Archive for the ‘Shepherds Bush’ Tag

Shepherd and Flock, Shepherds Bush, London   3 comments

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Looking for my stout or porter of the day, Friday, I spotted the Shepherd and Flock and decided to give it a go.  Wonderful local, if I do say so meself.  The booths are like little snugs but open to the crowd at the bar who are as much an attraction as the gorgeous woodwork and the friendly bar keeper.

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It isn’t an ale bar, but it is otherwise perfect.  I could go on about the American girl and the Brit from up north who, like me, just chose this place at random but I’m still days behind on these write-ups and I don’t remember a lot of the specifics (except that, at one point during her at least 2nd Stella, she proclaimed this her favourite pub).

 

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Posted December 26, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Queen Adelaide, Shepherds Bush, London   1 comment

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The Friday before Christmas and nowt to do with my day…shopping and cooking done and a day away, respectively.  I did a run then caught the Tube to Shepherds Bush to kill the afternoon while Jackie did her last half day before her Uni closed for the holidays.

 

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The Queen Adelaide was packed but everyone seemed there with workmates.  I took my QPR themed beer to the fire and watched the awkwardness and wish I had ordered one of those wee burgers everyone was scarfing.  Fortunately enough, I was wearing blue and blended in with the football hooligans I was propped up next to.

 

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Nothing special here to report, but I did find it heartening that the pub was only open for 2 hours on Christmas day…drinks only, no food, from noon til 2.  Good for them.

 

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Posted December 26, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Havelock Tavern, Shepherd’s Bush, London   3 comments

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A half block away from the Bird in Hand, the Havelock Tavern was my last hope for a place that would have — with no prompting from me — some Dylan on the piped in music (I had this ill-advised idea that I could bar-hop and listen to the new Nobel Laureate’s back catalog). The bar looked spare and busy and a bit more eclectic than the others but I was glared at almost immediately by a bartender I’ll call Beardy McOneSleeveTats (shit, more fucking hipsters).

There were also way too many Americans stinking up the joint but the menu looked fantastic — if I was eating there that evening I would definitely have killed the roasted 1/2 pheasant with cauliflower and cabbage (only £13, about the same as 3 pints of the Hell’s Pilsner I was enjoying).

Then, the most marvelous sequence of events took place.

At the opposite side of the bar there was a table of a bunch of Russian kids, six of them about 20-25 years old. They had been pounding drinks and twice I saw tequila rounds executed. It looked the place to be if you were that age and they seemed to be having a great time and would be violently ill in the morning (and probably later this evening). I had to pass by them to get to the loo and a verrrry drunk Brit coming out at the same time hit one of their chairs with the door.

He started apologising in a very Ealing Comedies kind of way, more of a drunk from the 1950s than 2016; none of them seemed to know what he was on about and he felt it his duty to explain that they should be offended for him hitting them with the door. Pointing at me, one of them said, “our friend here is going to hit you with door, soon.”

I went in and drained my bladder then decided to head home when the door crashed open and one of the Russians sort of fell forward into the urinal. His buddy behind him in the tight alcove said, in a great cartoon-Soviet accent, “apologies, sir, but my friend he has been too much drinking.”

At this time, the door to the ladies’ opened into him and I said to the startled woman in as close to the same accent as I could, “don’t mind them… they have been too much drinking.” I looked at the kid standing there and as his eyes refocussed, said, “you’ve got a lot of nerve.”

Without missing a beat, his buddy who was still trying to stand up in the loo sang, “to say you are my friend.” Just outside the loos at the table, the others instantly joined in with,

“When I was down you just stood there grinnin’.
“You’ve got a lotta nerve to say you got a helping hand to lend.
“You just want to be on the side that’s winnin’.”

Sometimes, you get lucky.

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Posted October 14, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Bird in Hand, Shepherd’s Bush, London   2 comments

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“We ain’t a pub,” one of the bartenders pointed out to the manager of the Bird in Hand. They have pizza on the menu which might actually be pretty good in spite of — or, even due to — the hipster atmosphere. The music was a bit more avant-garde, this time, but I still held out hope that this might be my successful Dylan Pub Crawl bar.

 

 

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Once again, it was mostly young professionals in for group meals and large, complicated drinks orders. One such was placed by one of the 18 identical blonde girls distributed around the window tables who wandered off while the bartender looked for one of the oddly specific glasses for part of the order. When she looked up, only me and a guy drinking a cider and reading a novel were there as she scanned the horizon helplessly; I threw a thumb over my shoulder toward the woman retrieving a credit card and muttered that this seemed like it could be a great prank: place an expensive order then leg it.

The music was lovely; I still hadn’t completed the task but knew of one more bar to try before heading home in disgrace.

 

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Posted October 14, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Pavillion, Shepherds Bush, London ( #August2016PubPerDay number 53)   1 comment

Pavillion Shepherds Bush

 

So, there I was (no shit) at the bar at the Pavillion standing next to a rough-looking local on my left and some fat Malaysian dude on my right.  The skinny local looked like he could be Vinnie Jones‘ more violent little brother; the Malaysian guy was getting a tray with 3 pints and 2 halves.  He paid then asked the bartender if she would mind carrying this to his table.  As they left, I looked at the hoodlum, squinted, pointed after the retreating pair and asked, “Da fuck was THAT all about?”  After he recovered from nearly choking on the beer that passed through his nose, he said something unintelligible and made a sign language gesture with his hands indicating that the tray is superfluous for a 3-and-2 order if you just use both hands and bunch everything together.  I lifted my beer to agree and went to watch traffic on Wood Lane from a window perch.

A guy in the lounge area was talking about some orange pain pills he had that he opted out of using because they made him goofy and he suspected that the relief they gave was prolonging his recovery (I didn’t hear what the injury was; I only started eavesdropping properly when pharmaceuticals came up).  “So, then, you’ve still got some of these?”  There was a pause, then the guys all laughed.  I hate that no one knows when I’m joking and when, as in this case, I’m not.

 

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Central Bar, Shepherds Bush, London ( #August2016PubPerDay number 5)   2 comments

Central Bar Shepherds Bush entrance

The Central Bar is awful from the outside but not especially bad inside and, in fact, has a spectacular view over the park.  I chose it because I needed to switch tube lines at Shepherds Bush to get to Paddington and at this time of day it was the only licensed premises pouring.

Central Bar Shepherds Bush interior

My pour was a Twickenham Redhead: malty and very bitter but not so sharply citric as the American hopped bitter that has been in fashion for the last few years.

This was another August 2016 Pub Per Day entry.  Mapped here.

Central Bar Shepherds Bush