PRIDE DRINKING WELL IN TOWER HILL’S SHIP

September 2023. Tower Hill, London.

A second randomly selected City of London pub before my Hoxton gig,

and an annual chance to go “Wow” on the walk from Aldgate north of Tower Hill to the Ship.

It’s that clash of modern and medieval that always gets me.

Quiet on a September Monday in the City; do the suits really only come in Tuesday to Thursdays post-Covid ?

Not many tourists in Crutched Friars.

And you could walk right past the historic pub.

So many questions. Like, how has the Ship evaded my attention for so long ?

“Unchanging drinkers pub” says What Pub, and there’s little sign of any London craft revolution in the Beer Guide these last few years.

But, as Samuel Johnson famously said, a man who is tired of Pride and Landlord and Harveys is tired of beer.

Half a dozen suited gents all on the Pride, which (yes !) was drinking well.

Of course, no-one would have taken their tie off in Johnson’s time.

A really friendly place with an old school landlord; the Tand will know what I mean. £5.60 a pint here, bet they shift a lot.

Shazam gave up on identifying the Chicago dance soundtrack,

the only concession to the 21st century.

My advice to fellow Pub Men is to not leave the Ship till your sixth pub of the day.

As the writing on the wall says, a steady descent to the Gents is what you need.

You have been warned.

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Published by retiredmartin

Retired NHS, doing long walks around UK and the world to record the great bits. Focused on Good Beer Guide pubs and live music.

9 thoughts on “PRIDE DRINKING WELL IN TOWER HILL’S SHIP”

  3. I really do like Martin’s blog because he tolerates – nay, maybe encourages – our sometimes wandering digressions.

    Now here’s a thing, following the recent plunge in outside temperatures. I’m three pints the better, for visits to three locals this afternoon, and had hoped to eat in one, which does rather OK food, and yet where the pub bit still often has a good conviviality. Sadly – and I was already chilled to the bone – its eating room offered no warmth for recovery. I explained this to the barman and he just said “No worries. Bye”. This, in a pub which has cut down its opening hours and food times drastically…

    So I came home to the central heating and food cupboard, where a packet of Sharwoods egg noodles awaited, along with prawns in the freezer, veg in the fridge, and spices on the rack, so I was set up for a fair filling, but remained troubled by the noodles pack. Apparently they were “medium” noodles. Whatever did that mean? Halfway between “big” and “small”? “authenticity” and “fake ethnicity”? Extreme or minimal egginess or noodliness?

    Help me, someone…

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    Reply

      2. Many thanks anon, I’ll sleep more easily from now on.

        That makes perfect sense, but I’ve learnt in life Never Assume Anything.

        Like

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