Three to go to finish this;`
Note the effort to provide the contrasts in colour in those two photos.
The travel map for the last three gets a bit messy.
You’d left me in Lewisham, waiting for the short journey to London Beer Dispensary, one of those pubs that Deserter write about but which you can’t quite place.
I could have walked but the Travelcard costs £23 and you need to get the most out of it and conserve energy for the rush to Kings Cross station later.
Brockley (or Crofton Park, or Ladywell) has had a few GBG entries, but none as crafty as the Dispensary.
I increase the average age by 3.7 years and am the only customer not wearing a bobble hat,
but they’re very friendly and still serve me a decent half of “Jack“,just like in the K$sha song.
It’s warm and cosy and they have imported the special Christmas version of Paulaner. I can tell that because of the hat.
Nice place, as is the next one.
Apart from Frankie Howerd and his club, Eltham is best known for the grass covered loos neighbouring the church. In preparation for their conversion to a micropub “Bursting for a Beer” they were shut.
The loos in the classy McDonalds across the road were open, and playing Vivaldi, which I guess is better than Handel’s Water Music.
Now, I hope you don’t start worrying about me when I tell you the Rusty Bucket craft beer pub new in the Guide was another cracker. Not quite Morden Arms good, but a cracker all the same.
I could have been at that posh gin place in Knutsford, but the guy setting up for a Belgian beer tasting session was all South London loveliness, no doubt humming along to Ultravox and The Clash.
Eschewing the cask (“kick him out !”) I went for the sour.
“We’ve got Duchess de Bourgogne as well”
It was a tough choice. It was an easy choice. As the line in “Kingdom of Heaven” goes.
The sort of pub I’m glad Mrs RM doesn’t live next to.
And finally, via the inevitable delayed bus, I end where I started. By the Thames.
A proper grown-up neighbourhood micro for east Greenwich, with the usual suspects on the bar and what’s wrong with that ?
Very “Sunderland St Macclesfield” chic, and very busy, which made my quick half Tonbridge Pale necessarily a quick one. I hate standing.
And that was that. Not even the energy to brave the worst Spoons in London, and therefore the world (clue: tick tock).
I almost felt sorry it was all over. And I’d forgot to eat again.