retiredmartin

December 2025. Sheffield. Ely. King’s Cross. London.

You’ll be wondering by now what’s happened to my birthday (22nd December, make a note on your new Retired Martin calendar).

That’s coming soon, and rest assured it’s not as bad as last year, but first a long day from Sheffield,

to Rye, via long stops in Ely and King’s Cross.

I’d intended staying over in Waterbeach, but couldn’t face another night of Sunnyside and Sun and Singapore rice, so stayed on, frantically rifling through a wallet full of paper tickets for the valid one.

The (delayed) train arrived at King’s Cross 3 minutes after my connection across the road at St Pancras, and even with my speed walking I wasn’t beating the South-eastern to catch it up at Stratford.

So. A pint then ? Simon brings bad news from your No. 1 waiting room.

So, I head out into the drizzle illuminated by Scala,

and although N1 has many, many pubby attractions, my 22 minutes gives me just enough time to get to the King Charles I, the one who “had an accident with an axe“, as the BBC probably reported it at the time.

The Charles seems to be the Kings X stop of choice for pub men these days, at least until McGlynns re-opens. It’s odd how pubs popularity ebbs and wanes and rises again; Simon, Stafford Paul and I have all raved about Skinners Arms of late, after decades of obscurity.

Anyway, the Charles. Must be 15 years since my ticking visit. Clearly a classic, you can tell from out front.

And inside, the spirit of McGlynns has clearly moved a few streets north.

I reckon you can get a feel for a London pub even before you reach the bar, which is quite tricky as the Charles I is tiny and I’m wearing my rucksack containing my clothes for the entire Christmas period. It’s still smaller than your washbag, but I’m definitely going to bump into someone.

And I do. I’ve only got 10 minutes inside, so I wisely opt not to nick the last table and upset the locals,

and perch with a pint of Hammerton Best Bitter at the bar, the barman nodding to me to ignore the reserved sign.

It starts a bit thin, but by the end it’s chewy and tasty (NBSS 3.5) though again it’s second fiddle to an orchestra of a pub*.

Great Gents, too, though I don’t understand this;

I stop to take the shot across the road,

and that 3 second delay almost means I miss my St Pancras train. Why are people so slow (see also : why do folk need so much luggage).

_{*You can have that line, for free}