retiredmartin

December 2024. Bermondsey.

Thanks to Deserter for the title inspiration.

Back to Cambridge from Sheffield on Wednesday morning, the laundry still not dry, I was straight off back to London that evening for a gig. Plenty of time to rest when you’re dead.

A heaving Northern Line to London Bridge,

and then 10 minutes walk from the Shard,

to the Bermondsey Beer Mile.

It’s a foul, drizzly night, but I’ve never seen the South Bank so buzzling, so no chance of nipping in GBG perennial Shipwrights on the way back.

If Bermondsey is booming, the shine has come off the Beer Mile of late, as Matthew Curtis sagely noted in his piece on our top UK beer cities.

Notably quieter under the arches as you reach Southwark Brewery Tap at the start of the mile,

though a works party had taken over the couple of trestle tables (loaded with bought-in crisps and cocktail sausages),

so I perch my pint of Best on a table near the vessels occupied by a brewery bod on a computer, almost tipping it up.

Is he the Mackem ?

Look, it’s not pubby, what do you expect from an industrial estate unit during the Christmas season ?

But, like the Anspasch and Hobday tap that was last years Beer Mile GBG entry, the foamy, rich ale is an exemplar of the brewers art (NBSS 4), though at £6.50 a pint it bloomin’ should be.

Folk who only use pubs once a year stand cluelessly at the bar looking for Madri, Colin from Accounts wears a Rudolph jumping with a flashing nose, someone smashes a glass I’m Martin Nomates, the party pooper.

All is well with the world. War is over, if you want it.