Letting the train take the strain

I have to say that much as I enjoy driving, trains remain  my favourite form of transport, particularly over medium distances and especially when I am planning to have a few beers at the end of my journey. The advent of Eurostar has also made international train travel much easier, but that’s a topic for another time.

Travelling by train to large cities saves all the hassle of finding a place to park, or the stress of navigating ones way through busy and often congested city streets. In a nutshell, the whole experience is far less stressful than tearing up and down the motorway.

Ever since childhood I have always enjoyed train travel. I’m not quite sure what the attraction was in the beginning, but it was probably the ability to cover relatively long distances, in much shorter times than was possible by road.

Anyone who finds this concept strange, should be aware that when I was growing up,  back in the late 1950’s – early 1960’s, Britain’s motorway network was still in its infancy, and fast, dual-carriageway  roads were few and far between.

Car ownership was limited as well.

It might seem incredulous, but I had reached around 9 or 10 years old before my father acquired his first car, and even then it was a converted Austin A35 van. Prior to that the family was transported locally by motorbike and sidecar, with my mother riding pillion behind my father, and my sister and I squeezed into a rickety sidecar.

Longer journeys, such as trips up to London, to visit grandparents or other relatives, were invariably made by train, and it must have been from around this time that my love affair with rail travel first came about.

I was three years old when my parents moved the family from London, to Kent. Property prices were obviously much cheaper out in the sticks, and my parents had been able to purchase a three-bedroom, new-build in Willesborough; once a village in its own right, but by the late 1950’s,  it had become just a suburb of Ashford.

Ashford was, and still is, an important rail junction, with good connections to London, but when my family and I first arrived there, steam-hauled trains were still the order of the day. Although the pre-

nationalisation Southern Railway had embarked on an ambitious programme of electrification, World War II had put this on hold, and it was some time before work to electrify the more outlying lines could be completed.

As a result of  this, those early trips to London and back, would have been undertaken on a train hauled by a steam locomotive. Subsequent opportunities for train travel arose towards the end of my schooldays, when my friends and I would take the train to Canterbury, for the odd bit of shopping and the chance to hang out.

By this time the family had move to a small village, called Brook, situated to the north east of Ashford. We would cycle to nearby Wye, where we could leave our bikes at the station, before taking the train. A few years later, when I was in the Sixth form, a group of us would travel from Ashford to Folkstone by train, in order to watch various groups perform at the Leas Cliffe Hall. There we saw the likes of Fleetwood Mac (pre-Buckingham/ Nicks), Caravan, Groundhogs, the underrated, but very talented JSD Band and Uriah Heep, to name a few.

Fast forward to my student days, where a friend and I spent a month travelling around Europe by train, taking advantage of the Inter-Rail ticket. A few years ago I posted a couple of articles, on the blog, about my experiences on this marathon train journey which you might have thought would have put me off train travel for life, but it didn’t. 

Instead, a decade or so later, the previous Mrs Bailey and I undertook another long train journey, travelling initially to San Sebastian, on Spain’s northern Atlantic coast, before criss-crossing the Iberian peninsula to Alicante. This was pre-Eurostar, so the trip involved ferry crossings and overnight stays in Paris and Bordeaux. Both undertakings proved an excellent way to experience and appreciate the countries and the cultures we travelled through, and I would not have missed them for the world.

The other Friday’s meet up in Shifnal, with members of the Beer & Pubs Group Forum, allowed me to re-live part of a train journey I once made on a regular basis. This harps back to my days as a student at Salford University, where I got to know the train journey from London to Manchester like the back of my hand.

Making the journey by train was something of a luxury for a hard-up student, as it was considerably more expensive than the alternative coach option. Whilst the latter was less than half the price of the rail journey, it took twice as long, the seats were cramped and it was at times, something of a “white knuckle ride.”

What I mean here is that like cars, but unlike lorries, coaches are allowed in the outside “fast” lane of a motorway, and with tight schedules to keep up, it was not uncommon for drivers to tail-gate slightly slower vehicles in front of the coach, in a bid to force them to pull over into a slower lane.  You would be just dozing off, when all of a sudden there would be a squeal of brakes and you would be jolted forward, as the driver came up behind a vehicle who wouldn’t play ball. This, coupled with having been a passenger involved in two separate coach crashes, is why I am not a fan of this means of long distance travel.

To return to the story, arriving at Euston station, ready to board my train to Birmingham, was like stepping back in time, apart from the station itself, which looked rather tired compared to the bright, modern structure I remember from the mid-1970’s. I understand the station is due to be re-modelled in order to accommodate HS2, although given the current mess that UK politics is in at present, the future of the project remains uncertain.

The Virgin Pendelino train I boarded, was painted in a dull shade of grey, instead of its usual red livery. The company have lost their franchise for the West Coast Mainline, and are due to hand over to a new operator on 8^th December. (See below).

When I was a regular traveller on this line, the rolling stock, rail lines, signalling and stations were all part of the unified, nationally-owned and nationally accountable British Rail. This was a far more sensible modus operandi than the fragmented system we have today, although of course the entire network suffered from chronic under-investment.

My journey to Birmingham the other Friday, involved turning off the West Coast Mainline, just after Rugby, whereas those trips back in the 1970’s continued on to Manchester by a route which avoids the Birmingham conurbation. The journey still brought back pleasant memories as the train sped steadily north, passing through familiar places and familiar landmarks.

Now that I’ve passed the magic age of 60, I’m entitled to a “Senior Railcard”, sometimes referred to as as “Old Git’s Railcard.” With a third off the price, even off discounted tickets – providing one travels outside of peak hours, in the south east, makes even long-distance rail travel more affordable and opens up whole areas of the country to the eager explorer. Even with moderate usage, the cost of the  £30 fee is soon re-couped,  and then the savings really start to mount.

A sad note to finish on because as mentioned above, tonight marks the end of the line for Virgin Trains, after more than 22 years of operating services on Britain’s West Coast Main Line.  The firm, which is owned by Sir Richard Branson’s Virgin Group and Stagecoach, began serving what is sometimes known as the "backbone of Britain's railways" in 1997. The company was stripped of its franchise in a row with the Department for Transport (DfT) over pension liabilities. The companies are suing the DfT over its decision.

Virgin ran its first service in March  1997, with a pledge to update the 1960s rolling stock it inherited from British Rail.  In 2001 it delivered the Voyager, capable of 125mph, and a year later, it brought in Pendolino trains, equipped with tilting rolling stock, which enabled curves to be taken at higher speeds.

More than 500 million journeys have been made with Virgin during its tenure on Britain’s railways. Now that era is coming to an end, and shortly before midnight tonight (Saturday), the last ever Virgin Trains service will roll into Wolverhampton station. The trains will stay the same, the staff too will remain, but the iconic brand is set to disappear from our railways for good.

The new operator is Avanti West Coast, a joint partnership between the Italian state railway company TrenItalia and First Group. Avanti says passengers can expect simpler fares, new trains and more frequent services on the West Coast Main Line. (Sounds too good to be true?)

 

Katzenjammers Bierkeller

I mentioned in my recent post about London, that after finishing our drinks at Holborn’s Princess Louise without so much as a drop of Sam Smith’s Yorkshire Stingo to be seen, son Matthew and I were feeling rather famished. I at least had eaten a couple of slices of toast at breakfast time, but given Matthew’s tardiness in dragging himself out of bed, the only solid food that had passed his lips was a couple of packets of crisps.

I’d screwed up, thanks to the perils of performing a Google search on a small screen. I mis-read the information on the pub's website and  was convinced that the establishment named after Queen Victoria’s rebellious and rather feisty fourth daughter, served food on Sundays. The fact that it didn’t was the first disappointment, the second being no Yorkshire Stingo, despite the pump-clip still being in place.

A packet of Sam’s “own brand” crisps, whilst good, did little to assuage the hunger pangs which by now (6pm), were beginning to affect us both. We sat there racking our brains, trying to think of a pub where we could get something to eat. Apart from Wetherspoon’s we couldn’t really think of anywhere. Knowing I wasn’t keen to set foot in one of “Hard Brexit-supporter” Tim Martin’s establishments, Matthew suddenly came out with a real brainwave. 

“There’s always Katzenjammers,” he said. Now I’d heard of this Bavarian-themed Bierkeller, close to London Bridge station, and I also knew that Matthew and his friend Will, had been there on several occasions. This was definitely thinking outside of the box, as whilst I tend to restrict my choices to known cask-ale outlets, Matthew was thinking along totally different lines.

When he assured me that we’d be able to get food there, I was sold on the idea, so after a quick journey on the Central Line to Bank, and then negotiating the myriad of pedestrian tunnels leading to the Northern Line, we alighted at London Bridge underground. We made our way along Borough High Street, towards the Victorian splendour of the Hop Exchange.

Katzenjammers is situated in the basement of this imposing, but attractive building, and as we descended the steps down into the Bierkeller, I had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. The legendary Becky’s Dive Bar was also situated in a cellar below the Southwark Hop Exchange, but after conducting a spot of research, I discovered it was a few doors down from  Katzenjammers. That strange feeling of familiarity was definitely there though.

The  German word “Katzenjammer” has a number of different, but related meanings, ranging from “an unpleasantly loud, confused, and dissonant sound,” to “the discomfort and illness experienced as the after effects of excessive drinking.”

I’ll settle for the last one, although there’s nothing discomforting about this spirited attempt at creating an authentic Bavarian Bierkeller in the heart of London. With its brick-vaulted ceiling, steel-clad bar, wooden benches and scrubbed wooden tables, this was a place I instantly felt at home in. The only thing missing was waitress service, because unlike most German pubs, it is necessary to place one’s order at the bar.

It didn’t take long for us both to decide on Schnitzel mit Pommes for our evening meal, although I admit to being tempted by the roast pork with dumplings (Schweinebraten). There was also a good selection of German beers, including around 10 on draught and double that number in bottled form. The former were available either by the pint, or the litre (Maβ).

Matthew went  for a pint of Paulaner Original Münchener Hell, whilst I opted for a 500ml bottle of  Schlenkerla Rauchbier;  Bamberg’s legendary smoke beer, and one of the most instantly recognisable, as well as one of the finest, beers in the world. Intensely smoky in both aroma and taste, with more than just a hint of bacon and wood in the main body of the beer, Schlenkerla really is the king of smoke beer and one almost to die for!

Apart from perhaps at the foreign beer bar (Bieres san Frontieres) at GBBF, I don’t ever recall coming across Schlenkerla on sale anywhere in the UK; certainly not on in a bar or a pub. That first mouthful was enough to transport me back to Bamberg and the Aecht Schlenkerla tavern, home of this classic Rauchbier.

It wasn’t long before our Schnitzels arrived and we got stuck in with the relish and vigour of two hungry men. I am pleased to report they were every bit as good as the Schnitzels we have enjoyed all over Germany and after demolishing them we both sat there with the contented glow of those who have ate and drank their fill.

We discovered there is a larger Bierhall on the next level down. This area with its  barrel vaulted ceiling and industrial design, opened in 2015,  allowing Katzenjammers to  accommodate more customers as well as offering live entertainment and dancing. Being a Sunday, it was closed, but I managed a quick peep inside, when I popped down to visit the gents.  

We could perhaps have stayed for another, but with work for us both in the morning, and the fact that time was already marching on, we decided to call it a day. Before bringing this post to an end,  I want to reflect on recent events. As we sat  in Katzenjammers, on that quiet Sunday evening, we touched upon the appalling London Bridge terror attacks of two years previously.

It was Matthew who first raised the matter, as he thought that some of the people fleeing the attackers had sought sanctuary in Katzenjammers. I said that I wasn’t sure, and  after a short while, we kind of left it like that. Little did we think that just five days later, terror would return once again, to London’s oldest and most famous bridge. If such a reminder was needed that you never know what might be round the corner, then that was it, but it is also worth reflecting that such horrific events are fortunately few and far between.

My thoughts go out to the families, friends and loved ones of the two bright young people who, with the whole world ahead of them, tragically lost their lives last Friday in a senseless act of violence. They also go out to the other people caught up and injured, both physically and mentally as things unfolded.

Finally to those brave individuals who, without thinking of their own safety, came to the aid of the injured, as well as cornering and restraining the perpetrator of these evil deeds, you are all in my thoughts as I end this piece.

Drawn to the "Dark Side"

I’ve written before about the difficulty of finding a seasonal dark ale, particularly in an outlet operated along standard pub company lines. There is much more chance of coming across a welcoming, dark winter ale in a pub belonging to one of the smaller independent brewers, but when such outlets are few and far between, you’ve got yourself a problem

Unfortunately one of my all time favourite dark ales, Harvey’s XXXX Old Ale, is normally confined to the brewery’s own tied houses. Very rarely does any “escape” into the free trade. My nearest Harvey’s pubs are at Bells Yew Green, and Hook Green - both a few miles outside Tunbridge Wells, Hadlow (between Tonbridge and Maidstone), or Chipstead, a village to the west of Sevenoaks. None are on my doorstep, although the Brecknock Arms at Bells Yew Green, is just a short train ride away.

Harvey’s XXXX makes it annual appearance in early October. The calendar has just flipped over into December but, as in previous years, I’ve yet to enjoy any of this delectable and very drinkable, traditional winter ale. Imagine my delight then when I discovered that Tonbridge free-house, the Nelson Arms had a cask on tap.

That was Friday evening, so I was fairly confident the beer would still be available on Saturday afternoon. I set off, full of expectation, but upon entering, and surveying the line of pump-clips, my heart sank. “Has the Harvey’s Old finished already?” I enquired, knowing what the answer would be. “I’m afraid so,” came the reply, “We were really busy yesterday, and the cask was soon emptied.”

Fortunately there were several alternative beers on tap by way of commiseration, the Ilkley Brewery Lotus and the Abbeydale Black Mass providing suitable solace. The latter is a strong dark ale, with a 6.6% abv and, whilst not the lush, mellow drink that is Harvey’s Old, still slipped down a treat. Had there been time, I would have given the Velvet Raven Kentish Stout from Tonbridge Brewery, a go as well. (A friend posted on WhatsApp, that the beer was excellent).

Going back a few weeks I did actually strike it lucky by stumbling upon another favourite dark beer of mine, this time Larkin’s Porter. I am not exaggerating when I say this beer is one of the finest porters around; rich, dark and  packed with the flavours of  roasted coffee and chocolate.

I was with a group of friends and we were on our way back from a CAMRA presentation at the Halfway House in Brenchley. I wrote about the event here, and I also promised I would write about the King William IV pub in Pembury; the place we called in at on the way home.

A member of the group, known as “Fast drinking Dave,” lives in Pembury, a large village situated just the north-east of Tunbridge Wells.  For those who care about such things, Pembury is the birthplace of Pogues lead-singer, Shane Mac Gowan – he of the perfect dentition! The King William IV is Dave’s local, and a very fine local it is too.

It wasn’t always so, as its position as a prominent cask ale outlet used to be held by another of Pembury’s three pubs. I first knew the King Will when it was owned by Allied Breweries, and traded as a Friary Meux house. It later passed to Greene King, before becoming a free house in 2018.  It is now under the stewardship of a locally born landlady and a landlord-cum-chef, who hails from Cornwall.  This has led to the King Will stocking a range of beers predominantly from both Kent and Cornwall. A choice of good wholesome pub food, is also available including the chef’s legendary, home-made Cornish pasties.

It was early evening when we arrived, and the pub was really packed. It was standing room only, but we managed to find a few stools, and perched ourselves around a large pillar, which had a convenient ledge for us to rest our drinks. With people crowded round the bar, I couldn’t see which beers were on, but by the time I’d grabbed a perch, Dave had come back from the bar with the news that as well as St Austell Proper Job, Larkin’s Porter was on tap.

It was a no-brainer as far as most of us were concerned, so with pints of porter all round, it proved a good

way to end the evening. For most of us, this was the first Larkin’s Porter of the season. The brewery keeps stock back until after Bonfire Night, which is regarded as the official release date.

I have occasionally seen it available a week or so earlier, but Larkin’s claim the beer is all the better after undergoing a six week maturation period in cask. It is certainly well-conditioned, and pours with a really thick, creamy head. We all thought it was excellent that night, so much so that most of us went for a further pint.

As I said earlier, the King Will was packed that night, primarily with locals, enjoying a get together for a chat, over a few drinks. Pubs like this are to be cherished and looked after, as they prove that, in the right hands, even the most dull and soulless of pubs can be brought back to life and given a bright future.

I’m still keeping an eye out for dark beers. Fortunately two Tonbridge pubs, the Beer Seller and Fuggles are both running promotions for dark ales during December, so my cravings for something from the dark-side may soon be satisfied.

15 years in the Good Beer Guide

Three Saturdays ago, I joined members from my local CAMRA branch to present an award to a well-known local pub. The recipient of the award was the Halfway House at Brenchley, or rather the back road between Brenchley and Horsmonden. The award took the form of a certificate presented to landlord Richard Allen, in order to mark 15 continuous years in CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide. Since taking over in 2003, Richard has transformed what had been a rather ordinary country pub formerly owned by  Whitbread, into a thriving and bustling "destination pub" which majors on cask ale.

Richard completely re-modelled the interior of the Halfway House, removing the bar counter and serving area and relocating them to a separate area to the right of the pub. From the outside this looks like an extension, and it may well have a been a barn of some description. When I first knew the pub, before Richard changed it around, this section was a separate restaurant, known as the "Hayloft." Today it forms not only the serving area but the main bar and beating heart of the pub, where customers gather for a chat, or to congregate in front of the open fire, and it is behind here where the casks are kept.

Richard was also responsible for the  installation of an ingenious system for serving cask-beer by gravity. He originally devised this, whilst at his former pub, the Dovecote at Capel. The casks are kept in a temperature-controlled room, immediately behind the bar. Extra-long cask taps then protrude through the dividing wall, and out via false barrel ends, made out of wood, set into the wall. The result - beer kept at just the right temperature, and served in the most natural way possible – straight from the cask.

Despite being out in the sticks, the Halfway House can be reached quite easily on foot, by walking from Paddock Wood railway station. A pleasant uphill walk across an old golf course, and then through some apple orchards, brings you into Brenchley, and there is then a pathway down to the pub which avoids the busy road which runs along to the neighbouring village of Horsmonden.

I have done this walk numerous times, particularly on the occasions of the pub’s two annual Bank Holiday Beer Festivals (late spring & August).  It’s a lovely walk in summer, and in spring and autumn too, but in early November it’s nowhere near as enjoyable, not unless you like walking in the pitch black. With darkness falling shortly after 4pm, the return walk really needs to be embarked on by 2.30pm, at the latest, which is obviously not much use when contemplating an afternoon’s drinking.  

Fortunately there is a reasonably regular bus, which provides a link between the pub and Tunbridge Wells; but not on a Sunday. The bus continues right through to Tenterden, a charming Wealden town, which was almost missed by the coming of the railways, and therefore developed and expanded at a much slower pace than some of its more prominent neighbours.

Two branch stalwarts caught an earlier bus, and alighted at Cranbrook, a smaller but equally charming Wealden town. This enabled them to visit Larkins Alehouse; a recently opened micro-pub. They had time there for a couple of pints before taking the bus back toward Tunbridge Wells, getting off outside the Halfway House.

I had a number of things to do first thing that Saturday, not least of which was doing the weekly shop with Mrs PBT’s. The majority of the CAMRA contingent caught the 12.16 bus, or at least those who didn’t go to Cranbrook did. The next bus ran two hours later, which gave me plenty of time for domestic duties, before jumping on a train over to Tunbridge Wells.

I arrived early, so after a look at the skating rink, as in previous years set up in Calverley Gardens, plus a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich at the greasy spoon, outside the station, I boarded the 2.16  No. 297 bus, operated by Hams Travel, in the direction of Brenchley. The journey was frustratingly slow, due to a combination of  heavy traffic and the inevitable roadwork’s in Tunbridge Wells, but once we’d left the town behind, our chatty driver made good time. It was still 10 minutes behind schedule when it dropped me off, as requested, dead opposite the Halfway House.

My CAMRA colleagues were already there, and several of them had enjoyed a pub lunch. One eagle-eyed friend had spotted the bus pulling up outside, and met me at the bar, recommending East Kent Green Hop Collaboration Beer, brewed by Canterbury Brewers, Gadds, Goody Ales, Wantsum Brewery and Canterbury Ales. Pale golden in colour, it was crisp and refreshing and slipped down rather well in spite of its 5.0 % abv.

I joined the rest of the group, in the former bar area, which was much quieter than “upstairs,” and just the place to make the presentation.  Accepting the award on behalf of the pub, were Richard and his son Sam. Sam helps run the Beer Seller, the Halfway House’s "sister pub" in Tonbridge High Street. With its rustic feel, and slightly quirky interior, the Beer Seller offers gravity-served cask ales, using the same system as the Halfway House.

Richard was obviously pleased with his award, and Sam will be keeping his fingers crossed for a place in next year’s GBG, although as I’m not a branch committee member, or someone involved with the Guide selection process, I couldn’t possibly comment.

What I do know is, that in Richard's case, the award is well deserved, as it is no mean feat to have been at the helm of the Halfway House and have kept it in the Good Beer Guide for  decade and a half.

I shifted down a gear and moved onto the Goacher’s Fine Light, for my next pint, finishing with a further swift half of EKH Collaboration, before it was time for us to leave. We caught the penultimate bus back, alighting in Pembury "village"in order to check out the King William IV pub.

It was excellent, and packed out as well, so much so that it’s worthy of a short post in its own right. When that appears on the blog, depends on when I’ve caught up with the other outstanding posts, but do keep an eye out for it.

From a mush in Shepherd's Bush

After a slack period at the beginning of November, when I was scratching around for things to write about, I’m suddenly inundated with topics stories and ideas to regale you all with. So where to  start?

I probably won’t be able to squeeze out another post  about Shifnal. I've picked out the highlights and  Pub Curmudgeon has followed suit with part one of a much more comprehensive account of our day out in Shropshire. In addition, I expect Retired Martin won’t be far behind, with a rather more off-beat account of his own, but there is mileage in a particular beer that we encountered on our visit, but I’ll leave that for another time.

Last weekend was a busy one, so it’s just as well I didn’t over-indulge in Shifnal. Saturday saw the Bailey family making our first foray into Nando’s, for some of the chain’s renowned peri-peri chicken. Our visit to their Sevenoaks restaurant, was well timed, as there were a couple of spare tables when we arrived, so without having to wait we were able to participate in, and enjoy the whole Nando’s experience. 

Sunday saw son Matthew and I heading up to London, as I’d promised him a day out in the big city. For my part, I wanted to check out up and coming Chinese mobile phone manufacturer Xiaomi, who have an outlet (Mi Store) in the Westfield Shopping Centre. So after taking the train to central London, we headed over to Shepherd’s Bush.

 Xiaomi’s store is modelled on  the Apple iStores, and it provided the perfect opportunity to view and try out their range of Mi phones at first hand. I liked what I saw, but resisted the temptation to make a purchase there and then, preferring instead to reflect and pause over a few more reviews before committing my hard-earned cash.  So after a coffee at Waitrose, and a walk past Shepherd’s Bush Market - closed on a Sunday, we headed off in search of a pub where we could have a drink and grab a bite to eat.

Brew-Dog have an outlet nearby, but as I was in search of something more traditional, and less “cutting edge,” we jumped on a tube with the intention of stopping off at Hampstead. A brisk walk across  the  Heath would see us at the Spaniard's Inn; one of the most famous pubs in London, and an establishment I had wanted to re-visit for quite some time.

Our journey involved a couple of line changes, but once on the Northern Line, we sped north towards  our destination. We walked up to the Whitestone Pond, a feature I remember vaguely from childhood. It was a popular place for young boys to sail their model yachts, although on Saturday it looked sad, unloved and partially obscured by reeds growing around the edge.

These days I expect young boys (and girls), have much more exciting electronic devices to keep them entertained, but I am possibly being unkind about the pond, in view of the dull, overcast and slightly chilly weather experienced over the weekend. For those of you who like statistics, the pond occupies the highest point in London, which seems strange for a water feature. Even stranger is the fact that the pond is a naturally occurring "dew pond." It was  adapted over time as a place for watering and washing horses, with ramps constructed at either end so horse and carriages could drive straight through.

Also looking unkempt and definitely un-cared for was the imposing bulk of Jack Straw’s Castle, another of Hampstead’s famous old pubs, which overlooks the far end of Whitestone Pond. Regrettably the pub closed several year ago, and has been converted into apartments and a gym. With Hampstead Heath on the doorstep, who needs a flaming gym?

The current  building dates from 1964 when, what was once an attractive old coaching inn was rebuilt, after sustaining bomb damage following an air raid in 1941. I remember my parents and grandparents, who all lived and grew up just off the nearby Finchley Road, discussing the new pub. My grandfather, who was a dedicated pub man, was not impressed by what he saw as a trendy place, aimed at the youth market.

When I was able to pass myself off as being old enough to drink, I called in at Jack Straws Castle, to have a look for myself. My grandfather was right of course, but to an impressionable 17 year old, the pub seemed somewhere to aspire to; especially as it was full of attractive young ladies. I'm pretty certain  that it had several bars, some of which may have been upstairs, and I also think it may have served keg Worthington E – even back then I paid attention to what beer was on tap!

I digress, but trendy or not, it is sad to see a famous old London pub and local landmark reduced to a series of posh pads for Hampstead poseurs and a gym for those with an aversion to fresh air!  We walked along Spaniard’s Road, which skirts the western edge of Hampstead Heath, taking care to avoid straying into the cycle lane and getting mown down by over-enthusiastic cyclists. (There were still some fresh air devotees around!)

We eventually reached the Spaniards Inn, an attractive Grade II listed building which is said to date back to 1585. With its white weatherboard clad exterior, and its cosy interior featuring several separate rooms, with associated wooden beams and low ceilings, the pub oozes history. As might be expected the inn is mentioned by Charles Dickens, and features in a scene from the  “Pickwick Papers.”

It was also oozing with fully paid-up members of the “Hampstead set.” I half expected this on a Sunday afternoon, although the pub and garden were not as crowded as they might have been on a warm summer’s day. I wanted Matthew to experience another of London’s famous old pubs for himself – he has previously visited several others with me, and I also wanted to reacquaint myself with this classic old inn, that I last visited in 2005.

We managed to get a drink without any trouble, but there wasn’t really anywhere to sit, and without a table, it wasn’t worth us ordering food. What we saw being brought out did look good, but with fish & chips twice the price I paid in Shifnal two days previously, I didn’t mind waiting for my food until later on.

There was a “safe” range of cask ales on sale (see photo), so I opted for the least well-known one in the form of Session IPA, a 4.6% pale coloured  beer from West London-based Reunion Brewery. Matthew went for Hells Lager from Camden Brewery. My pint tasted rather good, but I don’t know how much the  round came to, as Matthew was paying.

Not wishing to hog  the bar - never a favourite position of mine anyway, we decided to go outside.  It was quite mild for the time of year, and there were lots of customers taking advantage of this. We only stayed for one, as we wanted to find somewhere to eat, but it was fun indulging in spot of people watching. We caught the number 210 bus, from the stop directly opposite the pub, and this took us down into Golders Green.

From there, it was the Northern Line, back into Central London. After alighting at Tottenham Court Road, we strolled along towards Holborn and the restored Victorian splendour of the Princess Louise.

I wrote briefly about our visit ion my previous post, but we were to be equally disappointed in our quest for food as we were for Samuel Smith’s Yorkshire Stingo. The cask OBB was excellent though, and the brewery’s “own brand” crisps help ward off the hunger pangs for a short while.

It was Matthew’s turn to suggest our next, and final port of call. Somewhere where, our hunger could finally be assuaged. He came up with a good one, but more about that next time, in my final post about our day in the big city.

Wot, no Yorkshire Stingo?

I’ve been up in that there London place again, with my son and heir for company.  Apart from looking at new mobile phones, followed by a stroll across Hampstead Heath,  I was attempting to track down some Samuel Smith’s Yorkshire Stingo.

This legendary beer weighs in at 8.0% abv, and is only brewed in limited quantities. Prior to release, it is matured in oak casks, held in the brewery cellar, for an unspecified period of time.

It is normally available in bottled form only, but this year, for the first time ever,  Sam’s are selling Yorkshire Stingo on cask. It’ll be served straight from an oak cask at a limited number of their London pubs from this week until Christmas.

So after arriving at the wonderfully restored, Victorian masterpiece in Holborn, that is the  Princess Louise, my excitement mounted when, after entering the pub, I noticed a pump, advertising “Oak barrel-aged” Yorkshire Stingo.

My joy quickly turned to gloom though, when the barman informed me stocks had run out. To make matters worse, he didn’t know when the pub would be getting more in. Disappointed or what?? Word had obviously been passed around on the beer bush telegraph. I’m not sure what happens now, as I’m unlikely to be visiting the capital this side of Christmas.

On the plus side. The Old Brewery Bitter was on top form, and I scored it at 4.5 NBSS. The pub itself was a delight on the eyes, with its amazing tile-work and intricate etched glass panels. And, as you can see, I even managed to take a few photos, despite Sir Humphrey’s ban on mobile phones!