Archive for the ‘City of London’ Tag

The Crosse Keys, City of London   3 comments

Pub #2056:

Formerly a branch (or more to the point: THE branch) of HSBC or the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation, the Crosse Keys was a welcome sight at 9:10 am Saturday.  I used to think HSBC stood for “High Street Banking Company” when it was my bank and was only put right about it when the corporation fell afoul of US money laundering laws.  I don’t think anyone went to jail for that one but, on the bright side, I don’t think Trump will be able to pony up a similar $2 billion in fines when the Mueller investigation ends.




The City is not really a tourist area even during the work week, but on the weekends it is abandoned…quiet canyons of skyscrapers. Inside, the bar is at the centre of the old bank lobby with its ornate marble buttresses and arched skylights, a scene incongruous with the scattering of builders and isolated breakfast drinkers.

To be fair, it also looks an appropriate setting for a “Palace of Justice and Judgement,” a thought which probably crossed more minds than mine.




As per drinks, mine was a pint of porter, the first nutrition of the day.  I couldn’t linger in the beautiful (and, didn’t wish to in the intimidating) surroundings and soon layered back up and headed out into the cold, damp morning to finish the run.




Posted February 7, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Liberty Bounds, City of London   Leave a comment


Pub #1975:

The Sunday run was to the Liberty Bounds whilst making quite a dent in the TfL Run Project.  It was a cold morning and I think turning up soaked in sweat at 9:05 am made a bit of an impression on some of the customers (this is one of the nicer Wetherspoons in the City or, technically, just outside the City hence the name — it’s right across from the Tower of London).



I asked for a porter having spotted Sambrook’s on tap but the bartender went to another pump.  I stopped him just short and we shared (a little too much of) an awkward laugh about not spotting that there were two porters on at the same time.

I headed up the heavy, wooden stairs to find the upper bar area beautifully appointed and closed to customers a present.  Oh, well…the views would have been better there, but the beer wouldn’t have tasted any better (this was a weak excuse for a porter, unusual for Sambrook’s).

Posted November 20, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Hamilton Hall, Liverpool Street Station, City of London (and Sunday run)   Leave a comment


Pub #1968:

Another Sunday, another wee (22.3 miles, this time) run to a Wetherspoons (Hamilton Hall, this time).

I spent Saturday in bed and really did not feel well on Friday, either. This is an evil illness, no doubt about it. But, rested if not well, I awoke, packed some banana bread and a liter of water, sugar, and lime in my backpack along with some dry clothes, and headed south to the canal to run the frosted towpath into the sunrise.




It wasn’t as pretty as it sounds. I had diarrhea and had to stop a couple of times (thank the heavens for broad-leafed ivy!) and felt weak and ill until the fever sweats were overcome by exertion ones. Splendid!




I never used the map, this time, knowing that the Gherkin was near enough Liverpool Street Station to find my way to the pub. And following that skyline landmark, there it was…filled with fucking football fans at 9 am hauling pint after pint out to their mates. Bugger. I originally planned to get a full English and a porter then the tap blew halfway through my pint and I wound up with an amber ale and no longer fancied either drinking or eating around these jackasses.  I watched security in the station out the window near my perch as they set up a cordon to kettle the subhumans if something stirred them up.

Well, at least the Tube was a straight shot home, to bed, and hopefully a recovery (although I still feel like shit the next evening).



Posted November 6, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Sir John Hawkshaw, City of London (and Sunday run)   Leave a comment

Pub #1939:

The Sunday Long Run this week followed the canal path down to Paddington then across town to Cannon Street Station for 18 miles.  No hangover, today, so I really got to enjoy the early morning, early Autumn urban trails, only hitting significant foot traffic on Oxford Street around 9 am.

The target was the Sir John Hawkshaw nestled alongside the National Rail platforms of Cannon Street Station.  On this cool, misty morning the place was polluted with fans of American football … Miami is playing New Orleans at Wembley this afternoon and I seemed to have stumbled into the Dolphins’ fans pre-tailgate party lubrication zone.  Yes, even though most fans don’t drive to the Stadium they still have tailgate parties (despite having no history of this with other sports nor any real understanding of this moronic game in the first place — although the guys in the Miami jerseys seemed to understand that fat, drunk and stupid is all a part of being an NFL fan).

I asked the bartender for the darkest ale on the pumps.  He was completely unfamiliar with the wares and copped an attitude as if it was my fault: “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said in a Spanish accent.

I pointed at a neighbour’s dark beer.  “You know, black like this,” then pointing to the five pumps on his side of the bar, “but it will come out of one of these,” clarifying in the event my example was a Guinness.  Ahead of his game, I scanned the pump clips while he snottily informed me that he doesn’t know what ANY of the beers is like.

“Tell you what, I’ll have a pint of the Conqueror,” having to guide his eye to it with simple hand gestures.  He wouldn’t start the pour until I paid so I gave him the largest bill I had on me hoping to wreck his till.  His shoulders slumped when the drawer opened in the universal sign of “no folding change here.” I took my £16.55 in coins and slid them into the film canister I use to keep money from dispersing all over my back pack.

The beer was especially delicious.


Posted October 1, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs, Running

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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.


Posted August 11, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Lamb Tavern, City of London   1 comment



At the bar of the Lamb, I pushed ahead of some suits filled with two indecisive wankers that had just tried to mow me down outside while I was taking a photo of the place.  I ordered an ale as they cowered (probably afraid the sweat from my arms was going to ruin the mock vicuña of their jackets).  Generally, this seemed less like the sort of place a John Wayne character would get into a fight than the sort where some snarky comment about your BMW being over a year old.

I took my glass upstairs where it was largely abandoned.  Above the din, I could hear the soundtrack: really good mix of old R&B…Sam Cooke, Wilson Pickett, Marvin Gaye, etc.).  It’s a Fullers, so probably not a bad spot for lunch (just don’t come in during the after work rush).



Posted October 30, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Hung, Drawn and Quartered, City of London   1 comment



I got lost after the Old Nick  on my “Crime Run” and wound up much deeper in the East End than I really planned for that time of night but eventually found my way back to the part of Tower Hill where the gallows once stood.  This is where the Hung, Drawn & Quartered earned its name.




I might as well still been at the Old Nick, though, just substituting the Law Losers for the crowd of Banker Wankers I found at this house.  And, like at the earlier pub, the experience had so much potential wet-blanketed by their presence (but this is the financial district and that is the legal centre and what-are-ya-gonna-do?).




A young couple came in as I was finishing a very well presented and not unusually expensive (for the area) beer.  They seemed to be visiting the city and looking for a good meal at a reasonable price (and I think they had found it here despite the crowd).  As I had weaselled into the best two seat table between one pair of bloodsuckers and another that had eyed up that piece of real estate and then hovered around like they could leverage me out of it, I grabbed the fellow’s arm and, locking eyes with his missus, said that this was probably the best deuce in the house.

“Are you sure?” they both asked.

Draining my glass and smiling broadly at one of the suits as both their shoulders slumped, “never more than at this very moment.”



Posted September 30, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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