Angel, Hayes, London   2 comments

angel-hayes-sign

 

Of the few pubs on this strip of road I still had not visited by Friday evening, The Angel was the only one that easily fit into the theme of the night (London A-to-Z Runs … this time starting with A).  Without prejudging the remainders, I found this was a fortuitous turn of events.

I entered the small, packed Public Bar and was immediately surprised to see three real ales on the pumps but no one there to fill a glass for me.  Unable to get close enough to the bar to lean over to try to flag down a bartender (and busting for a piss), I wandered through a nearby door to find a hive of activity in an adjacent function room (as well as the gent’s loo).

 

angel-hayes-bar

 

Back out to the bar, I thought I might have better luck in the lounge where the bar was no bigger but there were only three guys hanging out; I pulled up a stool and listened to the last portion of a joke, told badly, about a parrot in the, um, harvest room of a sperm bank.  My HSB arrived just as the fellows started laughing so I missed the punch line whilst doing a bit of business (and, I think it is fair to say, doing a bit of business was the main premise of the joke).

Somehow I got caught up in a conversation about rogue landlords and gamely took up the ‘pro’ position (hell, the walls are all 8 feet high, why not line them with triple bunk beds?).  Their contempt for the example that started the conversation — a guy whose rental properties were shut down for overcrowding — didn’t stem from the squalid conditions so much as from the fact that said conditions resulted in these people all being put on the street.  Odd to have to find a contrary position in an already contrary situation.

A hand appeared heavily on my shoulder, steadying a drunk that had emerged from the other bar.  “DAVE!” he yelled then fell off me.  Helping him up, I offered, “Dave’s not here, man,” in my best — which is to say, horrible — Tommy Chong voice.  Squidging his face up a bit and cocking his head at me, he grasped the bar and called across again.  Dave was over there after all; “what’s the name of that band?” he continued and before Dave could answer, the old guys with me were yelling back, “Rolling Stones,” “The Sex Pistols,” “Dire Straits.”  Turns out the answer he was looking for was “Pink Floyd,” which made me wince as he went to the juke box on the wall…no doubt it would be “Money” which should only be played in the full album, or “Another Brick in the Wall” which is just so overplayed as to be annoying (unless, again, as part of the full album).

It was “Pow R. Toc H.” from “Piper at the Gates of Dawn.”  God bless this bar and all who sail in her.

angel-hayes

 

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Posted September 18, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

Tagged with , , ,

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