Archive for the ‘London’ Tag

The Bird’s Nest, Deptford, London   1 comment


Pub #2073:

The Bird’s Nest was a bit creepy to go into.  Not because of the “punks” at the bar cheerfully listening to Park Life; it’s just that it’s like every music bar I frequented between 1978 and 1990 right down to the collection of recent gig posters on the wall leading past the makeshift stage to a separate art collection.  I almost expected Deacon Lunchbox to emerge from the loo.



Found by luck on the final TfL run, I wanted to love and hate the pub as soon as I walked in.  Then, the landlady returned from the shops and pushed a dustpan with a whisk broom between me and the barmaid who was mid-pull on my beer.  “That’s for you,” she told the servant girl then sped off to the back.

“Is it your birthday?” I asked and was answered with an eye roll.  Quite creepily familiar, this joint.




Posted March 19, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Goldengrove, Stratford, London   Leave a comment


Pub #2072:

What better way to start a Sunday than hitting a Wetherspoon pub when the bar opens at 9 sharp?  For me and roughly 25 other True Believers at the Goldengrove, nothing.

To be fair, there was a couple sitting near me having breakfast and, shockingly, a conversation; but, most of us sipped away happily (I speak only for myself on that point) sipping away and watching pedestrians and motor vehicles pass by in the late winter sunlight.

I was now 8½ miles into a run with only a half mile left, but there was really nothing here to entice me to linger.  It’s not a bad bar but all the interesting bits seem to be on the façade.  Perhaps a longer — or later — visit would result in some interpersonal interactions, but daybreak drinkers deserve their space.


Posted March 13, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Defector’s Weld, Shepherd’s Bush, London   Leave a comment


Pub #2071:

I didn’t think it could happen, but I found a bar that is worse than Brew Dog.  However, Shepherd’s Bush is such a mixed bag (see below) that the Defector’s Weld was an almost inevitable tragedy.  While Brew Dog is run by an American outfit to prefabricated American (let’s call them) “standards,” Defector’s Weld does the same job if you substitute “hipster millennials” for “American.”  Highly disappointing.


Here are my rankings for this pub and the 9 nearest ones written up so far.  The top 3 are far and away superior to any of the others (a hint if you are planning a Shepherd’s Bush pub crawl).  I would avoid the bottom 4 unless the White Horse or the Flock make you nervous (in which case, those shitholes are probably your sort of gaff).

1. The Shepherd and Flock (sublime)
2. The White Horse
3. The Stewart Arms
4. The Queen Adelaide (adequate, avoid QPR game days)
5. The Central Bar (a ‘Spoons, so you know what you’re getting)
6. The Pocket Watch
7. The Sindercombe Social (putrid)
8. The Green
9. Brew Dog (American)
10. The Defector’s Weld (dregs)



Posted March 10, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Gate Clock, Greenwich, London   Leave a comment

Pub #2070:

Like the tourists, I wandered around Greenwich with a map rendered useless by the fencing erected for The Big Half (also mentioned in the post on today’s non-competitive run).  I eventually emerged across from the Gate Clock pub and negotiated the cattle-crawl to reach the bar.  There, I was served a pint (maybe more) in a gigantic plastic cup and found my way without a map back to the window to watch … nothing.  Just an endless supply of blue-shirted race volunteers.

Bog-standard Wetherspoon pub, this one, but it was serving at 9:15 am (or 3:15 if you go by the clock on its wall).  You might not even notice that it is a pub, but for the early drinkers.



Posted March 6, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Asylum Tavern, Peckham, London   Leave a comment


Pub #2069:

It was quiet outside and everything seemed sealed up tight.  I thought the Asylum Tavern was closed — not shuttered, but perhaps with later doors than my mid-afternoon trot could coincide with.  I wandered around a bit for some photos, then tried the door.  The place was packed and Bob Dylan was turned up to 11:

…threw the bums a dime in your prime…

At that, a half-dozen of the fellows crowded around the bar — and yours truly — all sang/yelled out, “didn’t yoooooooouuuuu!”



The landlady had her hands full but I made eye contact and slipped off to the loo for a quick slash.  Quite quick…the Bob-head was only up to the vacuüm of his eyes and discussing the possibility of a deal.  She spotted me again and came over.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“Wishful thinking, darling.  May I get a pint of cider, please?”  I took my glass to the back side of the bar where several gents were congregated and who met the specifications for (but not the dress code of) the Fox on the Hill a few miles back.  Even with the loud jukebox (the Stones were telling us it might well be the last time), there was eavesdropping to do but not very good eavesdropping…I heard a household maintenance story three times as new mates joined and subsequently left the pair you see above.




Posted March 1, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Fox on the Hill, Denmark Hill, London   Leave a comment


Pub #2068:

I slowly warmed up on the run from Brixton when out of the corner of my eye I spotted the Fox on the Hill pub.  Not yet sweating, this seemed a perfect time to replenish my cooling system ahead of the third section of the day’s run.  I took a lovely dark beer to the only empty table  I could find and assessed the crowd of mostly old guys with those barrel-like bodies separated from their heads by no neck at all.  Nicely turned out, of course, but that seems to be a thing east and south of the city (and, what with it being Sunday and all…).

That’s some of the fun at a Sunday pub visit in this sort of neighbourhood.  I haven’t worn at tie since the day I got out of the Army at the end of 1983 but I’ve always known people instilled with the sartorial grace that comes from the annual trip to the tailor for one (or, on a good year, two) bespoke suits — that thing cut from whole cloth.  These old gents aren’t the last of the breed (although they use up a lot more cloth than they used to) but you are more likely to find off-the-rack “finery” and more easily disposable accoutrements than my generation.  The old men (my peeps) show class but not necessarily their class; the young fellows (and me, since we spend the same on threads despite them spending it on bits that will get them past a night club doorman) show common-to-dead-common and, perhaps and thus, a bit too much of our class.  I can only apologise for myself.



Posted February 28, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Railway Bell, New Barnet, London   Leave a comment


Pub #2064:

I ran up to the Railway Bell right on time…9:00 sharp, when the taps are freed.  “Porter, please.”

“We don’t serve alcohol until 9.”  Dammit!  I set my watch fast to cajole myself into being on time for some appointments during the workweek (now, even time itself lies to me).  I ordered a breakfast platter to wait out the remaining 7 minutes and when it arrived I wolfed down the eggs and half of everything else by the time I spotted a beer crossing the bar for someone else.

The pub looks a lot less modern outside than in.  The back half is glassed in and looks more like an airport lounge than a proper boozer, but there was a blazing fire, the beer was good, and the breakfast…fuel.



Posted February 23, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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