The Batsford Pub Guides

Back in the early 1960’s, the publishers Batsford produced a series of pub guides based either on counties, or regions. They also produced one on London Pubs. So far as I am aware, the series never covered the whole country and, apart from Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire, was confined to East Anglia, London and the South East. 

I now have all six of these guides, having just acquired, the one covering the adjoining counties of Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire, courtesy of Amazon. This now joins the other five in my collection that covers East Anglia, Kent, London, Surrey and Sussex. Each guide was researched and written by a different author, in a broadly similar style, but with individual nuances, and the odd quirk, that make for an interesting and, at times, highly entertaining read. What is especially noteworthy about these guides is that the entry for each pub lists the owning brewery and, in the case of the Kent Guide, goes so far as to list the individual draught beers on sale). For those, like myself, who are interested in a bit of brewery history, this makes fascinating reading, and gives a glimpse of what drinkers in the 1960’s could expect when they stepped inside a pub.

So what were the pubs of this era like? Well, for a start the majority of them offered the choice of Public or Saloon bar in which customers could enjoy their drinks; a situation that still largely held true back when I first started frequenting pubs. As I get older and look back on what were undoubtedly simpler times, I find myself really missing the choice that a two-bar pub used to offer. A game of darts or cribbage with the locals, or a get together with the lads then the public bar was the obvious choice. Taking a girl out on a date, calling in for a bar meal or going for a drink with one’s parents, then it was definitely the saloon bar.

Heaven knows what possessed brewers and pub owners to rob us of this choice, but if it was in a mistaken move to remove class barriers and adopt a more egalitarian approach then they were grossly mistaken,  as the difference between the public and saloon bars were nothing to do with class, wealth or any similar misconceptions.  In fact it must rank as the greatest single act of vandalism perpetrated on our pubs within living memory! This point is made nicely in the Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Guide: The tendency in recent years for brewers to do away with public bars and enlarge the saloon is a n idea that can have unfortunate repercussions. Often not only do the public-bar customers vanish, but the “improvements” to the saloon result in a vast room of negative character, doing nothing to please the regular customers or to attract new ones. It seems people were thinking this was a bad idea back in the 60’s, but no-one took any notice!

Anyway, I digress, but without wishing to over-generalise, pubs were pubs 50 – 60 years ago, and whilst some may have had up-market pretencions, on the whole they catered for the needs of their individual communities far better than many of today’s pubs do.

It is interesting to note who owned what back in the 60’s; the “Big Six” were just starting to emerge, but the guides show that regional breweries, many of whom would later merge with similar sized concerns, or get bought outright by the fledgling large combines, owned the majority of the nation’s pub stock, but being local/regional, were well placed to cater for local tastes and needs. For example in Sussex Tamplins, Henty & Constable, Star Brewery (Eastbourne), Friary Meux and Brickwoods owned the majority of pubs, In neighbouring Surrey,  Charrington, Courage, Friary Meux and Watneys controlled most of the pubs, with a small handful being owned by Whitbread and Youngs.  Moving into East Anglia, the Norwich breweries of Bullards and Steward & Patteson, destined later to both be swallowed up (and closed) by Watney Mann, ruled the roost throughout most of Norfolk, whilst further south, and east, it was the likes of Trumans and Lacons (Great Yarmouth) that catered for local drinkers, with a healthy scattering of Adnams in Norfolk and Greene King in Suffolk.

London is a special case, as one might expect of the capital, in that most of the major brewers were represented, and most of them also still had breweries operating in the city. Thus drinkers would have had a choice of Charrington, Courage, Ind Coope, Manns, Truman, Watneys and Whitbread, along with a scattering of national brands from the likes of Bass and Worthington.  Interestingly, Friary Meux of Guildford owned quite a few pubs in the capital, due to the merger of  Surrey based Friary with Meux of Nine Elms, London. Of course none of these companies exist as separate entities today, and none have breweries based in the capital..

Returning to my home county of Kent for a while, by far the largest brewers at the time were Fremlins of Maidstone, who offered a wide range of different beers, including a mild, several bitters of varying strength, plus old ale in winter. Next were Courage who, whilst based in London, offered a variety of different brews that also included the then legendary Directors, which was produced at the group’s brewery at Alton in Hampshire. There were also a number of smaller brewers based in the east of the county which included Mackeson (a Whitbread subsidiary since the 1920’s), Tomson & Wotton and Cobbs (both of whom were largely confined to the Isle of Thanet).

Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire make interesting reading, with both counties blessed with a number of local and several different regional breweries, most of which have now vanished. For example, whilst Courage (following their merger with Simonds of Reading) and Ind Coope were the major pub owners in the two counties, companies like Wethereds and Benskins were not far behind. One could also find pubs belonging to Flowers, Henley Brewery Co (Brakspears), Hunt Edmunds (Banbury), Morland (Abingdon) and Morrells (Oxford). A number of other breweries also get a mention, including Harmans (Uxbridge), Hook Norton, and Phipps (Northampton).

There was also one pub  company which despite owning a large number of pubs, particularly in Buckinghamshire, did not brew; the Aylesbury Brewery Company ceased brewing in 1937, but brought in beer from other breweries (primarily Ind Coope at the time the guide was written), as they considered this more economical than producing the beer themselves. This arrangement continued until 1972, when the company was acquired outright, by Ind Coope’s successors – Allied Breweries..

There is a wonderfully ironic passage in the Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire guide about beer which reads as follows: The beer is Flowers, and it is all from the keg - there is no draught. For the older bitter-drinker, set in his ways and notoriously critical of his beer, this might, perhaps, be considered a drawback. But this is the tendency today, and the generation now beginning to develop a palate for beer will one day describe to their grandchildren those far-off days when the beer came in wooden casks, and needed such care before it was ready to sell.

These six guides provide a fascinating snapshot into a world of pubs and beers that has changed out of all recognition, and in some places vanished altogether. It is a world that precedes the start of my drinking career by some 10 years, but is a world I can still connect and empathise with; a world that is at times still familiar yet at other times distant.

If anyone knows of other guides in this series, apart from those mentioned above, I would be most grateful if they could  please let me know.

Christmas Beers

I know I'm rather late with this one, especially as the beers in question have been on sale for several weeks now, and known about for a few more before that as well. No matter, the other day I was thumbing through a copy of Wetherspoon's house magazine when I came to the page giving details of the so-called Christmas Ales they would be featuring over the festive season. There was also a write up on the subject by Jeff Evans, author of CAMRA's Good Bottled Beer Guide and well-respected beer writer to boot.


Jeff's article is, as one would expect, well written and well laid out. It begins with a look back to those times, as little as 30 years or so ago, when Christmas was the only time of the year one could expect to see something different on the bar apart from a brewer's mild, bitter and possibly best bitter.  He contrasts this with the situation today when, at this time of year, there is a whole plethora of so-called Christmas Ales weighing down the nation's bars Jeff picks out  a few of his favourites, and whilst he does make mention of the silly Christmas-themed puns that are all too common, as he was obviously writing a commissioned article for JDW doesn't really come down too hard on  the weak sounding names, and equally weak strength, of some of the beers,

I can certainly remember when the situation Jeff  harks back to was the norm, when Christmas Ales really were something special, rather than just a slightly reddish coloured best bitter with a silly name and equally silly pump clip. Whilst I obviously welcome the far greater availability of seasonal ales today, I do feel that the whole Christmas thing has been dumbed down and lost its meaning.

 
So what do I look for in a Christmas beer? Well, a decent strength to start with; ideally something around 6.0% and certainly nothing below 5.0%! I also like my Christmas ale to be dark in colour (brewers please note: ruby is NOT dark!),  full-bodied and well-hopped. Far too many of today's festive offerings are pale in colour (sometimes even golden!), low in strength and low on taste. The only thing Christmassy about them is the name on the pump clip, and all too often that is a silly pun or spoonerism with a dubious Christmas connection.


My all time seasonal favourite  is Harvey's Christmas Ale,  a beer I have written about on several past occasions, including a fairly recent post. I have also in the past, enjoyed Hook Norton's Twelve Days, another fine dark ale, not as strong as Harvey's, but still a welcome sight on a pub bar. Last night's West Kent CAMRA social in the Bedford, Tunbridge Wells, ended on a high note for me, with a glass of Old Dairy Snow Top, a dark warming 6.0% abv Winter Ale, not exclusively brewed for the Christmas period, but still much appreciated at this time of year. I managed to pick up a bottle of this excellent beer, whilst back over the Wells today. Being bottle-conditioned, it needs to stand for a day or two, but it should be ready for drinking on the big day itself, which is now just a few days away.

There will be more on my own selection of beers for Christmas a bit nearer the event itself.

Classic, Basic & Unspoilt, No. 3 - The Ringlestone Inn

Unlike the first two pubs in this series, the pub I am about to describe is still trading. However, like many pubs that could once have been described as Classic, Basic & Unspoilt, this one has had to move with the times, go "up-market" and start catering for the restaurant brigade. Perhaps this is the price of survival in today's depressed pub trade? Read on and see what you think.

In 1979, after nearly six years away, first as a student in Greater Manchester and then working in London, I moved back to Kent. I set up home in Maidstone, in the west of the county, an area I was unfamiliar with having been brought up in East Kent. My new surroundings afforded plenty of opportunity to explore the local pubs, and armed with the latest CAMRA Guide to Real Ale Pubs in Kent I set off to discover what this part of the county had to offer. I soon had the good fortune to come upon the then unspoilt Ringlestone Inn. 

The Ringlestone was a classic country pub that also had a rather interesting history attached to it. It nestles high up on the North Downs, above the villages of Harrietsham and Lenham, along some rather narrow and twisting lanes. What I liked about the pub was its simplicity. With its un-plastered, bare-brick walls, stone floors, barred windows and antique furniture, together with oil lights and candles for illumination, the Ringlestone had a genuine old world feel to it. As an added attraction, the beers served were dispensed direct from the cask.

As was usual with many free-houses thirty years ago, only a limited range of ales was stocked. This meant though that they were all kept in tip-top condition. When I first became acquainted with the pub the cask beers sold were Draught Bass, Fremlins Bitter and Fremlins Tusker. The latter, in particular, was a superb drink that tasted even better by virtue of the gravity dispense. Later on the beer range was expanded, to include ales from both Everards and Tolly Cobbold, whilst at the same time Bass was discontinued. At the time the Ringlestone was privately owned by a couple who's names unfortunately escape me.

There was just the one bar which, as described above, was simply furnished. During the winter months it was heated by a log-burning stove. There was also a separate and very tiny restaurant, which was only open on Friday and Saturday evenings, and lit by candle-light. I particularly remember enjoying Christmas Dinner there one December evening, along with fellow committee members of the Maidstone and Mid- Kent branch of CAMRA. It was a truly atmospheric setting for such an occasion, made all the more memorable by the quality of both the beer and the food.

There is a story concerning the Ringlestone, which  has passed into legend. It pre-dates the time that I first knew the pub by some years. During the early 1960’s, the Ringlestone was owned and run by two women; a mother and her daughter. Given the pub’s isolated position, the pair took no chances with strangers, and kept a loaded shot-gun hidden behind the bar. According to the tale, if they did not like the look of you, the shot-gun would be produced, and you would be told in no uncertain terms that your custom was not welcome! All gripping stuff, and as a child  I remember my parents talking about an isolated pub,  run by two eccentric women who kept a loaded shot-gun behind the bar, in order to frighten off anyone they regarded as unwelcome. Mum and Dad weren't certain of the name, or exact location of this pub, but it was obviously  the Ringlestone they were talking about.

I managed to conduct some research on the subject and, according to Wikipedia, the women were called Florence (Ma) and Dora Gasking. They were indeed  mother and daughter, and they took over the pub in 1958. They acquired quite a notorious reputation, and were frequently armed with a shotgun, inspecting their clientele and requiring unwanted guests to leave. They are also said to have required a "speakeasy"-style series of secret knocks to gain entry to the pub!

One correspondent on Beer in the Evening looks back on those days: "I remember it when it was owned by "Ma" and her daughter. Back then, you often had to knock on the door to gain admittance and that was by no means a guarantee if Ma didn't like the look of you. She kept a loaded shotgun behind the bar, and would grab it quite often to deter anyone she didn't feel deserved to be in her hostelry. On one occasion, Peggy & Barclay, who were at that time owners of the nearby Blacksmiths Arms in Wormshill, told me that they visited Ma on their night off. Several youths were attempting to get in, rattling the locked door. After Ma told them to "piss off" and they continued to ask to be let in, apparently Ma said, "Barclay! Get my gun!" And sure enough, he said, she fired buckshot at the inside of the door and, not surprisingly, the lads outside decided to go home. I did not see Ma actually use the shotgun, but she did wave it around, convinced that customers were intent on robbing her, because there was no electricity and the place was quite gloomy at night, lighted only by flickering gas lamps or oil lanterns. The beer was very good, as I recall, served directly into jugs from barrels behind the bar. After Ma passed on it lost a lot of its atmosphere and really wasn't worth a visit."

In the early 1980’s the Ringlestone changed hands, and has since undergone quite dramatic changes. The small restaurant room was connected through to the main bar, but fortunately this was carried out without  spoiling the character of the pub. In late 1984 I ended up even further away from my roots when I moved to Tonbridge. The Ringlestone was now no longer a short 20 minute drive away and I have only re-visited it on a couple of occasions. Whilst it is still a pleasant enough pub, it has been expanded  in size, and like I hinted at the beginning of this article, has gone hankering after the food trade. To make matters worse the pub was bought in 2005 by Faversham Brewers, Shepherd Neame. As many of you will know I am not a fan of their beer so there is now even less incentive for me to call in at the Ringlestone. Instead I prefer to remember it as it was when I first knew it, thirty years ago.

Woodfordes Bottled Beers - Part 3

Back in early 2011 I began reviewing a case of six different beers kindly sent to me by renowned Norfolk brewers, Woodfordes. I sampled and reviewed four of them, but owing to being off the drink for most of that year, the remaining two bottles ended up tucked away at the back of the cupboard. I tried the Nelson's Revenge a couple of  months ago, but have only just got round to sampling the final, and strongest of the beers, the 7.0% Head Cracker. Here's what I thought of the beers:

Nelson's Revenge 4.5% Best Before End June 2011. Poured surprisingly clear and not excessively lively either. After this lengthy maturation period the yeast seems to have formed a firm layer at the bottom of the bottle. No off-flavours, although there is a very slight hint of acidity in the background. This may be a characteristic of the house yeast. Despite the beer being almost a year beyond its Best Before Date, it is quite crisp tasting (citrus hops according to the tasting notes) and refreshing, with some juicy malt still evident. The long maturation period seems to have done this beer some good. Not a  beer I would buy again, in bottle form, but still eminently drinkable.

Head Cracker 7.0% Best Before End Aug 2011. Amber in colour and  poured like above, with virtually no head. Again the yeast had formed a firm layer on the bottom of the bottle. Quite fruity, which isn't surprising given the strength of the beer, and again with that hint of acidity lurking in the background. I'm convinced now that it's definitely a characteristic of the house yeast. Plenty of juicy malt but for me, not enough hops. If I'm going to drink a pale ale of this strength then I like plenty of hop bitterness to counter the sweetness of the malt.

The saving grace for this bottle is the extended maturation period, which  has seen the yeast nibbling away at some of the residual malt sugars. This has reduced some of the slightly cloying sweetness, and replaced it with the aforementioned fruitiness. Again, not a beer I would buy in either bottle or cask for, but I am pleased to have tried it nonetheless.

Final Verdict I am on record as not being a huge fan of bottle-conditioning, for various reasons but  not least because of the variability of the process. I would say that in the case of the above beers, the lengthy maturation period, extended by almost 18 months in both instances, certainly added something to the beers. Whether it improved them is open to debate, as I don't know quite how they would have tasted if I had consumed them within their respective Best Before Dates. What I do know is the yeast had packed down really tight at the bottom of the bottles, leading to their being easy to pour and ending up crystal clear in the glass.

If there are any other breweries out there that would like to send me a few bottles for review, I promise not to take so long over the process next time!

Classic, Basic & Unspoilt, No. 2 - The Mounted Rifleman, Luddenham

Second in the series of Classic, Basic and Unspoilt pubs is the Mounted Rifleman at Luddenham, near Faversham. If anything this classic country pub was even more unspoilt and basic than the Black Bull at Newchurch,  and certainly much more a "parlour pub" than the latter ever was. Unfortunately, I only had the pleasure of visiting it on a couple of occasions, both during the early 1980's. 

The thing that made Mounted Rifleman so special was the fact that it didn't even have a bar! Instead each pint was brought up from the cellar, on a tray, by the landlord. The pub's single draught beer was Fremlins Bitter, drawn straight from the cask, and very nice it tasted too. Even more unusual was that the bottled beers, spirits, mixers and soft drinks were all kept in the cellar as well, almost as though the proprietor didn't want customers to actually see the drinks on offer!

Having only been to the pub twice, and those occasions are both 30 years ago, I am unable to recollect much about it. I remember entering the pub from the rear, almost as though one was walking through the landlord's garden, but I am hard pushed to write anything about the pub's interior, apart from the fact it was basic and simply furnished. I do recall learning in the mid 1980's that the landlord had dropped dead following a heart attack and registering my surprise at this bearing in mind the number of times he must have walked up and down the cellar steps of an evening. Possibly it was too much repetitive exercise that was responsible but, whatever the reason I do know that his brother took over the running of the pub for a while.

Whilst doing some research for this post I found a couple of pictures, plus a short write-up in a book titled "The Village Pub". Written by veteran beer writer, Roger Protz and illustrated with some very good photographs by Homer Sykes, the book was published in 1992, which was getting on for ten years after my visits. Unfortunately there are no shots of the public rooms, but there is a splendid one of landlord, Bob Jarrett starting his journey back up the cellar steps with a tray full of beer. (The forenamed must have been the brother of the landlord that I knew.)

I'm not certain exactly when the Mounted Rifleman closed, but like the previous pub in this series, the Black Bull at Newchurch, the closure took place some time between the publication of the 1993 and the 1999 CAMRA Guides to Kent Pubs. During this time the pub was put up for sale, and was eventually sold without a license, as a private house. This was the sad loss of yet another "national treasure", as well as a great blow to the pub's own loyal band of devotees. The Mounted Rifleman had absolutely no frills about it and and been in the same family for several generations. It was particularly sad to see it close.

The photo of the landlord ascending the cellar steps, referred to above is copyrighted by its creator, Homer Sykes. If you want to see what the pub was like back then, carry out a search on Google Images and you will find Mr Sykes website, displaying the photograph.

Keeping Out the Cold

On what must have been the coldest night of the year on Wednesday, the sight of Harvey's Christmas Ale on the bar of the Two Brewers in Hadlow was certainly a welcome one! Six of us had travelled out there by bus for a pre-arranged West Kent CAMRA branch social.

The Two Brewers is a Harvey's tied pub; one of only a handful in Kent. Since the brewery acquired it in 2005, and thankfully changed its name from the Fiddling Monkey (often referred to as the "Piddling Monkey"), the pub has seen a  succession of different licensees. Part of the problem has been the relatively small garden and car park at the pub, as the previous owners sold off much of the land at the rear for housing. However, under its new licensees, the Two Brewers now appears much more settled, and we were given a warm reception from  our hosts last night.

On sale alongside the Christmas Ale were Mild, Hadlow Bitter, Best Bitter and, my personal winter favourite, Harvey's Old Ale. Owing to the vagaries of public transport during the evening, we arrived early but also left early, but not before a few pints of Old plus a half of Christmas Ale to finish up on. The latter is definitely a desert island beer, although whether one would wish to drink it on a hot tropical island is open to debate. Last night though it was the perfect balance of a strong dark bitter-sweet ale, satisfying and warming, but obviously a beer to be treated with respect. The pub was selling it at £2.50 per half pint, which for a beer of this strength and character is good value.

Back in Tonbridge, a couple of us nipped in to the Humphrey Bean, to see what our local JDW had on offer. Resisting the temptation to try the Thornbridge Jaipur, not a good idea with work the next morning, I settled for the Adnams Gunhill. Not quite as rich as the Harvey's Old, but still a very drinkable 4.0% winter beer. My friend opted for a dark beer from Pilgrim Brewery, who's name escapes me.

Despite plenty of layers, combined with hat, scarf and gloves, it was still freezing on the walk home. However, it had certainly been worth venturing out on such a night and making the journey over to Hadlow.

The bottle label above shows the abv of Christmas Ale as being 8.1%. Harvey's have since reduced the strength slightly to 7.5%. Presumably this is to avoid the beer falling into the higher tax band, brought in as a "knee-jerk" reaction to restrict the sales of "super-strength" lagers (Carlsberg Special Brew et al.).

A Walk in the Park

The other Sunday, son Matthew and I took a train ride up to London for a look round, and also to sample a few of the capital's beery delights. There were a few places we wanted to visit, so I mapped out a rough itinerary beforehand, which seemed to work quite well.

First stop was London Bridge, where we changed platforms and caught a more local train out to Blackheath. Neither of us had been there before, although I had driven across the top end of the heath, at Shooter's Hill, several times in the past. There was a farmer's market in full swing when we stepped outside the station, but ignoring the festive goodies that were on offer we headed straight into Blackheath village for the first port of call on our programme. This was Zero Degrees, a brew-pub with a long and impressive pedigree. We had actually walked right past the place at first, admittedly on the opposite side of the road, but with the sun in our eyes, this was perhaps excusable.

I had been wanting to visit Zero Degrees for some time, so was pleased to have finally made it. The pub wasn't quite what I'd expected, being modern, minimalist and very functional. Nevertheless we both found it very much to our taste, with pleasant knowledgeable staff and, most importantly, good and keenly priced beer. I tried  the Pilsner and the Black Lager, and enjoyed them both. My son, being a lager drinker normally, stuck to the Pilsner. Perhaps because I had enquired earlier about the pub's seasonal brew, one of the staff came over and gave us,  a  half pint taster of their current 6.5%  seasonal ale. I didn't make a note of the name, but it was obviously a Christmas beer, as the word Rudolph featured in its name. Being a yuletide ale it was spiced with cinnamon, which meant it wasn't to my taste (cinnamon is best reserved for cakes, not ale!). It was a nice gesture though, and we were sorry in a way to be leaving. However, we had a busy itinerary to get through and a long walk to our next stop.

Before moving on, a word or two about Zero Degrees' stylish and modern setup. The company brews its beers using a 9 barrel semi-automated German-built plant, housed at the rear of the pub. All the beer is delivered fresh from polythene-lined serving tanks by an air pressure system that operates without the use of any additional gas. As the beers are all unfiltered and unpasteurised, they are, in effect real ales; something which is not immediately apparent to drinkers used to seeing their beer dispensed from a traditional hand pump. As well as the aforementioned Pilsner and Black Lager, the company produces a Pale Ale and a Wheat Ale, plus seasonal brews, as appropriate.


Leaving the pub we crossed the common followed by the busy Shooters Hill Road, and made our way into Greenwich Park. Although it was a cold day the sun was shining which made for a pleasant walk. There were also some spectacular views of the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, just across the Thames. The sunshine  had brought lots of people out into the park, enjoying the fresh air and a bit of exercise. After skirting the Royal Observatory, perched up on its hill, we made our way down towards the river, and our next port of call -  the Old Brewery, belonging to Meantime of Greenwich. This is housed in the precincts of the Old Royal Naval College, overlooking the Thames. I was reading in Des de Moor's excellent CAMRA Guide to London's Best Beer, Pubs and Bars that Meantime are now the capital's second largest independent brewer, after Fullers. They've certainly come a long way since starting up back in 2000, and deservedly so, as founder, owner and head brewer Alastair Hook has not been afraid to plough his own furrow.

Inside the impressive Old Naval College, Meantime operate a restaurant and a bar. The former seemed a bit too modern and functional for our liking, so we made our way into the adjoining, but much smaller bar. As one would expect, there was a wide selection of Meantime beers on offer from a bank of keg taps, plus Dark Star Hophead dispensed from a traditional hand pump. I opted for the Oktoberfest, a proper, traditional Maerzen-style beer, whilst Matthew went for the London Lager.

As it was rather crowded in the bar, we decided to brave the elements and join the handful of hardy souls sitting out in the adjoining beer garden. Wrapped up against the cold it was quite pleasant being out in the fresh air, enjoying a bit of winter sunshine, but as the sun started to sink slowly behind the line of the buildings the temperature really started to drop.

It was time to  move on, this time for a spot of shopping and a bite to eat. leaving Meantime we continued down to the bank of the Thames, passing the newly restored Cutty Sark on the way. After a look at the river we then descended the spiral staircase that leads to the pedestrian tunnel under the river. Built in Victorian times the tunnel serves as a useful short cut across to the Isle of  Dogs, and for us easy access to the Docklands Light Railway at Island Gardens. A short train ride saw us alighting at Canary Wharf where Matthew assured me there was a substantial shopping complex that included one of the largest  branches of Waitrose around.

He was right; deep in the bowels below the tower blocks of Canary Wharf  there certainly is a fair-sized shopping centre, consisting of several inter-linked areas on a number of different levels. Also, it was surprisingly busy, but then when one looks at the surrounding area there are now a significant number of dwellings (ok posh apartments) in this former dockland area. We limited our purchases to a sandwich and a drink from the large Waitrose at one end of the complex, before  jumping onto the Underground into Central London.

We had one final pub to visit, a German-owned pub which trades under the name of Zeitgeist.The pub itself is signed outside as the Jolly Gardeners, its former name, and is situated a short hop from Vauxhall Station on the south bank of the Thames. It was therefore Jubilee Line to Waterloo and then one stop overground to Vauxhall. After a walk along the Albert Embankment, followed by a right turn under the railway viaduct, we arrived at our destination, glad to get out of the cold.

Unlike some German-themed establishments in London, Zeitgeist leaves aside the Bavarian cliches of Dirndl's, Lederhosen and Mass Krugs, and instead concentrates on serving a wide range of German beers (draught as well as bottled) to an appreciative clientele of expats and students, in stylish surroundings. A Bundesliga football match was being screened on the large-screen TV, but with the sound turned down it was not at all intrusive. Beer-wise we noticed taps for the likes of Loewenbraeu, Paulaner, Weihenstephan and Krombacher, but I think there were a couple more. I went for a Helles from Krombacher, whilst Matthew opted for the same from Loewenbraeu.

We up sat at one of the tall tables, enjoying the atmosphere and watching the pub start to fill. The German food selection looked good, but we didn't give in to temptation as we knew there would be a dinner waiting for us at home. Not wanting to be too late back for our grub was the deciding factor in not staying for another beer either, so after drinking up, we made our way back, on foot, to Charing Cross and the train home.

Despite my being a CAMRA member of many years standing, no cask beer was drunk on this trip This wasn't a deliberate decision, but just the way things worked out. If readers will pardon my take on a particularly over-used cliche, "sometimes it pays to DRINK outside the box"! And as for the pubs we visited, I will certainly be call back at Zeitgeist and Zero Degrees the next time I am in the area.