and quite welcoming. A decent range of
well-kept beers greeted us. I had the Battersea Bitter, but could also have had
London Pride, Adnams, Lowenbrau or Toby. Again quite a cosy pub with a good
atmosphere. The Little Driver at Bow was notable because it had a
vintage dartboard. However, there doesn't seem to be much else distinctive
about it - there was certainly no proper beer which was a disappointment. Our
barmaid seemed to have an interest in our pub crawl though which was nice. Decent enough for a couple of quiet beers. I have just
remembered that the interior was quite wooden, rather than plush, but OK.
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For some reason we went into Soma at Stepney Green, which on the outside looked a bit trendy.
However, we were pleasantly surprised by the interior. Indeed we even had a
reasonable choice of beer - Bombardier, Red Stripe, Pilsner Urquell.
The Bombardier was tasting good - a wonderful
achievement for beer that is traditionally shite. We
stood at the bar whilst we were there, and engaged the barman in conversation
about the pubs we had been to. Soma was one of the better ones, so 'big up' to
him. Richard was also very pleased with himself as he was given a free lemon to
take away. One minor downer is that I was given a pint as opposed to a half,
which I had to consume all too quickly. A little way away is the Blind Beggar
at Whitechapel, made famous by the Kray twins. As you can see, there is a very big portrait of
them on the back wall. The pub actually seemed rather good and appeared not to
be dodgy. The Krays must like a spot of real ale -
the choice was quite good, being Brakspear, Old
Speckled Hen, Courage Best and Directors, although I think the Brakspear had been on for a bit too long. We drank our beer
and admired the portraits whilst sitting in a couple of old bastard chairs and
listening to Wonderwall by Oasis.
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Seventeenth pub of the day was the Black
Bull at Whitechapel, again a pleasant surprise. It
had many elements that set it out. The bar snacks were good, and included
cockles. The range of beer was very good - Nethergate
Suffolk County, Old Growler and Augustine, together with McEwans
lager and Whitbread. As for the interior, it was quite light and smart and we
enjoyed our stay perched on a couple of stools near the bar. The toilet also
affords views of the nearby station.
Time was ticking by, so we went into the
nearby station to get a train to Tower Hill or somewhere like that. A nearby
pub was the Cheshire Cheese at Fenchurch Street. There was a private party
upstairs and I think that this was the only reason that the pub was open as it
was empty downstairs. Everything about it was ordinary except their only beer, London Pride was distinctly below average. Having said that it was a pleasant enough place to catch up on the
football scores. Somehow we made our way to the Princess Louise at Holborn which I had been told was splendid but which was in
fact a little disappointing. True, the fixtures and fittings were magnificent
Edwardian efforts, and it was all very sumptuous, but the rest was decidedly
average, and this includes the beer which was restricted to Samuel Smiths Old
Brewery Bitter, though fortunately at excellent prices. Even so, the pub was
certainly a lot better than many we'd already done that day.
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Finally, it was time to make our way to
the Swan at Stockwell to catch up with Mark Giles and
his pals who were also out on the piss but not at as an advanced stage as we
were. The route to Stockwell took us via Euston for
some reason but we eventually made it there at about 10.45 and managed to get
past the doormen and pay 7 quid for entry. The Swan is a good pub, heaving and
rough around the edges, and you can get a free chicken and chips if you present
your entry ticket, which was needed as we had not had many solids that day. We
found Mark et al. which was good, and
enjoyed their company over a few glasses of snakebite and black. It was
excellent and certainly did the job and I was feeling quite tipsy very soon. I
don't recall much else with the Swan, but if you are a little more sober, it is
very enjoyable, with a good atmosphere. Good tunes are also played. Richard
left at about 1.30 and Mark at about 2, and I should have done so also but for
some reason decided to make sure that I got my money's worth for my entry fee, though
I think that I wisely abstained from more beer.
Unfortunately, at 3am, where it should
have been plain sailing, I managed to get on the wrong night bus and ended up
in Peckham at about 3.45am, whence I had to collect
another night bus in the most dodgiest of
surroundings. I had reached Charing Cross, at which
point I had an overwhelming urge to leave the bus for a piss and did so in a
nearby alleyway. Fortunately, despite a longer than expected wait for a final
night bus, I managed to intercept the 5.10am Oxford Tube which whisked me back
to Oxford, and the final leg of my trip, now in the light again, but in the
pissing rain at about 6.45 up Banbury Road, swearing
to myself as I cycled. After a bit of a snooze, I felt that I was going to have
a day of self-loathing, but no, Nick Gardiner rang up and asked me if I wanted
to have a couple of pints of Guinness at the Rose and Crown which I duly did,
saving me from a thoroughly miserable afternoon...
Dan
Lovegrove
dan@doctor-lovegrove.com
Last updated 4th April 2004.