retiredmartin

October 2024. Highgate. London.

A snatched afternoon away from domestic stress into London on Wednesday afternoon had seen me rack up 3 pints in 90 minutes, which is exactly the right level of consumption to make you a) sleepy, b) in need of frequent loo stops and c) not much inclined to anything intellectual like the Leake Street Arches Mrs RM was intent on blogging on.

I checked Jim’s spreadsheet of GBG25 newbies.

Oooh, two in Highgate, riches indeed, and it felt like I hadn’t been up this bit of N6 since Madness were in nappies and sung about driving their car up Muswell Hill.

40 minutes on the Northern Line, them emerge blinking into sunlight and graceful buildings,

and an urgent need for a wee.

N6 may be leafy but it’s not a place for public urination, so just as well the Wrestlers was up this hill;

North London pubs may not always be good at their secondary purpose of dispensing beer, but they certainly look the part.

Actually, the Wrestlers looks terribly familiar, all dark wood and cricket bats,

blokes at the bar,

including the one who grunts derisively at me as I proffer a fiver for my half of Pride and get suitably admonished by the barmaid.

“I’m sorry Sir !….we don’t take cash !”.

Look, I don’t care if you’re card only, I’m no CAMRA luddite, but PLEASE state your preferred payment method clearly in advance so I don’t have to do this little bit of theatre at the bar.

Nice looking pub, not overly foodie,

great fire, a dull but adequate Fullers (2.5).

And at least, unlike the underground, it has loos.