“When I grow rich” say St Leonard’s Shoreditch

We’re nearly there dear faithful reader, we’re nearly there, and if I take the sort of liberties I did with this one on the final two I could even get it all complete before the year’s out.

Details of the exact nature of the “liberty” need explaining but can basically be summed up by avoiding actually visiting the church in question. The church was St Leonard’s in Shoreditch and even a very scanty investigation shows that this is actually quite an interesting church with many more than three interesting features which I could have referred to had I bothered to do any sort of a talk in front of the place. But the problem with this particular place, a bit like Edward the First supposedly said about the Scots (well according to Mel Gibson he did) “The trouble with Scotland…is that it’s full of Scots” and the trouble with St Leonard’s Shortditch is that it’s in Shoreditch.

Nothing against the area directly but it’s off the beaten track even if you’re travelling from within London, but if you’re having to plan an expedition from Wimbledon it’s even more of a logistical nightmare to get too and would eat into any reasonable person’s drinking time much too much. And secondly, although I do have nothing against the area, honest I don’t, it is full of the young hip and trendy and neither I nor my tourist partner on this evening could be bothered having to fight off thousands of men in skinny jeans, combing out their beards and talking about which cereal bar to visit next.

That’s not to say that either I or my tourist partner for the night aren’t young hip and trendy of course. I fulfil at least two of those roles and Spikey Haired Ed fulfils all three and several others more besides. And now that all the female readers of the blog have their appetites well and truly whetted we can reacquaint ourselves with Beckenham’s answer to all four members of Blue.

Poor Ed had been absent from the tour since May and had missed all the visits we’d made since then due to either enforced work which had taken him all round the country, or better offers from more attractive people than me – hard to believe, but there you are.

Anyway to celebrate his return to the fold and to get some half decent conversation I suggested a quiet duo-tour of just him and me and it was just that niggling issue of having to trudge up to Shoreditch that was the problem.

And how did we solve it, by simply not going there, and instead heading to four Cask Marque pubs around Liverpool Street Station that I’d never managed to scan before and making sure that we at least glanced in the direction of Shoreditch at least once.

Our meeting point was The Magpie in New Street which is directly opposite the entrance to the station as long as you can safely cross Bishopsgate without getting run over by a suicidal hipster bearded cyclist, who is probably on his way home to Shoreditch. The pub is at the end of New Street and just around the corner is the City of London Police’s station in Bishopsgate which means you get panda cars (do they still call them that?) having to slowly crawl through the hordes of drinkers who have straggled outside onto the pavement.

Hordes of drinkers.....

It’s a Nicholson’s place and features much of the dark wood and shiny brass that their places always seem to feature. Tonight the hordes had well and truly straggled outside, most probably because the pub was filled to the rafters with pre-Christmas drinking city workers no doubt swilling down one or six before their trains home (apart from the Shoreditch hipsters that is). As I arrived earlier than Ed I squeezed my not inconsiderate frame inside and somehow managed to find myself at the bar placing an order in much less time than it should have taken. I plumped for the only thing I could see, a pint of McEwan’s Signature, and a pre-arranged pint of Becks for Ed. I did take a quick glance round for the certificate but with the amount of people inside I would have had more chance of finding a dropped contact lens than a random QR code.

Achieving more than Ed...

Straggling outside with the best of them, I positioned myself on the corner of the street and awaited the arrival of the great coiffured one, which gave me chance to read up about Mr Nicholson himself. He arrived without a blast of fanfaring trumpets (Ed I mean, not Mr Nicholson) and we commenced a good old round of moaning about work with Ed definitely taking the lead. So much so in fact that I was waiting at least 20 minutes with an empty glass while Ed barely took sips between slagging everyone else off.

Woodin Shades....and hordes.

Finally taking the hint that was getting pretty thirsty we moved on to the next venue, another Nicolson’s pub called The Woodin Shades, which is on Bishopsgate itself and was unsurprisingly just as rammed as The Magpie. Queuing took us slightly longer this time, much down to Ed’s lack of presence at the bar but we did emerge with a pint of Big Hop Little Beer (yeah, me too?) from Firebrand Brewery and another pint of generic lager.

Ed uses all the powers of his presence. Look at that barman taking full notice of him.

Again with no obvious signs of the Cask Marque certificate we retired outside to continue the moaning and did this very well for the next ½ hour or so.

Our next stop was not a Nicholson’s pub and is instead owned by the Metropolitan Pub Company with whom we’ve drank before in The Phoenix (where Mr Cheese had a Scotch Egg) and The Old Tea Warehouse (where Nicole told me that Gemma was pregnant (she wasn’t)). They at least make their pubs look like independents, and this particular pub, Kings Stores, was a curious mix of City boozers and people trying to look hip and trendy without having to bother to go to Shoreditch. Anyway it was a nice change from the rather identikit look of the previous two Nicholson’s.
What hadn’t changed though was the crowds and it was rather a scrum again to wedge our way to the bar but my presence was obviously working better than Ed’s as I instantly caught the eye of the young and attractive bar maid and put our orders in for a pint of Estrella and a pint of Urban Dusk from Redemption Brewing, much to the disgust of the chap three down the bar from me who felt he was certainly next in line.

Urban Dusk.

Still, survival of the fittest and all that, we made our ways outside again and took up a good observational position on the other side of the road which gave me a great view to see the “old man” detailing on the outside of the pub and some bloke walking a pit bull terrier have to drag it away from humping some innocent drinker’s leg.

Note the old man heads on each column.

The final scheduled pub of the night was just round the corner but Ed’s nature sense of direction took us the long way round to Artillery Lane and the destination of The Williams Ale & Cider House which funnily enough is another one of the Metropolitan Pub Company’s stable of pubs. Again it was absolutely full to the gunnels and it took us an absolute beard (which is probably why 80% of the clientele were very hirsute looking) to get served but Ed eventually emerged with something yellow for himself and a mug pint of Sambrook’s Brewery’s Powerhouse Porter, which was probably the drink of the night.

Powerhouse Porter.

The pub was friendly enough and features a “free to play” piano which some young, hip and trendy bloke (with a beard) was bashing away like he had a promise of a blow-job was dependant on it. That’s not to say that the old crumblies like Ed and myself went without music whilst we sipped away outside. We didn’t have a fellatio expectant piano player but we did have some random geezer who stopped in the middle of the street, whipped out an accordion and before you could sing along with “Tequilla!” he was wandering around with an upturned tambourine looking for a few quid.

If you look carefully enough you can hear the accordion.

Taking our cue to leave there was just time to sink a quick one in Dirty Dick’s, a non-Cask Marque Young’s place which promises more than it delivers both in terms of beer and atmosphere. My pint of Young’s Winter Warmer was drinkable enough but not after we’d waited far too long at a not very busy bar which was full of staff who all seemed to be “not qualified to serve drinks mate”.
The night ended with many trips to the toilets which revealed we were drinking in Finch’s Bar and some embarrassing selfies that prove having longer arms to take the photo is much better for the appearance of chins.

Finch's Bar

I wish I had long arms like Ed.........and not as many chins.

Ed left to stumble his was back to London Bridge whilst I jumped on a Circle Line tube and was petrified by the bloke opposite who not only had the vacant stare of a man intent on causing mayhem and murder but the reddest hands I’ve ever seen. I would not be surprised to learn of a spate of stranglings in the next few days!

Murderer's hands.

So only two to go and then we can all go and do something much more interesting……..oh, bollocks, we forgot to look in the direction of Shoreditch.

“When will you pay me?” say St Sepulchure-without-Newgate

Says who BGC? And whilst we’re at it, what’s all this about a 4 month hiatus without a blog update or a journey out on the old Oranges and Lemons tour?

Brenda asks why there hasn't been a tour for 4 months!

And my dear faithful reader, I’m afraid even I do not have a suitable excuse for this unforgivable transgression. I can shout from the rooftops about new jobs and leaving do’s of various people and varying enjoyment and can even tell you of “extra” made up tours (like the Bells of St Brenda’s) but at the end of Jeremy Kyle’s day I just haven’t bothered my lazy arse to do anything about it. How can you ever forgive me?

And on planning the blog for writing up this particular visit it would also seem that I’ve also forgotten everything about recording the tours as my collection of photographic evidence from the evening was an appalling array of under-exposed and unfocused shots that does me or the tour no credit whatsoever.

Therefore I have to resort to using this photo of Brenda getting all argey-bargey in the Pride of Spitalfields during the St Brenda’s extra visit tour whenever we need a suitable photo for this visit.

So ready to get going? Got your bag of oranges? Got your insulin pen? Nope, either have we.

So firstly we need to clear up the actual verse of the rhyme that leads up us the church of St Sepulchure-without-Newgate. Those with an encyclopaedic knowledge of London’s churches will know that this particular place of worship is the large church at the top of the street called Old Bailey and from it’s position on the North West corner of the crossroads faces the Central Criminal Court and the famous Viaduct Tavern (which folk will remember from the “Go to Jail” square of the great Monopoly tour). And this is all because the actual verse from the Oranges and Lemons poem this time is “When will you pay me say the bells of Old Bailey”. Because we’d already covered the Viaduct Tavern (and other pubs in the area) we needed other suitable venues to hold the tour in to celebrate this pithy verse.

Magpie and Stump.

The first place, and rendezvous for the various elements of the tour to meet up in, was the superbly named Magpie and Stump, which is half way up Old Bailey itself on a little side street called Bishop Court. My journey there from deepest darkest Wimbledon was actually quite straight forward as a direct train takes you from Wimbledon Station all the way to City Thameslink Station on Ludgate Hill meaning it was just a 5 minute stagger from station to bar.

Gemma, (remember her? A bit scraggy? Hollow legs?) also had a nearby start location which was also just round the corner and her new job is obviously going so well she’s even brought along a new colleague who’s name slips my beer addled mind. But because there was a running joke between the two of them that she was dressed like a nun, I want to say it was something like Bernadette or Theresa.

So once they and I had found each other in the murky gloom of the Magpie and Stump we could take stock of what the place was offering. The beer was good certainly; I was making inroads into a very nice pint of Goddard’s Fuggle-Dee-Dum whilst I think the ladies were on some sort of grape based beverage at this point. The rest of the pub was also making a good impression being a mix of modern smartness and quirky history but why was it so dark? It may have been an effort to try to create a Dickensian appearance of candle lit atmosphere but personally it just gave me a headache as I couldn’t see who I was taking to.

Brenda agrees that it's just too dark in here.

And the others to whom I was trying to talk to came trooping in just a moment later. We had all the old faces including Buddy Rob, Munchkin Steve and New-Guy Mickey, but also so not so regular faces in Niresh and another blast from the Monopoly past of Stretch Arm Max, who like so many of these old veterans are no longer working for the old firm. There were also a couple of new faces of Mark and Ali who it turned out was my replacement and luckily I’d left not a too bad a mess on the desk as he didn’t want to fight me. Well not immediately anyway.

And completing the group, arriving but just 5 more minutes later were the lovely Lucy (remember her? Hair? Eyes? Accent?) and Nicole (remember her? Fringe? Fringe? And something that rhymes with Fringe?).

We stayed for another in the Magpie and Stump, Gemma, Bernadette and I plumping for pints of Bath Ales’s Gem (Gemma convinced it was named after her) which we all enjoyed to varying degrees.

Bath's Gem

The pub was a hit with the rest of the tour though with certain people claiming it was the best one every on any of the trips out. I wouldn’t have gone that far but by the time we left we were all in a good mood for the Church which was next on the list.

Good Mood outside the Magpie and Stump.

Just as we reached the door of the church, another tour group, this one looking professionally led by someone who knew what they were on about turned up and planted themselves not 5 yards from where our rag-tag bunch had gathered. It was therefore in a somewhat muted fashion that I told them that this was yet another Christopher Wren built church, rebuilt after the Great Fire of London and that it still houses a bell which was rung to notify a hanging in the Newgate Prison. The other interesting fact was that a former organist (no sniggering Brenda) was Sir Henry Wood who went on to found the famous series f concerts now known as The Proms.

Brenda can't help giggling at Sir Henry Wood's organ.

Because we were having to strike out to new ground for new pubs now I took the merry band of travellers further along Newgate Street to where the Holbourn Viaduct crosses over the A201 also known as Farringdon Street and formerly known as the River Fleet.

We descended down one of the set of steps on each corner of the bridge and emerged onto Farringdon Street having lost Gemma and Bernadette who were off to play netball (yes, quite) but the rest of us made the short walk south along Farringdon Street to the next two pubs which stand opposite each other. On the west side is The Hoop and Grapes, a Shepherd Neame owned pub and on the east side facing it, is the White Swan. But this place, never mind who owns it, was closed, hopefully only for renovations rather than a permanent closure, but wasn’t going to be giving the thirsty tourists anything close to liquid refreshment tonight.

Brenda looking gutted that the White Swan is closed.

Brenda looking much happier that the Hoop and Grapes is open.

So it was into the Hoop and Grapes and straight into the arms of possibly the drunkest man I’ve ever encountered on a Tuesday night. This suited and booted gent was well away with the fairies and if he wasn’t dancing on his own to Michael Jackson – “It’s Jacko the King, you’ve gotta dance to the King!” then he was shoving his Movember fuzz into everyone’s faces whether they wanted it or not.
Lucy, despite our pleas to the contrary, decided to strike up a conversation with him which only encourages his antics and it was to everyone’s relief when our jitterbugging hero called it a day around 8 o clock. “He was here since lunchtime” declared one of the barstaff which must have meant they were serving vodka jelly or something similar.

Lucy and Nicole encouraging some drunken old fool

There’s not really a lot else to talk about. Gemma reappeared, more Shepherd Neame drinks were drank and I worked my way though all of the Whitstable Bay offerings, the Pale Ale, the Organic Ale, the Oyster Stout and even the Blonde Premium Lager before stumbling home via Farringdon Tube Station, the branch of Upper Crust at Paddington and the rail replacement bus home.

Brenda ordering the Tuna baguettes on the way home.

Good to be back on the road and with only 3 more tours left on this one we might finish it before the end of the year……………or not.

You owe me ten shillings say St Helen’s Bishopsgate

Has it really been 7 and a bit weeks since we last did one of these? Nearly two months of a working life without any sort of post-labour refreshment? Well the facts of the blog don’t lie so whilst the collective livers have no doubt enjoyed the extended break, the social sides of our brains were craving the attention of chat, beer and of course interesting facts about churches.

To pick up the story properly from where I left off and to do one of those “last time on the BGC’s O&Ls blog…….” refreshers I am, you may remember, no longer working with the majority of the rest of the crowd and am instead fighting my way through the remnants of Andy Murray supporters to my new labour location of Wimbledon.

The rest of the crowd are still eeking out a living on the banks of the river Thames by Tower Bridge and there has only been one change of any note in the membership of this unruly bunch of reprobates.

Cast your minds back the Monopoly Tour? Yes? No? Whatever, well one of the main movers and shakers was Nicole who decided to crush the dreams of certain IT workers by leaving the country and getting away as far as possible by moving back to New Zealand and attempting to establish herself as a new-age professional surf board polisher. But God (or the lord of surf boards) moves in mysterious ways and in a matter of days after I left my old work, she returns to take up her old job as if nothing has happened……..

Hang on…….wait a moment…..having just written that all down, let’s resummarise the facts. She comes out on the Monopoly Tour. Fleas to the other end of the world. I leave work. She comes back…….anyone would think there’s a conspiracy going on here!

Big shiny gherkin.

Anyway, back to the tour. The one advantage of me working so far away from the city, out in the suburbs now is that there was no need to hang around at work waiting for people to finish and to finally  get down the first pub. This time I just instructed them to all meet me at the Slug & Lettuce opposite St Mary’s Axe, better known as The Gherkin and the usual rounds of fun and frolics would commence from there.

I'm smiling here cos I've not actually go in the place yet.

You may have read about my opinions about Slugs and Lettuces before and this unfortunate example and excuse of a pub was no better. In fact it was far far worse. Leaving aside the fact that it wasn’t bursting at the seams in any way shape or form, I was still made to wait a good ten minutes at the deserted bar before the barmaid dragged herself away from adjusting the lights to serve me with a disgusting pint of London Pride. How this place has managed to obtain Cask Marque accreditation is a mystery I certainly won’t be revisiting this place to get to the bottom of that particular conundrum.

So whilst the liquid based welcome was pretty dire, the welcome from the rest of the tourists was a little more heart-warming. There was a rather healthy turn out, one that would have put several of the previous tours to shame. From the old team Buddy Rob, New-Guy Micky and Kambiz were present and correct and from the fairer looking side of the office, Gemma, Natasha, Brenda, Lucie, Isabelle, Lisa & Jade were all looking their normal stunning selves. We’d even picked up a couple of more fair-weathered tourists again in the shape of Charmer Palmer, Lee and Gemma’s “special” friend Sam.

So with the reunions all completed and being told I hadn’t greeted Nicole as lustily as everyone seemed to have expected I should have, there was nothing else to do but hurry everyone out of the pub before suffering any more appalling beer and make the short hop round the corner to the church of St Helen’s Bishopsgate. This particular church had been built back in the 12th century and those thoughtful ancient architected had created a handy courtyard area that allowed us to huddle together for the long awaited “church talk”.

But, what a minute, what’s this……..oh you guys! They’ve only gone and all produced cut out moustaches on straws. Oh what a wheeze! (Actually I was quite touched………..no, not in that way!)

Awwww, look, the gang's back together!

Anyway back to St Helen’s. Apparently this is the only church in the City of London which has been built from a nunnery still in service. It contains more monuments than any church in Greater London apart from Westminster Abbey and survived the Great Fire, both World Wars but had its roof blown off by an IRA bomb in the early 1990s.

There was just time for a moustachioed posed photo by the church door before we said goodbye to half of the tour, the younger ones it must be noted who still believe in beauty sleep, whilst the rest of the more mature members cut through to Creechurch Lane and the fabulously named Old Tea Warehouse.

Outside of the Old Tea Warehouse

Thanking my lucky stars that the beer range was 600% better than that at the Slug & Lettuce those of us who required ale-based refreshment could take advantage of the house brew, The Old Tea Clipper Ale which was lovely well balanced bitter that certainly hit the spot for Brenda and I. Nicole went for the Red Squirrel Conservation Ale which was described as “flavoursome and fruity”…….that’s the beer presumably, not Nicole. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Old Tea Warehouse Pumps.

But on the beer front, the most impressive was Gemma who plumped for an impressive trilogy of Brooklyn Lager, Kirin Lager and Palm Ale, which came in a nice branded glass.

After the first pint I explained the proposed route to Brenda as we pondered whether to move on or stay for another one. The next two pubs were meant to be The White Horse in Houndsditch and another Slug & Lettuce in Stoney Lane but she soon pooh-poohed these as potential locations but did approve of the final location of The Bell in nearby Middlesex Street.

I had no problem with this as The Old Tea Warehouse was more than a pleasant place to stay and a pint of Conservation Ale (“flavoursome and fruity” – that’s me and not the beer) made the stay all the easier.
The walk to The Bell didn’t take long at all even with the fact that we had to miss out the two potential pubs on the way. It’s a funny old place from the outside mixing a classic corner pub location with a sign that twinkles and sparkles in the light and reads “Ding Dong” when looked at from the right angle. Mind you it’s a funnier place from the inside with a mixture of stuffed animals, deer skulls and other random artefacts adorning the walls. It also features a heavily tattooed pink-haired barmaid which certainly brightened the place up.

Well blow me down, if it isn't the BGC and the O&Ls tour.....

The beer range was smaller, just three ales on, but certainly the pints of Harvey’s Sussex Bitter than Brenda and I took part of were in top notch condition and at least we continued to fly the real ale flag whilst everyone else flip-flopped back to lagers or vodka based fun drinks.

Harvey's Sussex Bitter - The choice of champions.

So with one eye on the Argentina vs Holland World Cup semi-final Mickey brought the thoughts round to some form of edible sustenance and I was dutifully dispatched to the bar to collect some sort of “crips” [sic]. The pub was selling those classic wheat based snacks, Bacon Flavour Fries, Cheese Flavoured Moments and Scampi Flavour Fries. I asked for one packet of each to which the barman gave me a respectful nod and said, “Ah….the triple hey? Good choice.”

The participants of "the triple" about to be devoured.

It might have been a good choice but as Shania might have once sung, “it didn’t impress Nicole much” who bemoaned the fact that apparently there was a secret supply of Monster Munch also on sale and no other deep fried calorie laden nibble would do. Seeing as this was her “welcome back” tour I relented and was extremely happy to shell out a whopping £1.10 per bag on both the Pickled Onion and Roast Beef flavours.

Still I guess in retrospect this might have been a good bargain for the Harvey’s pint glass that somehow fell into her rucksack of a handbag and was transferred to me on the concourse of Liverpool Street Station. Not quite Brief Encounter, but hey……….good to have her back!

Oh, and if you want to read what happened on the exciting journey home, just mosey on over to the best blog about travelling on trains since the year dot.

Old Father Baldpate say the bells of St Botolph-without-Aldgate

So come on BGC, how on earth can it be the bells of St Botolph’s who are saying “Old Father Baldpate” when it says any such thing in the rhyme at all!

Well of course my research into the origins of the Oranges and Lemons rhyme is scratchy at best but I am reliably informed that the Old Father Baldpate figure referred to in the song is none other than St Botolph, or Botwulf of Thorney as he’s sometimes known. The nickname must come from the fact that he’s the saint with a perfect monk’s tonsure hence the reference to his shiny slaphead.

I’m not sure why the rhyme refers to this particular church, St Botolph-without-Aldgate, as there are a couple of others bearing his name in London but as far as the tour is concerned, this is of great providence as it means we have another tour location within walking distance of the office and this was a factor we were only too happy to take advantage of.

The 3 Lords hanging in the pub of the same name.

So there were no tube lines to negotiate and as we went for the “meet in the pub” routine again it was only just a few minutes after 5 that James James, Mags, new-Guy Micky and myself found ourselves in the Three Lords on the Minories. This is a Young’s pubs and has only recently been renovated, turning it from a much darker East End boozer type place to a bright and light, hipster and trendy type place. The beer range was admirable with 4 ales and about the same about of interesting keg products alongside.

Even the glass was wrong.

I plumped for something I’d never heard of before, Red Car IPA although I’m not 100% sure it’s the same brewery as the one I’ve linked to here. I probably should have asked for a taster as the beer was just on the turn with that horrible vinegar scent overpowering any chance of smell or taste.

Luckily with the arrival of the girls (Gemma, Lisa, Brenda and Nicola) 15 minutes later and then the arrival of Buddy Rob 10 minutes after that gave us the opportunity to have a second round which for me was a much more palatable pint of Gentleman’s Wit from Camden Town Brewery.

Loverly bit of stuff! (and the beer)

For all its fresh paint and beer range there was something sadly lacking about the Three Lords, certainly the atmosphere was wanting especially as there were hardly any other folk in the place. The same couldn’t be said of the second pub of the evening, the tiny Still and Star, tucked around the back of Aldgate Bus Station in Little Somerset Street.

The girls. (Godzilla is on the end.)

Now this place is everything a proper little boozer should be. Good solid British ales on sale, from which I choose Adnam’s Lighthouse for Brenda and I, a crowd of regulars playing darts in the back of the pub, and enough room outside to relax in the nice early evening sun.

and the boys.

You could see the church from our position outside the pub and in an amazing show of knowledge firstly Brenda asked me if I was going to mention the “plague pit” which was dug in front of the church – I wasn’t but had read about this mass grave for plague victims – and then Gemma asked whether this was the church also known as “the prostitutes’ church”.  Now this was something I was going to mention (no…no….not for any other reason than it’s interesting, thank you very much!) and I can only presume that this secret was imparted to her by the power of her hooker tights.

Mind you this great show of knowledge and intelligence was quickly undone when Rob asked everyone “who was Godzilla?”, which is a pretty normal pub question to be honest, to which Brenda answered, “A monkey?”……..time to leave.

Not one of them do sex for money......apparently.

Crossing Aldgate High Street we passed by the entrance to Aldgate Tube Station and into the paved frontage of St Botolph-without-Aldgate church. As Gemma had correctly stated earlier, due to its position on the traffic island it had attracted more than its fair share of “working girls” and has become known as the prostitutes’ church as it provided a safe haven for these “fallen” women. Whether this has any connection to this place being one of the leading lights in the LGBT movement I don’t know but it’s always nice to hear about a more progressive outlook from within established religions. The final fact I imparted on my knowledge-hungry audience was that Daniel Defoe, he of Robinson Crusoe fame was married in the church, which made a nice link to our Monopoly visit to Super Tax which ended in a reading of a William Blake poem by the gates of Bunhill Cemetry and visitors to this most atmospheric place will know that Blake’s very well-known final resting place neighbour is none other than Mr Defoe.

The third place was somewhere I’d stumbled on whilst wandering aimlessly around the area and isn’t really pub in the true sense. The Trident is marketed as a bar and restaurant but when I’d wandered past the other day I noticed that sitting proudly atop its bar was a barrel of beer complete in cooling jacket and thought that this looked worth a second look.

Tartan carpet in The Trident. Note hooker tights on the right.

It’s a funny old place with a nice line in tartan carpets and the clientele seemed singularly formed of elderly businessmen who had started a lunch around 1-ish and were still going strong by 7 in the evening.
The barrel of beer was there though and tonight it contained Partridge Best from Dark Star and the barmaid reckoned she could just about squeeze out the four pints we needed for Brenda, Gemma, me and Mags who had decided to save her “one beer for the night” for this place although whether this was anything to do with Brenda’s explanation of “doing the barrel” is not clear.

In the corner of the bar were three of the aforementioned elderly business men who were joined by what can only be described as a much younger companion is a very form fitting dress. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on what this girl was doing, after all she may have been one of the guy’s granddaughter, but after coming in and joining the men, one of them started performing a back and shoulder massage on her as she sat there perched on a bar stool. As I clocked this rather bizarre exhibitionism I caught Mag’s eye and she asked me if it looked as dodgy as it appeared to be. I agreed and she then said that one of the other blokes was inviting her over too. I wasn’t invited…..

I was forced against my will to pose for these.....

We were then joined by tonight’s surprise guest, Charlie (remember him?) who’s new job is even nearer to these pubs than our office. He wasn’t in time for a drink in The Trident, which was a relief as there was nothing in the barrel now anyway, but joined us on the short trip to the final pub, Hennessey’s in Old Jewry Street.

If you visit the Hennessey’s website you’ll see that this place is undergoing a change of ownership and is being rebranded back to an original name of The Three Tuns. You could definitely see this was a work in progress with the smell of fresh paint in the air and a very limited range of drinks which on the beer front left us with a choice of Doombar or London Pride.

It will be interesting to see how work on this pub progresses as it in a prime location and is also split over several levels with even a roof top patio so it has the potential to be a really good pub again.
What will also be interesting to see in its development is the Oranges and Lemons tour. It’s been a widely known fact between the tourists, but hasn't been revealed on this blog as yet, that this particular evening was my last as a member of the same company as the rest of the tour regulars. I begin a new job in June and will be working from a different area of the city. But don’t despair because I have been coerced into promising to return to my old stomping grounds, much like a cat returning to the scene of its urination, and completing the rest of the rhyme.

And anyway there’s a much more important reason to continue the tour…….rumour has it that a very very special ex-tourist is returning to these shores and will be no doubt, absolutely gagging for some of the good stuff.

Beer! I meant beer! Dirty people!

Kettles and Pans say St Anne’s (and St Agnes)

One of the things that’s becoming obvious as we delve deeper and deeper into the verses of the Oranges and Lemons rhyme is the fact that all the church locations are based around the square mile of the City of London and it’s becoming increasingly more and more difficult to find new pubs to visit and not to make the various evening-outs overlap each other.

This week’s mission had just that sort of problem when the church revealed itself to be that of St Anne’s and St Agnes (poor old St Agnes doesn’t get a mention in the rhyme) which is on Gresham Street, just slightly further on down the road of where we finished the evening out for St Giles without Cripplegate. Although usually you only have to look left and right to fall over the nearest pub in London, this part of the city around Barbican isn’t at all well provided for in terms of pub numbers and it was quite a stretch to gather together some venues for the evening.

The City Tavern before it's demise.

What also didn’t help the mission was that one likely candidate; the City Tavern on Trump Street has now been demolished to make way for another huge office block that probably no-one will ever use. Luckily for the record-keeping of this blog, Google Maps hasn’t quite caught up to modern day events and still has images of the pub if you try to walk around the area using Street View. Perhaps as a Greene King house it might have never had the most interesting of beers on offer but it certainly did a nice line in window boxes.

Anyway on to the pubs that were still standing………

No1 Poultry - Loving the weirdy beardy and the bloke with the afro who have photo-bombed me.

We began the night, in a change to the normal run of events by meeting in the first pub rather than doing our normal herding cats waiting around in the office or waiting for the girls to finish their 2-for-1 cocktails in the Slug & Lettuce. The first pub on this occasion was The Green Man, a Wetherspoon’s basement pub located in the No 1 Poultry Building next to Bank tube station. This was a pub I’d visited before in the company of Aussie Pete (Remember him? Used to eat on his own? Funny accent?) when we were charging around getting the necessary Cask Marque scans needed for one of the Cask Ale Week’s special T-Shirts.

(L-R - James, James-James, James-James-James.)

The first arrivals were yours truly accompanied as usual by several side kicks in the forms of Spikey Haired Ed, James James, New Guy Micky and new converts to the tour Lisa and Reece. We were also joined by a second James, or maybe that should be a third James, who had finally after many promises of joining us made it out onto one of the expeditions. The evening was a damp and drizzly one and the 10 minute walk was made all the more challenging by the dawdling tourists and their dawdling umbrellas. Talking of umbrellas, in order to protect my new hair-do I’d picked up a bright blue stripped monstrosity of a brolly from the office and much to the jealousy of Ed remained bone dry all the way to the pub whereas he seems to take every drop of rain that might damage his perfect bonce as a personal insult..
First beer of the night was Darkest Devon from Exe Valley or at least it was for me, as the others went for continental lagers or vodka fun drinks. The pub is split over two floors and with the upstairs heaving at the gunwales we had to make do with a standing table at the bottom of the stairs As we waiting for everyone else to turn up.

There's a better head on this beer than on the person in the photo - oooo, been waiting to deliver that one for weeks!

We were swiftly joined by Buddy Rob just in time for the second round which in my case was something with “Gold” in the title but due to the reason I couldn’t get a mobile signal in the basement I failed to check into Untappd and therefore don’t have a clear record what it was.

A Comb-Under?

Also in my defence though, I was being put off by the chap stood next to me at the bar as I was placing the order. It’s to the credit of the collective British personality that usually even in the midst of the unruly scrum at the bar we still instinctively know who should be served before who. Now this chap standing to my left wasn’t trying to push ahead in fact his “problem” was the exact opposite in that he was being so meek and mild I was almost embarrassed for him as bar-person after bar-person over looked his proffered empty glass and went on to server someone else. That said it may have been down to one of the weirdest haircuts ever. You’ve all heard of the comb-over, which in my experience is usually centred on the front of the head. Well this chap had a comb-over but it was combed over the back of his head making for this mess of a “do”. Ah well, I hope his pint of “something Gold” went down well which is what I heard him finally order when someone had eventually seen him.

Mid-way through the second round we were joined by tonight’s eye candy in the form of Pissed-Up Phil, Natasha, Gemma and Lucie. Luckily for them it was only vodka fun drinks and halves of cider that needed to be downed before we left for the next place. But mind you, I think Phil still got in two pints in that time…..
The next place was the fabulously named The Old Doctor Butler’s Head, a back alley, wood-timber building currently owned by Shepherd Neame.  Doctor William Butler was the court physician to James I and was described as an eccentric, a drunkard and the greatest physician of his time. So apart from any medical qualifications this was a pub we should feel right at home in.

Unfortunately what we did feel in this pub was extremely crushed as it was absolutely rammed with the usual assortment of besuited city types. Somehow I made it to a place at the bar but that wasn’t enough to see me served before Gemma as obviously the barman had fallen in love with her perfect teeth and dazzling smile. We took the drinks outside where it was still spitting and drizzling and the big blue brolly came into its own as we nearly all managed to get under it and remained the right side of wet.

Wouldn't bother Gemma - hair looks a mess anyway.

No doubt this is a historical and interesting pub but the combination of size of the crowd, the arrogance of the suits and the wetness of the rain led us to scurry off pretty sharpish. But that wasn’t before Gemma had accosted two innocent chaps and accused them of being Italian.
The route now led us along Gresham Street and past the Guildhall and the Red Herring at the bottom of Wood Street which we visited as part of St Giles without Cripplegate, but this time we continued to Noble Street and the church for the evening.

Toilets just around the corner.

St Anne’s and St Agnes is another one of Christopher Wren’s rebuildings after the Great Fire of London. It’s built in the shape of a Greek Cross which apparently is quite rare in terms of church architecture and John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress, was a parishioner here once but as you can probably tell I was struggling for anything else interesting to say about the place. I think the tourists were quite glad of that though as the sound of the rains was making everyone need a toilet.

Note - The barmaid was not a Heavenly Blonde, she was actually a bit of a mardy cow.

Luckily then for everyone’s bladders that the final pub was just around the corner in St Martin’s Le-Grand, a Taylor Walker place called the Lord Raglan. Luckily this place was large enough to cope with the amount of people in there so it was relief from both crowds and rain, and relief for the bladders as well. The beer chosen was the delightfully named Heavenly Blonde from Oldershaw Brewery and perhaps it was so obviously named after Mazars’s very own Gelfling, Natasha, both she and Gemma joined me in a pint of the good stuff. Well I say joined, I had 2 and ½ pints whilst they grimaced and moaned about the ¼ pint they managed to keep down.

(L-R Heavenly Blonde, Heavenly Moustache, Devil Woman)

And then before you could say “time Gentlemen please” the night was over as the majority of the male contingent ran off the rest of the kitty to McDonalds and Phil and I had to console ourselves with a pizza in the company of the Three Degrees. But there was still time for a final beer, a bottle of Greens Gluten Free Pilsner, which was only chosen because it was the only thing I’d never had from the menu before.
So it was back to Liverpool Street for Natasha and Gemma, off jogging somewhere in the night for Lucie in her day-glo trainers and me to save Phil from falling on the tracks at Barbican. So just a normal night
really………….