It was 23 minutes from the Barbican to Temple on public transport and 23 minutes on foot.
Clearly most people would have taken the bus, or stood waiting for the Uber, or given up.
Walking London is one the great free pleasures, along with queueing for fuel and reading MumsNet, and is particularly enjoyable in our beautiful Autumn with quiet streets that allow you to walk across roads reading your mobile phone.
The problem with walking London is the risk of distraction. “Oooh, should I pop in the Olde Cheshire Cheese and see how much Humphrey is charging for fruit beers these days ?”.
But I press on to the George, aka George at the Temple, and possibly other names.
Note the absence of vertical drinkers on the street.
I’m convinced I’ve been here before; I’ve certainly done the Temple Brew House and another pub down an alley just off The Strand. Would that have been the Edgar Wallace ?
There’s been much gnashing of teeth about the lack of cask in London on Discourse and other disreputable beer discussion sites.
I blame the drinkers. What sensible publican would put on nine beers when one is plenty, often more than enough. The house beer, which I’ll “George Ale”, was less than a fiver, cool and foamy (NBSS 3+).
But my memory of the George is laughter. They may not be packed but Londoners are enjoying their pubs again.
And the Landlady/guvnoress stopped for a chat about trade. At 5pm on a Friday. I don’t think I’ve ever had a meaningful chat at the bar in London before. But it happened a few times that day. And it was lovely.