retiredmartin

14th December 2022.

You left us in a cafe in Leytonstone, where I’d just finished off Mrs RM’s shepherd’s pie and didn’t feel much like running for the tube, but luckily the (packed) Central line was still operating at 5 minute intervals,

and 10 minutes later we hopped out at Bow for a first time since we used to bring the boys to East London to play at Mile End Park while we looked for that apparently unchanged in a century boozer.

Mrs RM used to live near here (West Ham, actually) and thought she knew Bow, but it was frankly unrecognisable.

Gen***********n has clearly expanded beyond the Columbia Road flower market and will only stop once it reaches Plaistow in 2066.

The houses looked magical, like something out of Mary Poppins, and GBG newbie The Lord Tredegar invited us in.

Except, of course, it didn’t, with both the promised all day opening on Facebook and another 3pm suggestion proving illusory.

So, half an hour to cross the rail line and admire the art,

and a couple of great pub exteriors,

but only the Young Prince survives.

Stafford Paul will know all about Smith Garrett‘s “prize beers”.

Back at the Tredegar after trudging through the London snow, the lights were now on.

What a door,

what a line-up,

what a curvature of the bar.

London pubs have a particular gorgeousness about them; the Lord Tredegar has something of the Pineapple about it, and you wonder how it’s taken 57 years to catch up with it.

OK, the main trade is 20 somethings with bobble hats, and there’s a reservation for Carl,

but Carl’s not THAT bad a name, is it ? Is it ?

Mrs RM had nabbed the table by the fire and started nodding along to “Christmas Wrapping”

It was TOO cosy.

The barperson was a cheery gem, Plum Porter and Landlord a solid 3.5, the soundtrack peerless.

A year ago I’d have marched Mrs RM after those halves and back to the tube towards a Spoons in Forest Gate, but she wanted another half here and I couldn’t really argue, 3 days away from her birthday.

The pub is a warren of diverse drinking and eating areas, in one of which you’ll find this wonderful drawing entitled “Mrs RM awoken after her third gallon of Citra”.

Fuelled by a bloke carrying champagne in a bucket, banter at the bar reminded me what those wonderful German Brauhäuser DON’T have, however good their beer and schnitzel, and I foresaw another year of applauding new London Guide entries.