Bing maps won’t let me show you my actual route to The Owl & the Pussycat, which actually took me through Gunnersbury Park, an essential comfort stop in a city lacking essential comfort stops.
Learning lessons from St Albans, I realised I needed to eat. My luck was in.
A little shrine to Naples and Maradona, who Mrs RM actually saw waving to the crowds from his palace on her own Eurorail adventures of 1987. In her honour, I had the house special pizza and double espresso.
I should take up food blogging, I really should. This gooey feast was “to die for“, a sumptuous feast that had us “licking our lips” etc etc. Lovely people, unfussy service, no craft beers.
I felt revived, and decided I didn’t need to borrow one of those OFO (Oh **** off) bikes that get tipped in the canal in Manchester to get to my micro. Not that I’d have been able to follow the instructions.
The Owl & the Pussycat enables me to finish off the large lump of pink that is the West London bit of Page 280 of the GBG.
Didn’t I walk past Northfields tube station recently and slag off the coffee ? Oh no, that was South Ealing, I get confused.
Ah, here we are. Typical micro, looks quite light and welcoming and there’s cheese next door.
Inside it’s exactly what you expect from an Ealing micro pub.
Less fun than a Spoons, let’s put it that way. Reading the beer menu is a challenge for us oldies.
The owner is polite but distracted at opening time. Perhaps I should start tipping up at closing time. His beer, though, is surprisingly wonderful given that it appears to be made in the shed. The Walpole Special is a tasty NBSS 4, though I’d rather be drinking it in an Ember Inn.
Richard Coldwell would love this place.
Needing some laughs, I went in search of Newbury Tim.