I realise I’m in danger of exceeding allowable levels of enthusiasm for London in recent posts, but this blog will always tell the truth. Unless Maidenhead Tourist Office bribe me enough to tell you it’s not that bad.
On to South Ken. Home to Genting Clubs (no idea), dinosaurs and a mews pub where we aimed to meet a chap called Substandard Nerd. The wander there up Gloucester Road and Queen’s Gate Terrace was very ’70s London.
I’d been to the Queen’s Arms a few years ago, loved it, and forgotten that selecting the closest pub to the Royal Albert Hall was a dumb thing to do.
Luckily I have Mrs RM, who has an uncanny ability to find/engineer a table, in this case right by the door. Good for observation, but prone to your table being nicked if you went to the bar or the loo.
A little cracker, with the usual London cask range (I may have had the Sharp’s, don’t judge me) and an unusually wide keg range that went well beyond Camden Pale. Proper expensive too, not your cheap Pelt Trader stuff.
Substandard Nerd is, along with Big Jeff and Chopstick, the BRAPA or Pubmeister of the gigging world. A new band every night, summary dutifully posted to Twitter. Thanks to him I have enough music tips to last me ’till Christmas. Great to meet you, Sir.
He’s a bigger Tori Amos fan than Mrs RM and me, but having stuck with her since 1992 I at least recognised her set, unlike the Essexwhoopers standing next to us in the gallery (Nou Camp style view below).
She remains very, very brilliant (see why I avoid reviewing gigs), and only a little bit disconcerting.
The sound at the RAH was better than I remember (Bruckner’s 7th, 1992), but the beer choice was, pleasingly, as naff as ever.