Only two weeks till Simon “BRAPA” Everitt will be donning his pixie outfit (above) and riding his silver reindeer into rural village pubs on Christmas Day, demanding a pint at 11.57am. Pubs are certainly in the middle of festive season meltdown (these posts are so far behind the Halloween decs are still up), which (touch… Continue reading A WALTHAMSTOW MARKET PUB
Really into short post territory now (unlike BRAPA), with a return visit to the Shortlands Tavern while I wait for the train to trundle up from Bromley South. I had 14 minutes. Less the three minutes I’d need to admire the hidden beauty of Shortlands Station. Shortlands feels like the suburb of Bromley it is,… Continue reading NODDY MAKES A RETURN VISIT TO THE SHORTLANDS TAVERN
On to one of the real tourist honeypots that the Guide brings you kicking and screaming to, in this case on a slow train from Denmark Hill. “Welcome to Bromley” screams the sign welcoming tourists, probably. This is the place that South-east London and West Kent shoppers used to travel to in the decades before… Continue reading BROMLEY GOES TASTER-MAD
A number of you* have asked for more features on brewery taps on this blog, getting bored of all these pictures of churches, street art and Primark bags. This one’s for you, as Neil Young probably sang. I’d been warned about the back streets of Battersea by someone who shall remain nameless. I must be… Continue reading BATTERED BY BARREL-AGED BOURBON AT SAMBROOKS
Now to the pub I know you’ve been waiting for, the Siege of Orleans in Carterton. “Where ?” Why, between Crocodiles of the World and Ducklington, of course. I’d seen it, marked just off the A40 between wonderful Witney and boring Burford, but I assumed it was a small village serving Brize Norton Airfield, which… Continue reading WHERE THE **** HAVE ALL THE CASHPOINTS IN CARTERTON GONE ?
“Happy” with a touch of murk, that’s Ashton Keynes, my annual tick in the wilderness that is North Swindon In close-up the village looks submerged within Cotswold Water Park. I prefer the ancient map written on parchment in the village centre. It makes it seem rather more exciting than is justified. If you like… Continue reading COME TO ASHTON KEYNES
You’ll remember my failed attempt to conquer Corsham, whose bizarre Flemish Weaver had suddenly switched to Winter hours just as I tipped up in Autumn. Well, I never give up. My immediate thought – “Have I entered the ultimate care home ?”. Room after room off a passageway to the bar, each with be-cardiganed gentlefolk… Continue reading A RETURN TO THE FLEMISH WEAVER