Down by the riverside

I found myself in that there London place last Thursday. I was there on company business, with the express purpose of obtaining a visa for a forthcoming trip to foreign parts. I won’t say where yet, but you will probably get a clue from one of the photos.

Now no visit to London, for business or for pleasure, is complete without at least one visit to a classic pub and Thursday was no exception, but that obviously had to wait until after my business was concluded. I had a pre-booked appointment for my visa submission, and not wanting to be late I arrived in the big city with plenty of time to spare.

I actually had a little too much time to spare, but after a brief wander around found myself standing opposite the medieval splendour of the Guildhall. This might sound a little strange, especially coming from someone who is a frequent visitor to the capital, but Thursday’s visit was my first glimpse of the Guildhall.

To come across this survivor from the middle ages surrounded by a sea of modernity, was not something I’d been expecting, and I couldn’t help being impressed. Directly opposite the Guildhall is the church of St Lawrence Jewry next Guildhall; one of the many fine churches designed and built by Sir Christopher Wren to replace those consumed in the Great Fire of London.

There were some benches outside the  church, looking directly across to the Guildhall, and this seemed a suitable spot in which to sit and eat my lunch – the sandwiches I normally make and pack up each day. It was a nice sheltered spot, away from the unseasonably cold wind which was blowing - whatever happened to spring?

I still had some time to kill, so I popped in for a brief look at  the Guildhall Art Gallery. Entrance was free, and as well as some stunning paintings, plus a section in the basement where the remains of a Roman amphitheatre can be viewed, there were also some rather well-appointed toilet facilities.

I took full advantage of the latter, before heading off for my pre-booked appointment. The whole process took around 70 minutes,  and involved three separate queues, but because it was necessary to leave my passport at the agency, for the visa to be affixed,  I will have to return to collect it, next week.

So there will be a further opportunity for a “wet” in the big city, next week. (Incidentally, I first heard the expression “wet,” from a former boss of mine, when I was a young and rather naïve, twenty-something in his first professional role).

Back to last week,  as soon as I’d concluded my business, I took the Underground, in a westerly direction, changing lines a couple of times, before arriving at Ravenscourt Park, where I alighted from the train, and headed due south at a brisk pace, towards the River Thames.

In case you haven’t guessed by now, I was making for was the Dove; a famous grade II listed riverside tavern, which is one of London's Real Heritage Pubs. The building dates back to the late 18^th Century, and having started life as the Doves Coffee House, was bought by Fuller’s Brewery in 1796.

I almost walked straight passed the narrow alleyway which leads to the pub, but after noticing my error, and pausing to take a few photos, I found myself being questioned about the antiquity of the building, by a couple of American tourists who’d come up behind me.

I answered the question of “Is this the oldest pub?”, by asking where exactly were they referring to? Not wishing to appear rude, or unhelpful, I quickly followed up by saying the Dove was almost certainly the oldest pub in that particular part of London, but not the oldest in the capital.

I needn’t have worried about causing an offence, as the couple were clearly on a mission, and without really waiting for my reply, marched straight to the door, where one of them read aloud from the sign by the door, that the song Rule Britannia had been composed there.

I wasn’t taking much notice by then, as I was just glad when they entered the pub and got out of camera shot. There must have been an American convention going on that afternoon, as I encountered several more visitors from across the Atlantic as I attempted a few more photo shots from the other side of the pub. Strangely enough, I didn’t see, or indeed hear, any Americans once I’d stepped inside the Dove.

This was probably my first visit to the pub in a couple of decades, so it’s hard to say whether or not it had changed much, but I strongly suspect it hadn’t, apart from perhaps the bank of keg pumps on the bar – although even those were fairly discreet.

The pub was busy and not just with tourists like me, as there were several parties of diners ensconced at the tables which occupy most parts of the main bar. Upon entering, I’d taken a quick peak at the tiny public bar at the front of the pub. It is claimed to be one of  the smallest in the country. It was also empty, so whilst I could have had the place to myself, I really wanted to sit out on the terrace which overlooks the River Thames, at the rear of the pub.

First though, I needed a pint, particularly as I was feeling rather parched after my earlier endeavours. The beer choices were  London Pride, ESB plus another from the Fuller’s range. I opted for the Pride and was glad I did. It was served to me in a branded, dimple mug and was on cracking form I scored it at 4.0 NBSS, but it may actually have deserved 4.5.

Refreshingly cool and well-conditioned, it was everything Pride is capable of being, and possibly a little bit more. I took my pint and made my way outside, glad of some fresh air after being cooped up in a crowded and bustling office building earlier in the day.

I found a vacant table and plonked myself down. The sun was shining and it was quite warm out  of the wind. Looking across at the river, I could see several crews of oarsman practising their rowing, possibly in readiness for the next Varsity Boat Race, or perhaps even the Olympics?

It was all very pleasant, and I was very tempted to stay for a second pint – possibly trying the ESB. However, I’d promised Mrs PBT’s that I’d not only be home in time for dinner, but would also be available to accompany her to the poling station, to cast our votes in the local government elections. I therefore finished my pint and made my way back to the underground station, but not before stopping to take some photos of the pub’s interior.

The Dove was a little less crowded by then, as several of the large  groups of diners had left. Before I too joined them, I reflected on the pub’s heritage and some of its more illustrious past visitors. These include literary giants Graham Greene, Dylan Thomas and Ernest Hemingway. Charles II is also rumoured to have romanced and dined his mistress Nell Gwynne there.

On a more personal level, I’d been talking with one of my friends just a couple of weeks previously about the Dove. We’d both agreed that a visit to the pub was long overdue. I’m not sure if he’s managed to squeeze one in yet, but I’m certainly pleased that I made the effort.