Archive for the ‘running’ Tag

The Land of Liberty, Peace, and Plenty, Chorleywood, Hertfordshire   Leave a comment


The Red Lion was profoundly disappointing considering its relative inaccessibility on foot.  After returning to paved footpaths upon leaving it, I steered myself along the edge of the Chorleywood Common toward the Land of Liberty, Peace & Plenty which similarly involved running up a pedestrian-unfriendly track, this time trapped between walls and hedges on a single lane with cars at either end of the 100 meter extent.  This better be worth it, I thought.

I needn’t have fretted.



There was a line of 10 hand pumps there, making the choice difficult.  The landlord gave me time to decide as he discussed the Open with a fellow golfing enthusiast at the packed bar; then, when we were both ready, he poured me a mild, deepest black and rich in flavour, and I found an empty stool at the far end of the bar (every other seat in the house was occupied and there was only standing room just outside — although I think the garden might have been a bit sparser).



The couple next to me had some library books they were discussing and the house was full of other books.  This is always a good sign, but not as good a sign as a turntable and a collection of vinyl substituting for the jukebox or piped in music:



Not surprisingly, this is the Hertfordshire Pub of the Year.

As I was leaving, the publican asked where I was walking to, next.  “Oh, just the station at this point,” I said and the couple next to me chuckled and headed off to a recently vacated table.  “But, first…” I added as I excused my self to the loo.  As I left, refreshed, the Mrs of the couple called out, “enjoy the station!”

“I will,” I promised.  “I hear it’s lovely.”  They laughed again.  Nice house.



Posted July 23, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Red Lion, Chenies, Hertfordshire   2 comments


My first local was a Red Lion and I’ve made a point of seeking others out on a regular basis (they aren’t all good, I’m just fond of the name).  The one in Chenies is my 55th and falls about in the middle of the whole spectrum of Red Lion experiences.  The bar lady had nothing to say to me except the price of the pint.  The tables were all laid out for dining (I don’t think they fancy themselves a pub).  It was quiet as a morgue (I was the only customer albeit a little after 6pm on a Friday).  Oh, well.



I found the atmosphere stifling and took my Paradigm Low Hanging Fruit out to the wee garden and watched occasional cars pass.  The sweat on my shirt started to dry and I felt a bit of a chill so I decided the ambivalent interior might be better considering the persistent respiratory infection I can’t seem to shake.

Sometimes, the pub stop turns out to be nothing more than a box ticking exercise.  I reckoned that the next pub, 3 miles away, might be better so I left my empty glass at the bar and said, “thank you,” to the woman who stared at me silently with unwarranted contempt as though I had just shit on the bar stool (I’m pretty sure I hadn’t).

The building is lovely, though, isn’t it?  To quote the pub’s website,

“This fantastic listed building, parts of which date back to the 16th Century, is privately owned and you are assured a warm welcome every time you visit.”

Is that so?


Posted July 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Edward VIII Postbox #5, and Chorleywood, Hertfordshire run   1 comment

I took a break from the A2Z Runs this week and just caught the Metropolitan Line out nearly to its limits.  There was a Red Lion to visit not too far away and in the opposite direction a splendid — and splendidly named — pub called the Land of Liberty, Peace, & Plenty.  (pub write-up links as soon as I get around to them)

The route I took (mapped, below) was hillier than I’m used to and the upper respiratory infection that grounded me for four days is lingering making the effort something more of an effort than it should be.

I had just reached a flat point ahead of a long downhill segment and off to my right I spotted a post box.  The royal cipher only clicked with me a few steps along and I had to double back.  Crikey!  This is the first one I’ve found entirely on my own…in the wild, and all.  An Edward VII postbox used to be the Grail, and now they are just dead common.

I’m up to five E8R postboxes, now, four of them this year within about 10 miles of my house!  Find this one on Haddon Road at Shire Lane, Chorleywood.  The most recent previous one was in Nunhead a couple weeks back, and the ones before that were on the P for Postboxes Run.  More to come, soon…I can just feel it.


Posted July 22, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in art, Tourism

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The Viaduct, Hanwell, London   1 comment


The fourth pub on the day’s run was the Viaduct on the Uxbridge Road between Hayes and Ealing, at the once navigable River Brent, and close enough to the railroad tracks to heave a pint glass.  I don’t know which of these entails the Viaduct for which it is named, though.

It was mostly groups of people so I sat alone but not lonely.  Three primary schoolgirls in yellow uniforms waddled past.  “Ducks?” I asked the mum in charge that followed them toward the loo.  She rolled her eyes and said, “quack, quack,” as she passed.

A retarded guy stopped by and talked for a minute before moving on to a table around the corner.  I am even more comfortable than normal using the archaic nomenclature, by the way, because when I pointed at his glass and tried to ask what he was drinking, he interrupted thus:

“What are you–” drinking, I would have finished.
“Retarded,” he interrupted, looking satisfied, even smug.




Posted July 15, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Fox, Hanwell, London   1 comment


I ran past my turn to join the Brent tow path but knew the Fox was just off the canal path, anyway, so I continued up there.  A guy walking what looked like a llama and a pony — but turned out to be large dogs…I think — went in ahead of me.  Another couple had a conventionally sized pooch with them.  I felt under dressed.



I fetched my “Not So Bitter” to a table at the end of the bar and spotted the manager (the “spotted manager?”) on alert by the kitchen entrance:



I think this is what is known, in regular pub reviews, as a “dog friendly pub.”



It’s also a drunk friendly pub.  One guy came up for a round for his table bragging about how much he can drink but obviously he meant from zero as I reckoned one or two more was going to be enough to land him in the hospital.  The barmaid just smiled and commented, “you must be very proud.”

Lovely joint, too, and that’s not just my opinion.  The four framed certificates are Branch CAMRA Pub Of The Year awards.


Posted July 15, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Lamb, Southall, London   1 comment


It was a short jog down the towpath from the Old Oak Tree to the Lamb and I barely broke a sweat on the way.  The bar was busy when I entered but everyone had been served so I asked for a Fosters and the tap immediately blew.  “I’ll be right back,” promised the barmaid as she disappeared to change the barrel.

I spent the wait asking about a cocktail the lone black guy was sipping.  Some flavoured vodka and Sourz liqueur and orange juice on a lot of ice.  We both said, “refreshing,” at the same time.  I already liked this house.



I had declared POETS day since I had three consecutive 10-hour days just previous, but I thought I should at least check my email in case anything at work had caught fire.  I found a seat out-of-the-way and started approving some purchases when the fellow with the hat from the Old Oak Tree appeared and said, “you don’t half get around, do you?”




We talked first about his trip around America in 1979, then Southall and the bars in the area.

“Was that your first time in the Oak Tree?” he asked.
“Yeah, ‘salright, I guess.”
“Did you hear the women behind the curtain?” At this, I knew where the conversation was heading.
“Prossies?” I asked, knowing the answer before he nodded.
“You didn’t know that when you went in?” I bit my upper lip and slowly shook my head.

He chuckled. “Did you run there? I mean, you came in all red-faced and sweating and I think everyone thought you were there for business.”

“No, I just came in to price an Indian wedding.”

He moved on and an old Indian guy that had been listening to me struck up a conversation unrelated to any of the foregoing. Yep, this is a great bar.




Posted July 15, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Old Oak Tree, Southall, London   2 comments


I was on the towpath when I spotted the Old Oak Tree.  I walked over and took a photo of the pub, then one of the building, then found that all the curtains were pulled down.  Shit, they must open later, I thought and headed on my way only to spot the right hand side of the pub seemed to be open.  Hooray!



There were women talking behind a makeshift barricade that split the pub and two Indian-Brits talking to some local white guy about the cost of Indian weddings, where to have such an event in the area, and whatnot.

“£100,000 for a wedding?  Where were you lot when I got hitched?” I complained.  The ice broken, I confessed that I didn’t think ours cost $100 including the drugs and alcohol before and after.



Okay, in the A2Z run write-up, I promised to say why this pub had the potential to change the T for Towpath run into a T for Tarts run.  The women next door?  Professionals.  {Read the post for the Lamb to see where I got this info.  Keep the hatted chap in mind.}

Now because I know you are humming it, here’s Plastic Plastic playing it for you:

Posted July 15, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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