The Marquis of Granby, New Cross, London   Leave a comment

I was standing at the bar in the Marquis of Granby waiting for the bartender for a second round when the (probably) trans-gal from Transylvania who drifted in behind me asked with a heavy Romanian accent, “Is it tobin?”

“I’m sorry. Is it what-was-that?”

“Is it tobin?” She repeated, then pantomime looked around and back a me then the guy parked at the end of the bar.  I looked at him to and his eyes darted around in the universal sign language for, “no, me neither, you’re on your own.”

“I’m really sorry, I’m not getting a word of that.”

She repeated slowly then looked at me quizzically. “Oh, you are no not a native Englisher speaker.”

“No, I speak English very well.  I had lessons as a child.”

The guy at the bar agreed and added, “yes, it’s not him, it’s you,” grudgingly coming to my defence.  I asked for it once more, and got,

“Is. It. O. Bin.”

“Oh, is it OPEN?  Yes, of course it is.  They wouldn’t let us lot stay in here for free.”  Now she looked confused.

“I thought it was maybe a private party.”

By now the bartender was back and I got our refills.  “What was THAT all about?” Jackie asked on my return.

“Dunno,” I honestly answered.  “This shit seems to follow me around.”

 

They don’t have a website.  The earlier link is a review that makes my experience seem rather unexpected.  Here’s the WhatPub entry.

 

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Posted July 18, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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