Doing these posts so close to the actual event (an inadvisable 8 pub slog round the capital) is a good idea, but even I can’t remember where Whelpley Hill is now.
My photos are a reminder of how good suburban pubs can be in London, even if no-one drinks the real ale.
Five minutes walk from that stale bagel merchant to North Ealing and the Greystoke, presumably named to commemorate the location shots from the 1984 Tarzan movie, filmed under the Hanger Lane gyratory.
So why are you in the Beer Guide then, plain looking Greene King suburban pub ?
Oh, I see…
Yes, that secret Guide place* reserved for the first pub in Ealing to put up Christmas decorations, which is ironic as the Truman’s Runner was perfectly cool and decent.
This one is opened-out but cosy, and a great place to watch Barnsley v Leeds and racing from Ascot at the same time. Most regulars seemed to be drinking the Guinness, which isn’t the same since they moved it from Park Royal.
The Piccadilly line passes below Wembley just as West Brom score against the Spuds; my silent cheer can be heard back in Tipton.
This is real London, an area packed with food factories, night workers and outlets for Dublin Guinness.
Sudbury Hill, my next destination, mirrors east Brum as a bit of a real desert. My new GBG Spoons is on the left in the What Pub extract, the GBG Fullers stalwart in the middle, and a Hungry Horse serving the golf course on the right.
In the late ’90 I used to visit our NHS site in Greenford a fair bit. It holds great appeal for fans of congested dual carriageways and Indian restaurants alike.
I still get a bit confused by the geography though. Where does Ealing start and Harrow stop ? It keeps me awake at night.
Sudbury Hill Station is in Harrow, North Greenford is in Ealing, the Greenwood Hotel is from another world.
It might not make a great base for a pub crawl, but this Spoons hotel is gorgeous, as good as anything I’ve seen in the chain.
Somewhere between Tottenham’s Beehive and the Northfield in Brum, it’s a symphony in wood, and a vast ocean liner of a place. I’ve seen TV shows based on a looser premise than a search for the loos in the Greenwood.
That scale made it seem a bit quiet for a Saturday lunchtime, with a few old boys echoing around in the bar, young couples in the dining area, and a childrens’ party in one of the private rooms.
Five year olds aren’t great connoisseurs of real ale, and with no-one else at the bar I had a tough decision to make.
So I went for a pint of Doom Bar, hidden round the corner. Even without my Spoons vouchers that I’ve lost.
“Doooooom Bar” said the genial and insolent barman. He was a cheery soul, they often are in Spoons. Later, he dropped an ice bucket intended, no doubt, for a bottle of Prosecco.
“What ? It was too quiet. I was just breaking the ice !” BRAPA quality.
I thought the Doooooom was decently kept (NBSS 3), but I struggled with the taste. Clearly most folk don’t, it’s our Number 1 beer. 50,000,000 Doom Bar fans can’t be wrong.
I’ll give it one more go. Probably on a wet Tuesday night in Stoke.
And for any of you who didn’t get the reference in the post title today. The definitive version.
*This is a fib.