Into Streatham, where’s there a bit more blog material than further west.
For a start, this is the birthplace of Tommy Trinder, whose old home I passed and whose image graces the wall near the Leigham Well.
I hope the attractive looking Leigham (London Pride, By the Horns) gets in the Guide as the side door exits directly on to the road which could be entertaining if this is Simon’s sixth pub.
The walk to Streatham from Norwood is leafy but lacks woods for the gentleman’s discrete comfort break.
In my last post I pondered which team folk here supported, having somehow forgotten about mighty Dulwich Hamlet (see top). Tommy himself was a Craven Cottager, of course.
With half an hour till opening time at the GBG newbie, I had ample time to take in the sights and sounds of Streatham High Road.
Sadly, 27.5 minutes were spent queueing in Lloyds to deposit a cheque for £25, Mrs RM’s latest premium bond win. With eight people in the queue and the deposit point not working, Lloyds chose the ideal moment to close one of the two cashier windows.
Service was more efficient in Pratts & Payne.
Paul Bailey asked about Antic recently; this is a perfect example of the chain.
Shabby chic, old adverts for lard, glitter balls, Hull City player stickers (really).
At the bar I should have been tempted by the plastic figurines,
but of course I have to try the cask. And of course you ignore the Cwtch at your peril, despite the subliminal Volden adverts.
The service at the bar was stellar; recognition, a friendly word, a “thank you“. Everything you rarely get in West London. And the barmaid seemed to know every Old Boy who came to the bar.
Those Old Boys were the sort you’d expect to see in the Spoons next door. All I’ll say is that I wiped my feet on the way out of the Holland Tringham.
I would have stayed in P&P to watch the football on the TV (probably Cardiff v Arsenal 1927 FA Cup Final), but a group of 30 Marisas was about to arrive.
I continued my walk into Lambeth.