June 2026. London.
A day at the in-laws, bearing up in the Tunbridge Wells heat better than me, and then the 17:10 into Charing Cross for a gig.
The rail advice was not to travel unless absolutely necessary. I asked ChatGPT for guidance.
Well, there you go. It was like a fridge on the Southeastern service, though I’d still drunk a litre of water before emerging somewhere near the Ship & Shovell.
20 minutes walk to Oxford Street, but let’s start closer to the Thames. You’ll know this one.
I haven’t been to the Harp since a frankly worrying looking crawl the day before the second COVID lockdown.
I didn’t really do all of those.
It’s a stunner, but how’s it bearing up in 35 degrees ?
Well, this was a perfect test. I couldn’t even reach the pumps to see what was on, but as you’ll know I drink anything, and I could see heart shape of Big Trip so I pick by brewery.
There’s a chatty bloke next to me on his way to Croatia, so we discuss cheap flights rather than beer. He asks me what I’m drinking and I’ve no idea (it’s a milk stout), but I can tell him it’s cool and in beautiful condition (NBSS 4), and that’s all that matters.
He’s sipping a Dark Star, and looks slightly incredulous as I finish a sub-four minute pint just before it becomes soup. Honestly, if the Tand had brought his thermometer he’s have noted a 3 degree rise in beer temperature.
My friend at the bar likes his cask but isn’t “a CAMRA”, and the crowd at the Harp is a proper mix of folk, split between the bar, the upstairs room and the alley at the back, though probably more the after-work crowd than tourists.
A pub you should revisit more often than I do, as long as you can squeeze down Brydges Place.
retiredmartin 