retiredmartin

November 2026. Paddington. London.

Sunday morning, drive down from Sheffield to Waterbeach (not much longer, hopefully) to discuss funeral arrangements, then another overnighter in a cheap Cambridge Travelodge before meeting funeral directors and registering the death the next day. I cannot lie; it’s not as much fun as ticking Orkney pubs.

But I do get to nip into London for £16.80, and one tube trip on Circle brings you to Edgware Road station (well, one of them).

Some impressive architecture, inside and out,

but not a part of W2 I’m that familiar with outside of the middle-eastern restaurants and the Hilton London Metropole where I was one of the shortlisted candidates for Deputy Finance Director of the Year*.

More importantly, Mrs RM did some work of vital national importance for the NHS just left of the Paddington Bear statue in Eastbourne Terrace.

I had little recollection of Paddington, had never even been to the basin which has had one of London’s most dramatic redevelopments.

And thus receives, as well as a bereft looking Brew Dog, a modern Spoons that’s heaving on Sunday.

You must let me know if you see a quiet Spoons.

Ignore that £4.49 for Abbot; my Twickenham (ugh) Porter is £2.72 with beards voucher, and it’s a magnificently chewy pint for under £3 in pleasant surroundings. If penicillin research is your thing.

Only one pub in, and already rumours of train calculations were swirling.

Time to say “bye” to the geese (are they ?), and head to Notting Hill.

*_{A nomination that seemed to derive entirely from my ability to recommend pubs around the country}