Nostalgia night continued as I approached the Crown in the center of Littleport from the Black Horse by the river.  There was the old beaten down car with the great bit of art deco design incorporated, like in almost every backyard at home in mid-Georgia:

There was the large strings of rudimentary Chistmas decor around town like Atlanta before the real estate boom.  And, there were the butch-and-fem, large-and-skinny lesbian couple shooting pool like just about every bar in Virginia-Highlands (Atlanta).

Okay, the fat one might have been the skinny one’s little brother and they might both have been straight but I wanted to use the “rule of three’s” for a second post and continue the theme and if it means crowbarring those kids ambiguous genders into a sexuality that suits my purposes I think it wouldn’t be the first time.

I blame the furnishings.  The bar has a real community vibe to it and the folks I met were very friendly.  The furniture, though, seemed out of place.  Mind you, it was nice enough and probably pretty expensive (it was sturdier than it looks), but it seemed more Ikea than the block walls and deep windows seemed to demand.

Now, this was strange.  I wanted to put in 9 miles or so and decided to end up in Littleport because the bus from there stops about 50 meters from my house on its way south.  The run was a bit tougher than I thought with the section from Prickwillow to Littleport over fairly uneven ground, and I was very thirsty and tired when I crossed the bridge at Sandhill and spotted the Black Horse.

Quite a bit of nostalgia in this run and the Black Horse provided a bit.  First, the band they have scheduled puts me in the mind of home (that is, Athens Georgia circa 1990 or so), with their retro rocker looks and Confederate flag.  The canal tie-up reminded me of home (that is, Amsterdam and the Dutch pubs along the canals that as many boaters frequented as cyclists).  Then, the beer selection put me in the mind of home (that is, Tucson) and I couldn’t resist the temptation of a pint of Coors Light.

The pub is actually pretty nice and large enough to have a good turnout for the band.  For me, though, it is a little out of the way and not necessarily what I hope to find for conversation and ale.

It is good to see that some Speed Dating companies care about their clients more than others, though in my opinion they only care about their clients cash, like the people at Speed Dating Events and I would like to thank them for their comment on my blog about Speed Dating which describes why I think that Speed dating is a terrible way to find a partner. The comment, if you want to read it, appeared on the www.easilyfriends.com website.

However in spite of their comment, I haven’t change my mind and my point remains and that is because not all Speed Dating is either well organised or well thought out.

I still maintain that you are never going to find someone to develop a long term relationship with when you are hustled from one quick chat to the next, even in a nice venue with careful professional staff in attendance.

And just quickly on the subject of venues Speed Dating event companies tend to use smelly, dirty and outdated public houses to arrange their ‘quicky’ events! Am I the only person in the world who hates pubs because they are not nice places? Thank goodness no, because I read everyday of another town or village pub closing.

The best you can hope for from a Speed Dating event is to fill your Filofax with cards and numbers from people you know you won’t call because you won’t remember who they were and of course they won’t ring for the same reason.

Really, the only thing you can expect to get out of a speed dating event is to get back into the swing of talking to people in a social situation, frankly I would choose the bus, or better still if you want an evening out go to the theatre or the ballet and in the interval find people to chat to.

As I have said before, if you talk to people even if they are in a relationship it is very likely that they will have friends like you who are looking for a relationship, but of course, first of all they are looking for a date and importantly so are you!

Technorati Tags:
Comment, Dating, Public Houses, Pubs, Relationship, Speed Dating, Theatre, Filofax

Leeds or bust! We ran and ran to catch the train, but missed it anyway. We adapted and found the next was leaving in 4 minutes – but stood on the wrong part of the platform and missed that too. The next train wasn’t for 30 minutes, but as luck would have it, York’s rail station has a pub!

Stat Sheet 4: Coopers
££
Station Road, York, North Yorkshire, YO24 1AY – 08721 077 077 (ref 333)
Events: No info
Notes: At the rail station

Ron: The only thing this pub really has going for it is its location. Our table is soaked in someone else’s drink, the barman was unfriendly and overcharged us. Coopers is the type of pub that looks like it is trying too hard to be a pub, you know the type? But once again the surly server won’t get us down as we are merely preparing ourselves for a night elsewhere.

Cheers x x

Doo Doo Doo another one bites the dust!

http://www.calloohcallaybar.com/

My life in pubs

Which would be my ‘desert island pubs’? Which would I dream about if incarcarated? This list is different from those I’ve spent most time in: it’s a list of those I dream of spending more time in. My preference, as you’ll see, is for rural locations and all of my choices have historic resonance.

From south to north:

1. The Square and Compass, Worth Matravers, Dorset. The Isle of Purbeck does retain its distinctness from the ‘mainland’; Corfe Castle is the main tourist attraction, but this pub is unique. Simplest of  menus, beers from the barrel, Jurassic fossils in the attached museum; views of strip lynchets to the sea; the chip chip of sculptors at the front living up to the pub’s name. Special.
2. The Carew Arms, Crowcombe, Somerset. I’ve been there sporadically over the last twenty years, and it’s always a special place (the drive over the Quantocks to Nether Stowey may be short but it’s outstandingly special, especially in the crowded soutern half of our island). Last time I visited, a bar had been converted to a tea room. Enterprising.
3. The Turf Tavern, Oxford. Just finding this hidden gem along medieval Oxford alleyways is memorable. Being there does not disappoint: it’s a true real ale house, with space inside and out. Shame that health and safety rules have ended the braziers. Students and locals may take it for granted; for visitors, it’s like experiencing a scene from Jude the Obscure.
4. Wig and Mitre, Lincoln. I was struggling to find anywhere in the Midlands to nominate; this pub/restaurant wins it for its position at the top of Steep Hill. Yes, Lincoln has a dramatic hill – crowned by the castle and cathedral. I always drink Batemans when in Lincoln: ‘Good Honest Ales’.
5. Craven Arms, Appletreewick, North Yorkshire. I often write about this pub, and it never disappoints. OK, it’s the one that’s most local to me, but it’s also currently my favourite. The history here is blatant (and surprisingly recent). Gas lights, old bakelite phones, and the newly-built ‘medieval’ thatched cruck barn. It’s a special experience, with beer as the centrepiece.
6. Queen’s Head, Troutbeck, Cumbria. Lots of choice in this part of the world, but the Queen’s Head gets my vote for its atmosphere (stone flagged floors; bar made out of a four poster bed; open fires) and position in the quieter eastern part of the Lake District. People come for here nature, not architecture, but the long walk through Troutbeck to the National Trust house at Townhead presents a spectacular display of vernacular architecture. And don’t miss the church with its William Morris glass, or fail to look up at the hills.

This list reminds me that I need to spend more time in Wales and Scotland (and also Cornwall and Northumberland). But favourite pubs aren’t discovered overnight; they grow on you over years and decades. So I don’t expect to update this list until my dotage.

Pepita colecciona palabras
las guarda en una gran caja

por si acaso

algunas suyas… que nunca dijo, que se quedaron debajo de la lengua, deshaciéndose perdiendo las eses y convirtiendo las os en is… otras, otras se le quedaron en la punta de la nariz…a a a atchiiiisss… un estornudo a destiempo y viajaron tan lejos. Y un día, el día menos pensado (quizás si imaginado) las encontró colgando de un árbol o en un banco al sol.

deja siempre las puertas abiertas para que entren a por ellas. hay te quieros y muchos perdóname, a montones los te eché de menos y otras como gofres, cosquillas, sueño y un remolino oscuro de los miedos que tienen a enredarse entre ellos y a pelearse con los triste (tremendo lío se monta con las tr y la d, de ahí resultan los trípodes que siempre asombran tanto a Pepita)

También guarda palabras de otros, algunas las entiende siempre, me gustas, ven, abrazo,
otras las caza al vuelo cuando sale a observar el mundo, el otro día alcanzó la siguiente frase
“yo nunca aspiraba a liarme con ese”
No entiende bien… ella aspiradora no tiene, le gusta más su escboba…pero quizás si que sea un lio (será porque va con cable). No sabe, piensa eso mientras saca una palabra bonita una con bes… las bes son rojas recuerda

The Rising Sun, a nice cozy Sam Smith pub in a brilliant little alley by St. Bart's is well worth a visit, and stay to check out the rest of the neighborhood.

The Rising Sun is a charming Victorian Pub with some original fittings tucked away in a small alley called Cloth Fair. It will be found right off the Smithfield Market in what is a bustling area of the City filled with pubs and eateries.  It is a corner building with the one side facing the wonderful St. Bartholomew-the Great’s Church.  This church is one of the best examples of Norman architecture in the City, and its entrance is through an archway under one of the last few remaining examples of Tudor buildings in the city.

Of note, St. Bart’s has just opened their Cloisters for lunch and on Wednesday stay open until 21:00. They have wine along with 2 Belgian breweries to choose from: Affligem and Achel. Well worth a visit to grab a good beer, and take a look at a brilliant piece of history.

The pub itself has been refurnished and fitted to a comfortable Victorian style with a back area offering darts, while the front parlor has a back row of booths with tables and chairs about the place.  The beer is well-kept, and the spirit inside was moderate but lively on my visit.  One chap sat by himself enjoying a pint buried in a book, while a group of business types chatted about and younger student looking people were playing darts.  In the area of Smithfield, this is one of the few pubs that remains open on weekends, a definite plus if walking through the city and seeking a good cheap pint and some food.

I would recommend enjoying any of the full range of Samuel Smith’s beers: try the Wheat beer for a refreshing one, or maybe the Famous Taddy Porter if you are looking for something a little bit heartier.

In the area, besides St. Bart’s, there is also the William Wallace memorial stone (Smithfield Market is where he was dragged to from the Tower of London to be hung, drawn and quartered).  Also there is the Golden Boy of Pie Corner where legend has the Great Fire ceased. One thing that can’t be missed is the grand Victorian meat market .  The Smithfield market has been in use for roughly eight centuries, and is where Wat Tylor and the rest of the Peasant Revolt were put down after Ole Wat was stabbed to death by the Lord Mayor of London and one of King Richard II’s knights in 1381.  Close by also is the Old Bailey which is built on the former site of Newgate Prison.

I’m filing this post whilst sitting having breakfast in the Almanack, Leicester’s new modern urban gastropub. The offer of free coffee and free toast in no way influences this plug (the free toast in the mornings will continue after this opening week).  Staff seem skilled and friendly, the menu appealing, the decor chic – there’s plenty to like. Manager says people seem to think they are a style bar, but their vibe is very much a relaxed, welcoming  pub. Official opening is tomorrow.  I’ll be coming to eat when I can – reports welcome in the meantime – www.thealmanack-leicester.co.uk

A new “Community Right to Buy” scheme allowing groups to run ailing pubs, post offices and parks, has been backed by Nantwich MP Edward Timpson.

The idea would enable not-for-profit community groups across South Cheshire to take over the running of struggling local facilities.

In Crewe and Nantwich, new figures show that the number of post offices has fallen by more than half in the last decade.

Under new Tory plans, community groups will get first refusal to take over and run commercially-owned assets when they shut down such as post offices, pubs and shops.

Community groups, such as schools, churches or voluntary groups, would also be able to take over publicly-owned community assets.

Mr Timpson said: “Local neighbourhoods in Crewe and Nantwich have lost too many essential local services and facilities.

“The number of Post offices in Crewe and Nantwich has also fallen from 25 to 11 in the last ten years.

“People feel powerless to stop their communities losing vital services and facilities.

“These plans will give bold new powers to protect and improve vital community assets and preserve the social fabric of our neighbourhoods.”

The Bulls Head

On our outing today we came across one of many pubs in Reigate.

1626 Oast House

We also came across this house built in 1626!!  Although there has been some restoration on the brick work the bulk of the building is original.  An Oast House is a building designed for drying hops as part of the brewing process.

I used to enjoy the afternoon pub sessions in Aberdare. I used to be able to go in for a leisurely pint, read the papers, do the crossword, do a bit of writing, read a book, watch the women go by, or just stare out of the window at the rain and be grateful I was indoors. The horse-racing, or Sky News, or an old film, or whatever, would be on the TV with the sound turned down, so it didn’t disturb me. If I wanted to have a chat to a couple of my mates, I could. If not, I found a quiet corner and kept myself to myself.
It all seemed to change back about six months ago, when I finished work and was therefore more likely to be found in the pub on a fairly regular basis. I’d always been aware that there was a hardcore mob of afternoon drinkers in Aberdare – mostly older guys, but some around my own age, and a fair smattering of women of all ages – who seemed to spend every day, come rain or shine, benefit cheque or Provident agent, getting pissed.
Well, no, not even pissed. They were alcoholics by any measure, and so only needed to keep topping up in order to function “normally”. It didn’t matter whether it was ten in the morning or ten at night, they’d always be in exactly the same state, and would spend each groundhog day locked into an endless circuit of the pubs before staggering off at the end of the evening. Presumably they crashed out once they got home and slept the sleep of the just. They didn’t lie awake worry about losing their jobs, or keeping a roof over their heads, or paying the bills, or exam deadlines, or how to try and keep their romantic relationships alive. Their only worry was what time the pub would open on a bank holiday.
By virtue of spending my time out in the afternoons I seem to have found myself an honorary member of this exclusive club – the Aberdare Afternoon Piss-Artists Association, or AAPAA. I don’t know who proposed me, or when my election was ratified, or even what the rules and constitution of the club are. All I know for sure is that Groucho Marx was right – I don’t want to join any club that would have me as a member. But I seem to have been elected unopposed, and now I’m forced to spend time with (to quote Morrissey once more) people who I’d much rather kick in the eye. Not only that – I also seem to have landed the non-sabbatical and unpaid roles of Reference Librarian, IT Helpdesk, Secretary, Information Officer, Archivist, Keeper of the Sacred Scrolls, father-confessor, agony uncle, legal adviser, and general all-round fount of information for every single member of the AAPAA and his wife.

On Monday, my Creative Writing workshop was cancelled as Catherine couldn’t make it. However, since I already had a writing head on (see Education, Education, Education) and I was running on all cylinders towards the exciting climax of Pit Stop, I decided it was a shame to waste the afternoon. I went to the pub armed with my Netbook and a few throwaway lines I’d come up with over the weekend, and started work on Chapter 8.I wasn’t even drinking. I had a soft drink in front of me on a quiet table in the corner, and I was in full flow when a guy leaned over and said hello.
Now, I can’t even remember meeting Scott. He seems to recall talking to me on a train one day – possibly after a rugby match when I was on the way home. After all, when the trains are rammed you can’t help who ends up sitting next to you (and I’m sure Tasnin often feels the same on the occasions when we’ve ended up together on the way home!) Anyway, this same bloke came onto me in the pub a couple of weeks ago – the day of the Wales v Samoa game. He was already pissed, and I wasn’t in the mood for talking to anyone really, but he forced himself into my space nonetheless and immediately proceeded to bore me senseless until I took emergency action.
Scott’s the sort of man who’s pathetic, lonely and needy, with a divorce going through the court at the moment, a couple of on-off girlfriends, a severe alcohol addiction (to the extent that he doesn’t work), the marvellous inability to ignore anything that anyone else says in the course of the “conversation” (i.e. his monologue) and a desparate need for a New Best Friend. For some unaccountable reason, I seem to fit the NBF criteria. When he went for a piss that Friday night I sent a text to half a dozen mates, asking them all to ring me ASAP and give me an excuse to leg it from this particular pain in the arse’s “company.” Fair play, Rhian was first out of the blocks, and I legged it in pretty short order.
I went to another pub with the intention of watching the game there, and immediately got captured by another pain in the arse. By sheer good luck, Mark rang in response to my earlier SOS within a few minutes, and I was able to leg it from there as well. Then I went to a third pub and some pissed-up teenager decided he was going to have a go at me. I stood my ground, the landlord backed me up, and the fuckwit left.
Anyway, on Monday Scott could clearly see I was busy; even though I told him several times I was in the middle of something, he still invaded my space and entered into a one-sided “conversation” on the same topics as he had the last time I’d seen him. I was wondering how to escape this time when Phil and Slim came in and threw me a lifeline. I immediately asked them what time we’d arranged the boys in the Conway. Phil looked blank, and I teased him that he’d forgotten. Slim caught on straightaway and said he’d already told them we were running late. When they went for a smoke, Slim explained to Phil what we were up to; they drank up and we legged it.
When I got back from Treforest yesterday, it was pissing down and I had ages to wait until the bus, so I decided I’d chance my arm in the pub again. I grabbed my usual table, took out the weekend’s selection of crosswords, and was working slowly through Monday’s Kakuro when two other life members of the AAPAA came in. Angela swears she remembers me from junior school. I don’t remember her, but she was in the year below me so we probably wouldn’t have crossed paths anyway. Danny’s from Merthyr originally, but the Merthyr Afternoon Piss-Artists Association is affiliated to the Aberdare group, so he’s able to exercise his membership here. They were half-cut on arrival, and could see that I was really struggling with the crossword, so they said hello and then announced (very kindly, I thought) that they’d leave me in peace. That lasted all of two minutes before they resumed their daily round of pointlessly picking my brain on subjects I really don’t give a fuck about – Reality TV, sport, modern pop music, and so forth. Yesterday, my specialist subject was Angela’s Trainers.
I said they were okay – they’re a pair of trainers, for fuck’s sake, not a work of art. What was I supposed to say? I decided that they must have mistaken me for Gok Wan in the poor light and went back to my puzzle.
I think it was on the fourth (or maybe the fifth) occasion that he said, “Steve – sorry to disturb you…” that I lost my rag.
I said, very loudly so that everyone in the pub could hear, “No Danny, you’re not sorry! You keep fucking disturbing me, even though I’ve already told you I’m not in the mood for company. You’ve already decided I’ve shape-shifted into some sort of gay fashion guru – now why don’t you just fucking leave me alone to get on with this?”
Danny’s one of these people who, when he’s pissed, says the same thing over and over again, like a stuck record or a Government minister being interrogated by John Humphrys. After a little while it gets on your bloody nerves, especially when you’re trying to concentrate. He told anyone within earshot (including me, three times) that he’d been refused alcohol in Iceland because he was already “intoxicated”. He seemed delighted by the word, and offended at the same time. I was just about to leave when Other Danny came in. He’s a life member of the Rhondda Afternoon Piss-Artists Association, but comes to Aberdare every day because all the pubs in Maerdy are closed. I guess he must belong to the same branch as Ray Maerdy, who used to be a regular fixture in the pubs around here until a couple of years ago. Unlike Ray, however, Other Danny’s a fairly sensible chap. You can have some semblance of a decent conversation with him. He never stops long on his regular circuit of the pubs – a pint in each, and back home on the 6.15 bus. He could see I wasn’t in the mood. We said hello and he sat down a little way away, leaving me to it.
This afternoon I’ve spent a couple of hours in Aberdare Library, collating my university work and trying to draw a crime scene sketch for tomorrow afternoon. Sian took the measurements and they’re all to cock, as I said previously. It makes a bit more sense now I’ve sat down and looked at it properly, but it’s still a bloody mess – rather like the crime scene itself, ironically enough. I’ve got to hand it in at 3pm tomorrow. If Sian doesn’t turn up at the Psychology tutorial tomorrow, so I can look at her measurements, I’m going to fuck this exercise up entirely. Meanwhile, sitting next to me is an escapee from a lunatic asylum (or possibly from an earlier blog entry.) He spent ages trying to get his laptop to connect to the library wi-fi. Since then he’s spent a couple of hours abusing his laptop, swearing loudly to himself, drumming his fingers on the table to the annoyance of everyone else, and making strange involuntary movements. I think he’s another Tourette’s victim.
I’m going to the pub in a little while. I’ve got a book of Kakuro problems and a book to read. Let’s see how long it is before the AAPAA notices that their main brain is in the building, and start taking advantage again.

BACK TO MAIN PAGE

Super news – the Drunken Arms say our beers are so popular they want to sell more and more of them.

I came across this great article on how a pub and church are teaming up to bring a community together over Christmas by holding a Beer and Hymns night.  I think this really shows how important pubs are in the local community.  I hope it goes well!

Sheffield-themed festive gifts

Stuck for a Christmas gift ideas? This list collects together some of the most popular Sheffield-themed merchandise from the last few months.

• Pub maps
  

Explore the drinking dens of the city with this pub stops of Sheffield map by John Coates. It is designed in the style of the famous Henry Beck London underground tube map, which like a circuit diagram, focuses on the order of the locations instead of their exact geographic proximity. Available in mouse mat and poster versions, the designated coloured routes make for all sorts of interesting pub crawl variations. Or if you fancy an alternative pub crawl compass, then you could also try the heritage pub crawl map that you may have seen displayed in various local pubs.

Buy: Sheffield scene shop on Surrey street | zazzle.co.uk (for just the tube map)

Pub stops of Sheffield mouse mat and poster

Sheffield heritage pub crawl

• Something Hendo’s-inspired

Is there a better way to impress people when they come over for tea this Christmas than with some Hendo’s-themed memorabilia? There are plenty of options available to help celebrate the city’s favourite condiment: one litre bottles of relish, aprons, illustration prints from Jim Connolly and Kid Acne and if you really want to splash out, a limited-edition set of silver accessories. The final option is a very long-lasting Hendo’s-themed gift that a bride bought her groom as a wedding present…

Buy: Various locations | madeinsheffield.com | archipelago-art.co.uk | kateyfelton.com

Katey Felton's limited edition Henderson's relish silver accessories

• Sheffield illustrations

As well as the Hendo’s prints mentioned above, there are plenty of other local-themed illustrations available. Obviously Pete McKee is one of the most well known (don’t forget his Children’s hospital 2009 Christmas card) and Jim Connolly’s Sheffield superheros screen prints are also popular. The treasured Rare & racy shop on Devonshire street has various other prints, including Jonathan Wilkinson’s excellent We live here series of defining but less-celebrated Sheffield landmarks including the wedding cake, Park hill, the Roxy and the egg box.

Buy: Rare & racy | therealmckee.co.uk | archipelago-art.co.uk | welivehere.co.uk

• Charity voucher book

I’ve already written a post about this charity voucher book, but the premise is simple: spend £50 on a book of local vouchers that includes £1,000-worth of savings. And £15 from every one sold goes to charity. You won’t get round to using them all but after using three within the first month I had made my money back and of course have got a whole load more bargains to look forward to. Be quick though, as most of the vouchers expire in August 2010 so the longer you leave it the harder it will be to cram them in.

Buy: Shop on corner of Pinstone street and Cambridge street | charityunleashed.co.uk

Charity unleashed Sheffield voucher book shop

• Victorian map of Sheffield

People from Sheffield love old Sheffield stuff and this map shows the city in 1849 as ‘a pleasant and organised town…relatively spared the ravages of the early unplanned industrialisation’. One for the toilet door?

Buy: Cheapest from Sheffield scene shop on Surrey street | victoriantownmaps.co.uk

• Cooling towers memorabilia

The Cooling towers shop may have been and gone but the Tinsley towers still hold a dear place in the heart for many people and befittingly there are still plenty of souvenirs available by which to remember them. Why not start with this matt photo print from RPG Photo and also these mugs from artist/designer Alice Skelton?

Buy: rpgphoto.co.uk | Mugs available from aliceskelton.com and the Bessimer gallery in the Winter garden

Cooling towers print from RPG Photography

• Pop books and shop books

There are a couple of Sheffield-related books with a nostalgic tinge that have been published in time for Christmas. Neil Anderson’s Take it to the Limit explores the late 70s and early 80s music scene through the eyes of the Limit nightclub, or Sheffield’s Hacienda as it was know by some. More pop music nostalgia can be found in artist Martin Bedford’s Up against the wall, a book collecting together some of his famous Leadmill posters that he produced to promote visiting bands in the 1980s and 1990s. And starkly contrasting with the city centre that we know today, the Shopaholics guide to 1970s Sheffield looks back to a time when town was the major shopping destination of the north.

Buy: Local bookshops | amazon.co.uk

Sheffield pop and shopping books

• I love Sheffield eco bag

Julia Gash bought this local variation of the I love New York design to Sheffield a couple of years ago. She was previously involved with the (now closed) Gash shop on Devonshire street but has since set up a business selling eco bags and the I love Sheffield one has been a huge hit, as you can guess from the frequency that you see them around town. They continue to be particularly popular with students and it looks like some variations on the original design are now available, too.

Buy: Various locations including the Sheffield university students’ union studio shop

• A piece of history
  

The crucible is due to reopen imminently and the theatre’s new carpet is apparently inspired by the distinctive 1970s design of the original. The theatre has been selling off pieces of the old carpet to raise money and at the last count a few of them were still available.

Buy: Sheffield theatres

The Crucible carpet: old (left) and new (right)

• Food discount card
  

The city may still be up-and-coming in the culinary stakes but progress is slowly being made and there are now some good places to eat out. Chef Richard Smith is the man behind many of the area’s more impressive restaurants and his relax, eat and drink privilage card could be just the gift for a foodie friend or loved one. You get £50-worth of restaurant vouchers, a £25 bottle of champagne, a free meal on your birthday, money off every other meal, free tea and coffees and more. At £100 it isn’t cheap, but when you remember that his restaurants include Artisan, the Cricket inn, the excellent-value Canteen and the imminent Spice market cafe on Ecclesall road, it won’t even take a meal out at each before you earn your money back.

Buy: relaxeatanddrink.com

Has anyone got any more present recommendations?

Atmosphere Aplenty

I work in the East End, and all around me, pubs are dying. That means that these days I have to venture ever further to have my once a week post work pint. So today I walked for 30 minutes before finding it. I ended up at ‘INDO‘, and I don’t think I’ll ever leave. The punters might be a bit different, the music might be on the rubbish side of ‘ecclectic’, but the beers are heavenly, it’s quiet on an weekday night and it’s better than everything else around.

Praise indeed.

Last night I went to the launch of Katrina Naomi’s first, full collection, at the Wheatsheaf, just off Oxford St.  It’s a nice pub: does a lovely pint of London Pride and is friendly to poets – launched my pamphlet there, and my regular workshop group sometimes meet there.

Katrina did brilliantly.  She’s a confident and accomplished reader of her work and has a friendly, unassuming stance on stage which really does the poems justice.  I enjoyed her vignettes from childhood - but was tantalised by a vein of  less realistic, odder poems that is also in the book.  You really get the sense of a talent in productive flux.

Well done, Ms. N!

I saw this in this morning’s Metro : Soldiers kicked out of a pub for wearing their uniforms

Not very fair one would think. Why should soldiers be discriminated against ? Especially these ones – who’ve lost 9 colleagues in Afghanistan.

Except there’s a hidden twist. In the same article the management of the pub reveal that yes it is their policy not to serve service personnel in uniform – and why ? – because that’s what they’ve been asked to do by the authorities from nearby military bases.

As “RAF Brize Norton spokeswoman Katie Zasada said: ‘Any personnel in the Navy, Army or RAF are not allowed to enter any pub in uniform, unless it is for a wedding or funeral”.

In other words these soldiers were breaking standing orders by entering the pub in uniform.

Sort of changes the story doesn’t it ?

I can’t help but think that the Army and Air Force have a tough enough time without newspapers sniffing round trying to find non-existent stories about them.

I’m just glad the non-story they came up with didn’t accuse them of waterboarding the landlord to persuade him to give them a Tikka Masala and a Scampi & Chips.

The bus wasn’t for another 20 minutes and I was in sweaty clothing in the cold wind.  The Crown Inn offered refuge and I leapt.  Normally, though, I might have looked around the neighbourhood a little longer.

The Crown was not especially well marked on the outside of its stone facade, but was clean and modern inside, and brightly lit.  It also had at least 5 very large flat screen televisions with two to three zombies propped in front of each, showing tension in their necks and foreheads that makes you think the lighting is to spot a drawn weapon or to make sure the CCD cameras get a clear image of the violent act or acts of the night.

Why this intensity? They were watching the World Cup Qualifier between France and Ireland, of course, and even if they didn’t care who won (Ireland held the lead when I was there but the infamous “hand of god” play by Thierry Henry happened a few minutes after I left), I would wager that there many other wagers riding on the game’s outcome.  Not wanting–or caring–to choose sides, I finished my Bitburger (a German beer was a stretch with this crowd, but I was in lager mode at this point) and left for the bus.

I was at the Star Inn to meet up with the Oxford Hash House Harriers.  While waiting for the trail to start, I enjoyed a nice beverage that I didn’t clock the name of and sat near the wood stove and chatted a bit about trail, home- and former-hashes we’ve belonged to or visited, and how, funny, but my accent doesn’t sound like Cambridge (“that’s Ipswich, that is”).

The Oxford Hash traditionally lays dead/prelaid trails, which is always a disappointment to discover but the hare did a very nice job and there are additional benefits at this hash.  First, the trail was A-to-B although B was only a few hundred meters from the start (at the Star Inn).  The circle was run with aplomb by the RA (or GM, I didn’t pay much attention) and there were a variety of songs (although they did repeat the same one a few times with a sort of fill-in-the-blank variation each time).  And, there was proper, hot food served: some delicious vegetable based soup and sausages in rolls…and, surprisingly, very few naughty sausage remarks.

I have started to get used to the less rowdy ways of the British hashers.  They are very different from most of the American hashers I’ve known and the subdued version of the circles here are probably much to everyone’s advantage.  I had a number of rude songs to add to the mix, but I think I’ll save them for when I’ve been there a few more times…no need to shock or offend when they all seem to be on best behaviour as well.

We retired to the pub again and I weaseled a pint of Red Stripe off one of the hashers (Dipstick, I believe), and settled into a long conversation on hashing and also on science with (again, I think this was her name) Home Alone, a biochemist from out around Bicester.  She pointed out that my Red Stripe benefactor was the only one there likely to set a live trail, and I will try to keep my eyes on the schedule after we move out that way and goad him into doing it (perhaps I should volunteer myself, first…).

The crowd dwindled after the first round and I decided I better go on and catch the early bus, too, maybe to stop off on the way to the hotel at another pub closer in.

The scavenger hunt thing ended mercifully at the King’s Arms and I used a pint of pale ale to wash down an Imitrex migraine pill and within ten minutes I felt pretty damn good.  We got our scores and half the group headed home to Cambridge and the rest of us stayed on at home in Oxford (except that I was actually only staying over for the next day to do some paperwork and diagnose an instrumentation problem).

The pub was large and full of sturdy furnishings and looked pretty publike.  I could have stayed on for another round, but I was meeting up with the Oxford HHH for a run in Woodstock later that evening and really needed to catch the next bus if I was going to have enough time to grab a bite to eat.  I’ll try the King’s Arms again, I’m sure, though.

Passed the King's Arms again the next morning on the way to the lab

We entered the Turf Tavern about midway through a scavenger hunt/tour of Oxford meant as a sort of team building exercise as part of the research group’s “away day.”  These things are almost completely useless for their intended purpose when levied against a group that already communicates freely and plays well together, but I had a pretty good time with it nonetheless, in spite of the massive hangover I had been fighting off all day.

Some of the group, trying to cheat on the score I bet

The Humpty Dumpty Porter at the Turf Tavern did little to aleviate the throbbing headache I had been suffering since about an hour after completing the morning run before the scheduled events, but it didn’t hurt, either.  The pub is aimed toward the tourist pound, with historic-ish markers all around purporting that Bill Clinton’s famous non-inhalation occurred on the back patio or that some Inspector Morse episodes featured the pub (which could be said of just about any pub in town).  Still, the drinks were reasonable, the inside of the pub was atmospheric, they are supposed to serve decent food, and we all got a wee break before continuing the tour (a few fotos from the event, below).

Dining hall at Exeter College, Oxford

a proper butcher shop in the covered market, Oxford

We made our way from the Queens Head back out to the High Street and down to the Red Lion, a pub with a layout that wraps around the bar and features quiet seating by the car park windows (for the old folks) and darts, tele, and a snooker table toward the back half (y’know, for the kids).  The seating at the bar itself, on the old guy side of the pub, seemed to suit and I settled in to enjoy my Guinness and some continued harassment from my guides.

I was beginning to wish I had stuck to session ales and lost the thread of the conversations instead focusing on the rest of the bar, most of the denizens of which were tossing darts or watching the world series of darts on television.

There was signage everywhere informing that 3 shots of Sambuca or Jagermeister would only cost you a fiver, and that bringing discredit to the pub would get you barred all over the greater Witney metroplex.

I was thinking of such discredit and pub sports when I tried to completely dampen the olympic sized urinal some time later in the evening (while also remembering the late George Carlin’s bit about how important it is to wet down the entire urinal before turning your firepower on the bits of garbage collected in the drains).  Practice makes perfect, but I find that training is an ongoing endeavour and later that night I returned to the outdoor sporting fields of this type slightly down the alley across from the, by then closed, Red Lion: