November 2025. Hampstead. London.
I’m timing my trips down to see Dad to coincide with the nostalgia music afternoons at his care home (Dave from Chatteris, it’s always a Dave, sings Beatles and Neil Diamond) and my rather less nostalgic gigs in London.
Last Tuesday saw my Gig of the Year, if not Decade,
as Rosie breaks a schedule of Boston, Salt Lake City and New York to come and sing “City Woman” to me in Highbury.
But before Highbury, a lone tick up near Hampstead Heath at dusk.
Ain’t London lovely ?
I didn’t always think the pubs were all that, either too busy to care or with slow-selling cask, but things have changed of late, and the Duke of St Albans (not to be confused with numerous other North London Dukes) deservedly joins the Southampton and the Pineapple in Kentish Town’s GBG entries this year.
One problem.
Plenty of cask,
but also its own beers from Saint Monday are keg, and I feel ever so slightly conflicted in opting for homebrew craft over cask. But I’ve done the Guide, I don’t have to bother with silly rules anymore.
The food reviews were so mixed I had to have an early tea, the burger* rather better than the floury chips,
the session IPA is tasty, if very, very, cold.
Unlike the pub, bustling mid-afternoon with a warmth driven by a joyous barmaid, a Velvet Underground and Bowie soundtrack, and a welcome for all. Dogs in prams, babies not in prams, even Americans in tennis kit asking what “IPA**” is.
Hampstead is like an American image of Mary Poppins era London, particularly around the Holly Bush, and of course there’s THAT view from Parliament Hill.
*NOT a smash burger.
** “Industrially Produced Alcohol, I think
retiredmartin 
Where the other half lives…
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I’m going to a pub this afternoon, where a beer I’ve heard of will most likely leave top-to-bottom, full circle lacings, and there won’t be any dogs, in pushchairs or otherwise.
The music will be whatever the Monday afternoon club put on the jukebox, which is usually varied, at an agreeable volume, and interesting.
Otherwise, it will probably be a bit quiet.
In general I like London pubs though.
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Always pleased to hear someone is off to the pub.
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Etu, “dogs in pushchairs” reminds me that I recently saw a cat in a pushchair.
It had been taken to Victoria Park and was close to and facing the aviary for watching the birds !
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I’ve seen one on a lead in a pub. Its owners put it on their table. It eventually threw a fit about being on a lead and they left.
Is anything any wonder?
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Sounds good. Shame about the dogs though.
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They’re allowed in the bar, provided that they stay on the floor, are quiet, and are kept on a short lead. Which is how it always used to be, and for very good reason.
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Etu, that’s how I took my dog to the pub. He’d curl up at my feet and go to sleep, waking only if someone spoke to him (wag wag) or it was time to go home (wag wag wag.)
People who put their dog on the table should be taken outside and tasered.
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Nice memories here of
Musicians Rosie Cross of Pyewacket and Rosie Hardman,
The Pineapple not far from where my brother lived in the 1980s,
Pub dogs, Hampstead’s probably not being as plentiful as Atherstone’s.
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I love the look of The Boston Arms and the city view. And I always love a dog … in a pub, out of a pub. My late father in law always took his Yorkie to his local who was often given free pickled eggs. Probably not the best snack but he was certainly loved.
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“Probably not the best snack but he was certainly loved.”
Agreed (holds nose).
Doesn’t matter if you meant your late father in law or his Yorkie. 😉
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“November 2025. Hampstead. London.”
(looks up at pic)
Ok, that’s a gorgeous view.
“Last Tuesday saw my Gig of the Year, if not Decade,”
That’s uplifting, what with the trips down to your Dad.
“Ain’t London lovely ?”
It would seem many things look lovely… from afar.
(like the view in the first pic)
“and the Duke of St Albans (not to be confused with numerous other North London Dukes)”
They could always ‘duke’ it out to see who’s the best.
“One problem.
Plenty of cask,”
Too many means too little turnover?
“But I’ve done the Guide, I don’t have to bother with silly rules anymore.”
Preach it brother!
“Rules? We don’t need no stinking rules!”
(to paraphrase from the classic ‘Treasure of the Sierra Madre)
“the session IPA is tasty, if very, very, cold.”
Ah, starting to imitate us over here?
(personally, I prefer my ales at around 7C – North American influence)
“even Americans in tennis kit asking what “IPA**” is.”
Yikes! Did they have sweaters tied around their necks? Probably from the Hamptons or some such.
“Hampstead is like an American image of Mary Poppins era London”
Yanks love that sort of stuff. That’s because nothing over here is OLD.
(old joke; North Americans think 100 years is old while Europeans think 100 miles is far) 😉
“** “Industrially Produced Alcohol, I think”
Ah. So the Yanks weren’t from the Hamptons but rather from the Ozarks; where alcohol is produced in local stills.
Cheers
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