retiredmartin

September 2023. London.

The first London trip of the new Beer Guide year is a season’s highlight, like Southampton away or a crispy beef and Singapore rice in the campervan in a town beginning with “Z”. Last year that first trip to the City didn’t happen till November, so 18th September is an early treat.

Obviously you shouldn’t assume that any pubs are, or aren’t, in the Guide for the next week or so; treat them as places that the mythical “pub recommender” mentioned at a beer festival in Aldershot once.

This Monday night trip (YES ! only 2 days behind) was actually Big Gig Night.

You remember Alix Page, surely ? Yep, she sold out Hoxton.

Doors at 7, I arrive at Kings Cross via Waterbeach at 5:15, so plenty of time for three two new pubs. It would have been a third but Google Maps indignantly told me I’d already been there NINE years ago.

So my 23/24 season (unofficially) starts at Farringdon station in the heart of the commercial city,

a place I never really feel I’ve got to grips with.

5:30pm is a great time to arrive at a City of London pub like the Castle.

Though surely I’ve no chance of a table ?

Ooh, nice mirror.

And another one. Those Wrexham Bass mirror factories have been busy.

No-one on that seat, so I stick my jacket on the back. No-one nicks it. Or my seat.

Definitely a younger, more casually dressed crowd in the City than I remember, NONE of them drinking cask (all Beavertown, I reckon). Another small street corner pub that the capital does so well.

The beer range looks a bit like that Shakespeare I did in Brum. In fact this pub could be a Nicholson’s house, rather than an M & B. Is there a difference ?

Black Sheep “finito”, a Dark Star beer with a weird clip with “hazy” on it, or Landlord. Easy choice then.

“A pint ?” confirms the cheery barmaid, seemingly in awe, using her hands to indicate a large drinking vessel. Am I odd to drink pints ?

“Card Payments Only” it says, so I get my plastic out ready to swipe the proffered machine. Good job I always check the amount first.

“Eighteen pounds sixty ! For a pint ?“. Was she warning me off ordering a pint ?

“Oops, so sorry, I entered three“. Could happen to anyone.

This will no doubt horrify Paul Mudge, but £6.20 suddenly didn’t seem TOO bad for a pint of Landlord in London.

And it started off cool and crisp (NBSS 3+), before dipping a bit, and then oddly improving again towards the end*. Best drunk in two (2) minutes, I reckon.

A bit like a mirror advertising Bass.

Bandwagon jumpers.

*What can it all mean ? It means nothing.