Archive for the ‘Wembley’ Tag

The Green Man, Wembley, London   Leave a comment

Pub #2105:

I approached the Green Man, a large pub but small hotel on the NW edge of Wembley, from Preston Road Station in the second (cooler) day of unseasonably warm temperatures. Glorious outside so that’s where I went with my amber ale. But, I’m a pale person with a propensity to sunburn and skin cancers and all the shady places were already taken.




Inside, it was pretty lively as a steady stream of refills and empties were carted out or in, respectively; a bucket brigade should have formed but that’s an engineering solution and I was already off work. There was some closely watched horseracing on a tele that I couldn’t see and a little soap-opera/one-act-play going on to my right that I COULD see but chose — I think wisely — not to acknowledge.



Leaving, I turned back to take a shot of the building’s façade.  What, I wondered, is that little girl looking up on her phone?  Divorce mediation for her parents?  Odds on the 17:05 race at Newbury?  Mysterious.





Posted April 24, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Wembley Tavern, Wembley, London   1 comment


Pub #2006:

Running from Wembley Park to Preston Road stations, I realised it was going to be completely dark out in a few moments.  “Y’know what else is completely dark?” I asked myself and answered it by going into the Wembley Tavern for a quick Guinness.

It was 4:30 and the place was abandoned.  “Quiet in here,” I mentioned.  “Did you just open?”



“I’ve been open all afternoon.  It gets busy after 5.”  I believed him but shrugged and settled in to watch a programme of cricket highlights.

I left at 4:55 as a crowd was heading in.  Da fuck?  Then I saw the Happy Hour at 5 sign.  Shit.

Posted December 1, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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The Torch, Wembley, London   Leave a comment

Pub #1933:

Just because I was unlikely to ever come to this little corner of Brent again, I by-passed the station after my visit to Watkin’s Folly and dropped in the Torch for one-for-the-road.  A Flaming Grill, it was always going to be essentially a restaurant/sport bar and it did not disappoint on that front.

The one bright spot was the couple of French women trying to decide what to order.  Obviously, they were either tourists or stuck out there on business and only one of them seemed to speak some rudimentary English, translating for the other one between negotiations with the bartender.  My French is shit anyway but I didn’t realise this was going on until they were heading off to their table saying something like, I guess, “zo, zees ees what a Breeteesh pob ees all abutt…I do not zee what ees zee Grand Deal.”  I can relate.



Posted September 27, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Watkin’s Folly, Wembley, London   2 comments

Pub #1932:

Watkin’s Folly is cavernous.  These photos belie the fact that there were at least 30 people inside and more out in the smokers’ area:


Nothing really to recommend it except the Workers Menu and the music over the tannoy.  While I worked through the Stella, I heard to my amusement:

God Blessed Texas
Absent Friends (some Irish guy that sounds like Merle Haggard)
A Legend In My Time




“Welcome Jacksonville Jaguars and Baltimore Ravens” was on the archway to Wembley when I headed over here from the tube station; the tele was polluted with Trump vs the NFL (and, all of American sport).  It was actually a blessing the bad music was piped in and the news was muted.  Then, some crap Irish ballads came on (I swear the lyrics were, “I met her in the Gandhi mode, from Dublin living in London” but I can’t find anything close on Google).  The next one drove me out … something close to Kenny G meets country meets that sort of soul music that degenerates into humming. Yuck.



Posted September 26, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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JJ Moon’s, Wembley, London   1 comment



Sunday came around with snow flurries and blisteringly cold wind; the ground was too warm for the snow to stick so I couldn’t even use that as an excuse not to do the planned long run for the day. I left the house just after 8 and weaved my way over to Wembley to the Wetherspoons there — the disappointingly named “JJ Moon’s;” I think they could easily have come up with a name related to the dairy industry or Barham’s history but either they got lazy or the JJ Moon’s label designates something in particular in the Wetherspoon’s Universe (the Spooniverse?).




The inset tells the story of George Barham starting a dairy nearby, sending milk to the city, obtaining a Royal Warrant for same, and his eventual knighthood.

I bought my breakfast beer — a stout — from the cheeriest bartender I’ve met in a while. He spotted my coin carrier and remarked, “that’s one of those…those old…”
“Film canisters,” I helped out.
“YES! I haven’t seen one of those in ages!”
“Yeah, I bet you used to carry your weed in there.” He glanced quickly at one of the besuited bouncers (at 9 am they had bouncers).
“I used to do photography back when those were still around,” he corrected me. “What a flash back,” he added. “Get it?”
“Yeah, yeah. That actually works for both our stories.”

Later, he wished me well as I layered back up for the damp, windy run.



Here’s a map.

Posted February 14, 2017 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Windermere, Wembley, London   2 comments



In unfamiliar territory in the post-sunset twilight, a pint of Courage seemed appropriate and what better indicator that this was available than the Courage & Co livery all over the Windermere. I went into the trackside near South Kenton Station and entered a land that time forgot.




The fellows playing billiards in the ornate Lounge Bar were generally in their twenties and thirties, but the guys at the perfectly preserved, carved walnut Public Bar were relics (although, to be honest, I believe most to be about my age). Excited to see a stranger, I heard stories from a couple of these guys that they tell so often that blokes from the other room were hollering in corrections.



It serves its purpose, the pub does. The very mixed community gathers here to maintain the community spirit or just to shoot the shit (and a few racks of pool). One of the nicer large venues I’ve come across in recent months — worth a journey out to the northern reaches of Wembley.


Posted October 13, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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Preston, Wembley, London   Leave a comment



The Preston, despite being more a family style restaurant than a pub, impressed me with the ale selection (five plus one settling) which is nice as it is the only game in this part of town. I was likewise impressed with the price: I got my Brakspear for just £3.

The ACTUAL price, however, is £2.95 but when the delightful barmaid opened the drawer to give me my change for three quid, the manager stomped up and took control of the till with his RFID key and started growling about how “you’ve got to watch those bastards” and “they steal from you” then he rifled through the drawer before standing there fuming. I wasn’t the only customer (nor was she the only server) waiting while he insulted us, directly. I waved off the 5p change; bastards, indeed…they probably feel a kinship.

Then, the little fucker started marching around the place, glowering at each table of customers for a moment before stomping off. With any luck, Ember Inns will exile this little Napoleon to some place less nice than the Preston would be if he just buggered off.




Posted October 13, 2016 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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