The Cock and Woolpack, City of London   Leave a comment

 

Finished with the run portion of the days events, I nipped into the Cock and Woolpack (in keeping with the day’s theme) to change into my dry kit and knock back a cider.  By the time I got back out to place my order, the malodorous stench of Banker-Wankers permeated the house and they loudly chatted away about women and sport and other shit they obviously knew fuck-all about.

The worst thing is they gave the impression that they were happy…not just pleased with themselves but actually comfortable in the slimy scales they have evolved to give the outward impression that they are mammalian.

Such is the curse of a City of London bar (any of them, not just this one).

 

 

Uniformed mobs of these evil, blood sucking miscreants surrounded the place.  It took steady nerves to reach Liverpool Street from here.  Too bad, as the house was lovely, otherwise.

 

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Posted August 11, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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