February 2026. Letchworth Garden City.
Just for you, a map showing all the things in Letchworth, a town rather changed from our time there 35 years ago.
Notably, Sagar Tandoori where we ended our £40 Friday night splurge with a flaming sambuca is closed,
not that I’d have been able to see it in the drizzle.
Broadway leads to Arena Parade and the usual “town hall ruined by car park” scenario.
But the Arena Tavern stands unchanged in 35 years ago, one of the few pubs in the “The Worlds End” using the same venue outdoor and indoors.
I can’t believe the Tavern was brand new when I arrived in 1991; it always looked the sort of shopping centre sport/live music bar that had been there forever, a bit like Jono’s in Ilford.
That beer range is straight of the glory days of Boring Brown Bitter, too.
The young barman is, you guessed it, a gem; approving of my choice of the Rev James pulled from a beer engine that looks older than the pub.
Last time here, and that would have been BC (before craft) I’d had John Smiths Cask, and it wouldn’t have been as good as this cool, chewy pint (NBSS 3.5). The Rev is as indestuctable a pint as Black Sheep or Vault City Custard Tart Smoothie.
It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon in Letchworth, there’s more trade in the three Italian restaurants (all on Untappd), but the Arena is warm and cosy and mixes Elton John with Paramore (not at the same time, though Elton does so many duet it’s not impossible).
There’s a drip, drip into a dog bowl the barman has placed on my table to catch water from a leak above. It’s a metaphor for life. Or something.
retiredmartin 