The Barking Dog, Barking, Essex

 

Pub #1986:

I stepped out of the station and tried to get my bearings for the planned run.  A voice in my head said, “you know what would help?  A pint and a quiet moment or two to get your shit together.”  I am willing to argue with my demons, but sometimes they are perfectly sensible, so I made my way to the bar in the Barking Dog.

 

 

Careful readers should have already busted me for duplicity.  Directly across the street sits the Spotted Dog, a superior pub that predates the Wetherspoons in which I now sat and the name of which the ‘spoons co-opted while undercutting the trade the older pub was doing with the Wetherspoons pricing.

But, the bar starts serving a 9 so what-are-ya-gonna-do, eh?