Next up was the Goose Island Tap. Unless you’re BRAPA. you have to be very careful with your blog titles here, so I’ve made this one abstract.
It’s a jolly walk down from Old Street towards Spitalfields past some of the most interesting modern development in the City.
I’m improving. I only bumped into 3 people. They all said “sorry” to me, this being England.
I knew immediately I’d picked the wrong day to visit the Goose.
Some wooden spoon competition was happening at terrible Twickers and England were spooning the Scots. 33 to nil, which sounds like a Manchester City Cup game.
Ra-ra-ra shouted the Lions.
I couldn’t even see the beer board, let alone work out which was the most inadvisable one to go for.
Luckily no-one was interested in blocking the view of the two apologetic handpumps. I ask you, who ever turned down a Jarl.
It was pretty good(NBSS 3+), but when your last pints of it were in Staggs and the Laurieston you’re alwayd asking for trouble.
And it was the crafty keg I really wanted, with their goose heads saying “drink me, drink me, ignore the fact it’s £9 a pint”
Just then a space emerged,
and I parked by the beer board.
Everyone seemed to be drinking the bogstandard IPA, but you can get that in our Tesco Express. I went for the house brewed but still wonderful London Fog Bowl, and suddenly it all made sense (it didn’t).
Even the glass.
I convinced myself that the bloke next to me was “The Rock”,
prayed for a Scottish comeback that was never going to happen, and stepped out into Shoreditch.
Still 2 hours to kill. Where next.