Duke of Edinburgh, Brixton, London   Leave a comment

Pub #2137:

After a walk down Ferndale Road past a bunch of rail archway sheds with rastamen in front, barbecuing something divine, I found a small pub front with two, large “urban” fellows in front (Freudian slip: I originally typed “felons” instead of “fellows”, and while both might well be correct, I meant “chaps”).  I stopped to snap the photos you see here and one trundled my way.

“It’s not you,” I said, pointing at the camera then at the sign, “but the Duke.”

“Yeah, man, that’s good, that’s good.  You should go inside and get a half pint of cider and check out the garden.”  Not the response I expected, but I told him that had always been something like the plan for the day.  “Ask for [some gentleman’s name].”  I headed in and the behemoth followed close at my heels.

 

About 20% of the massive beer garden at the Duke

“Oi, [gentleman’s name]! Get this man a half of cider.”

“Don’t listen to him.  Pint of this,” I pointed at an ale tap.

I moved on to the garden to ring my Brixton buddy and see if he had time for a beer break in his busy, entrepreneurial day.  He arrived soon and we caught up on our respective states of affairs since my last trip to God’s Own Land South of the Water.  He’d been to Ibiza for a week and had much better chat to offer than I did as a result.

 

 

Another quick round and we caught a bit of the Iceland vs Nigeria match.  “What strip is each team wearing?” I asked.  Not getting the old school joke in post-race Brixton, he told me who was in green and who was in blue.  “That’s probably the best way to tell them apart,” I agreed and offered him my green bush hat, y’know, in case the two of us might be similarly mistaken, one-for-the-other.

“You know, just a few years ago this was a Crazy Golf.”  I looked around the massive garden.  “With dinosaurs and windmills and clowns.”

“Ugh.  Clowns.  Is it better with all the gentrifying settlers piled in?”

“It can get pretty clique-y on the weekends.  That’s one reason I stick to the Hoot.”  I took his point but couldn’t really linger longer, our business done for the day and rush hour tube crowding soon to peak.

Oh…Transport for London has been putting up some PSA posters with fantastically retro design elements.  “Loose Lips Sink Pints,” is the take home message of this one found in my Tube carriage:

 

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Posted June 26, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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