retiredmartin

June 2023. London W9.

The pubs come thick and fast in London. One of the joys of ticking the capital is planning where you’ll have a half rand where definitely a pint, when you’ll swerve the cask in favour of craft*, which tube lines will give you the shortest gaps between loo stops, and how you’ll know when to stop and that the final ESB in the Parcel Yard is NOT a good idea. Never ask why you’re doing this in the first place.

Pub No. 4 was a mere 5 minutes (Retired Martin strides) from the Warwick Castle, taking you into the heart of Maida Vale/Little Venice/whatever, past the wonderful church.

The Prince Alfred is, arguably, even more gorgeous than St Saviours, which fails to make it onto CAMRA’s list of heritage pubs.

It really is a Victorian stunner, from those tiles,

to the curves, to the snob screens.

I’m not a snob, so I wasn’t allowed to see the snob screens, but I think you get the idea.

You’re faced with keg taps at the bar, so I had to guess the handpumps in the room beyond would have a Young’s Ordinary on and indeed they did. I bet the one on the left is a Redemption.

£2.85 a half doesn’t even seem that bad after reading of £7+ horrors on the Tand’s blog, and Youngs, like Fullers, is never a bargain pint.

To be honest, you’d pay £2.85 just to come in and treat this as you would a little museum of Victoria design, and a cool beer (NBSS 3) was tasty enough, despite the deteriorating effect of the dreaded thin glass.

The Albert wasn’t that busy, but there was that smorgasbord of accents you get in Paddington and a classy music choice evoking the Wigan Casino that seemed a million miles away from here.

Probably a nice place to eat, and I suddenly felt hungry as I headed on. Across the road at Paulette, snails and asparagus called.

But even at those bargain prices, I resisted.