“A man is very easily tired of London“ -Johnson (Boris, not Samuel).
And I am getting weary of these capital posts, but your kind words keep me going.
Downward and eastwards into Wandsworth proper, past the authentic Irish pub with cask and the famous Nemo statue.
With a detour via Caffe Nero and the graveyard near Ram Brewery, symbolically.
It was, as you see, quite a walk to the Roundhouse. So far, in fact, I could see the bright lights of Clapham Junction, £10.45 Gin & Tonics and all, shining on me like in the Ruts song.
Oh, it was just more pumpkins.
A welcoming pub, in that open-plan gastro South London way.
Dimly lit and covered in cobwebs, yet another reason to hate Halloween.
OK, table reservations all over the place, but there was no “Will you be dining with us, Sir ?”.
Halfway through a half of their house pale, which would have been NBSS 4 if not for the 8 sided glass, I got that feeling of deja-vu all over again.
“This place is just like that gastro over in Battersea I went to once”
In fact, the cluster of school teacher on Prosecco night (a day finishing in “y”) and the bloke discussing their reservations about Rosa Parks seemed eerily familiar.
But not until I reached the weekend and updated my master spreadsheet did it transpire this was indeed, a GBG pub in Battersea a mere five years ago, when I gave it the EXACT same score.
A wasted half. Unprofessional drinking as Duncan would call it.
But worth it for the joy of hearing millennials ordering lemonade and a white hot chocolate in a GBG pub. Just like you, I blame them for everything.