£4.90 for a small piece of cod doesn’t sound bad at most chippies where the definition of “small” is roughly the size of your head. There is no ambiguity regarding size at the Seashell.
Getting fucked by strangers like this still wouldn’t be so bad if it was just done well. But, this tiny morsel had absolutely no flavour to speak of. I could have saved the ten minutes waiting for this to fry by just eating the takeaway box. This opinion is shared by others and seems to go back a few years.
The interior of the shop is nice, though.
The staff at the Globe Craft Beer And Ale House are fantastic, knowledgeable and attentive. The selection of keg craft beers is impressive and while only one of the three ale pumps was settled it was Purity Ubu so even at £4.40 life was good. Besides, I had just been denied entry to the Lord’s Tavern (suits were required attire because the grounds were hosting Middlesex v Yorkshire County Cricket Championship Final Day) so this should have been a good alternative.
Should have been, but by the time I harvested my beer and found a piece of wall to lean against I was surrounded by yet more suits, the sort filled with investment banker dickheads.
Oh, well, it was one of the A to Z runs, anyway, and this was already a fallback stop. Drink up, move on, don’t let it bring ye down.
Last week’s successful ‘A’ run of the London A to Z Runs saw me planning a unified theme this time; but, I didn’t really have any time to seek out a manageable sized run for Battle Themed Pub Names (I was thinking things like Albion, Maida Vale, Alma, etc) or any number of other single subject B‘s. So, I stuck with what has worked once, a Bunch of random B‘s.
Alighting at the Baker Street Bus Stop, I trotted around the corner to change clothes and grab a Beer at the Beehive which, sadly, had suffered a Blaze and has been Burned-out.
Reorienting, I commenced the run in earnest but got drawn toward the Lord’s Tavern. Knowing I would never be appropriately dressed for the Home of Cricket, itself, this was always going to have to be the nearest I would get to the pitch. Why ‘B‘? Well, Bat and Ball, not to mention the Bails. However, the County Cricket Championships were underway and they had a Bouncer at the door. Barred from this venue, I invoked a Back-Up plan and doubled back a few hundred meters to the Globe pub (Bard, indeed).
I have never even considered imitating the Beatles on the cover of Abbey Road, but there are countless Bastards who do and you can always just photograph them. With any luck, one of them will be struck by a delivery van while you are there.
Turning off Abbey Road a little north of the studios (and all that ugliness in the zebra crossing), you can take Belsize Road to the Priory (which, filled with us laity, is more of a Beguinage, write-up soon). Not far along at Kilburn High Street, the Old Bell (write-up soon) served me my last Beverage before the tube trip back to the Border Country.
Next time: let’s “C” what I Come up with. Leaning toward Crime as a single theme….
The photos are blurry because it had gotten dark during my run between the Militia and the Fig Tree. I went in and it was disappointingly modern: this was the old Police Station, according to the upstanding local lads I was drinking with at the immediately preceding pub (although for the life of me I don’t know where they might have gleaned THAT info).
Busting to piss, I found the gents down the 13 Steps and jettisoned my cargo. I was putting on my sweatshirt when two dudes noisily exited a single shitter stall. They didn’t seem the type for the one explanation and seemed ENTIRELY the type for the other but without looking under the door earlier I’ll never know if Schroedinger’s Cat was gay or snorting coke (and, of course, Quantum Theory would have it that both were simultaneously true).
Refreshed, I returned to the bar and got a pint of Stella as this seemed to be the sort of place you either drink Stella or get a bottle of wine to go with that grand, Greene King cuisine on offer. I made a note at the time that you are probably more likely to get into a fight here than at the Militia but that this is the sort of pub Greene King would prefer to operate at a loss while a community asset like the Militia goes under. Pitiful on so many levels.
Two guys that looked to be up to no good dove through a gate as I was photographing the Militia Canteen ahead of entering. I had been running since the Vine and kept missing my turns so came up a street I hadn’t previously scouted. Sweaty and out of breath despite wearing skimpy shorts and a t-shirt in the cool early Autumn evening, I met the landlord across the bar. He didn’t speak. I nodded toward a tap and requested, “pint of cider, please.”
“Symonds'” he growl-questioned back, the second syllable rising as if to imply, “you’re as daft as you fucking look.”
“Sure, what the hell?” I asked, then as he lifted the glass to spout, “WAIT!” He stepped back as if electrocuted. “Why do you ask?” He cocked his head to about 2:00 o’clock with that same expression your dog gives you when you’ve just told them a filthy joke. I continued, “I mean, what else do you have?” As it was only Strongbow, I stuck with my original weirdo’s order and took it outside to leave the appropriately dressed gents to talk manly shit.
I was listening to my suspected ne’er-do-wells a couple of tables over while I made a grocery list (burrito night — I don’t know how that information would have played with either group). They were on about Brexit with one asking the other two (as there were now three of them and another buddy playing the fruit machine inside) if they’ve seen any downturn in any of their businesses. No, of course not, hardly anyone has, and I chimed in with my opinion that the only reason ANY economic downturn happened is because of the petty moaning of the people getting rich off the working man (I haven’t mentioned this, but Labour could have me as a candidate if they wanted me…as a Unite member, I’m a Labour affiliate already).
“You’re an American,” one of the first two I spotted said, or asked, or insinuated. “You should come sit with us.”
“Actually, I’m one of you, now,” and for the rest of the drink my status as a Brit, the sad state of the States (election year stuff), the EU and NAFTA, immigration and Brexit, and pubs to visit in the vicinity (or not to visit: “the Load of Hay? More like the Load of Shit”).
I’m getting luck with pub visits, lately. One of every three is a keeper. Last night, the Shaftesbury and tonight the Canteen. Hopefully, I’ll get back by before it closes down in a couple of months.
This is cut and paste directly from Ladbrokes betting website, odds just below the phrases. Note, I’ve tagged it with ‘obituaries‘ as this is another factor in the death of American democracy. Use it to set up your Debate Drinking Game:
1st Presidential Debate Buzzword Bingo
Which exact words or phrases will either Trump or Clinton say?
Make America Great Again
Commander In Chief
Lying, or Putin
Pneumonia, or Pennsylvania, or Terrific
Mexico’s Gonna Pay For It
Unbelievable, or Reagan, or Basket Of Deplorables
Racist, or Founding Fathers, or You’re Fired
Brexit, or There You Go Again, or Give Me A Break
Monica Lewinsky, or You’re Likeable Enough
How the Hell Should I Know, or How’s Your Cold
You’re No Jack Kennedy
The Vine seems a pleasant enough roadside/restaurant style pub. As much a pizza house as a sports bar, it has a pretty good reputation for both with some guys I met at the Militia Canteen a mile or so later along the evening’s run. Too brightly lit for either, the counter-style bar really put me more in the mind of a US style pizza restaurant.
Mind you, there were mostly drinkers staying in the place although a steady stream of diners came in for take-away orders. And, the drinkers fell into the standard suburban categories for an early evening visit. I sat near a group of work colleagues expressing the sort of enforced joviality and one-upmanship that requires; it was four women and one man and the foul language and invective used was the only thing of any interest (other than the end of day three of the County Cricket Championship from Lords on one of the 5 massive teles filling the wall adjacent to us).