The Green Man, outside Brackley, Northamptonshire

Out on the A43 a little northeast of Brackley, the Green Man appears to be an old pub attached to a cheap hotel.  It is part of the Chef and Brewer chain and I figured this would be a good place on our way back to Cambridgeshire after the final stress filled day of moving house to Bicester (we also endured a hellish stop by the Milton Keynes Ikea to pick up an office chair, a dresser and some bookshelves).

Inside, it really is an old pub with nooks and snugs appearing every ten feet or so along its immense length.  Old beams and fireplaces are everywhere and even though there were dozens of patrons in there it seemed relatively empty where we were.  This is really a beautiful bar and it is really a shame that it is way out on the highway as it seems like it could be the focal point of the community if it were even an easy walk from town or village.

I had a really good lamb burger with tsatsiki sauce and a chili and tomato chutney and felt revived.  The Abbot ale didn’t hurt, either.

Little, isolated rooms are everywhere to find in this old house

The Bure Farm, Bicester, Oxon

Day two of moving house found us sore, tired and famished on our way back to Cambridgeshire.  I had spotted the Bure Farm pub on the way in with today’s load of furnishings and books and decided to stop in on our way out.

Something of a family restaurant, kind of like a Shoney’s Big Boy with a bar, the food was nothing special but not bad at all.  The place is a Marstons pub, like the Monkfield Arms in Cambourne, and like it does not really have the feel of a pub…it is more of a dining establishment than a place to come in for a bit of chat and serious drink.  I think Jamie had a chicken and bacon salad and I don’t remember at all what I had, so the food is exactly that impressive.

That said, the ale line up was very good with at least 6 to choose from.  There were bottles of wine for £5.99 as well.  I had a pint of Dirty Tackle (“A Fistfull of Flavour”) largely because the name is juvenile and the tag-line made me laugh but I would have it again; it was floral and not very bitter but hoppy enough and the foam settled much like that in a good stout (in spite of the light amber colour).

The Royal Exchange, Haverhill, Suffolk

There was a bus back to cambridge in 20 minutes but I was hungry and fancied some doner and chips and figured I could catch the one in 50 minutes and also fit in a beer.  And, across from the kebab place there was the Royal Exchange waiting for me at #69 High Street with a pint of Abbot.  Bless ‘em.

Sitting there, I saw a couple of boys walk past and one flipped the V at the kebab guy and that made me laugh. Then, of course, in they came and started tossing darts as I finished my beverage and walked across for my snack, turning back to wave at them through the window.  Good kebab, too.

The Queen’s Head, Haverhill, Suffolk

Haverhill is pretty large and I found myself trying to spot the bus station as I ran through the market in the light rain, laden with my backpack and sweating profusely in the freezing wind.  I figured I had time for a beer and popped into the Queen’s Head just ahead of another guy dressed more appropriately and not so sweaty.  “You beat me here,” he said as we reached the bar then to the ten or so others, “I saw this guy coming across a field back at Horseheath.”

“Hooray!” said some, and at least one other gave me a “fuckin’ ‘ell, what’d yer do tha’ fer?”

“I had a hankering for a beer,  don’t y’know,” I said, lifting the delicious Suffolk County Best.  The conversation fell almost immediately into tales of wasted abandon overseas with everyone of them having stories of getting barred somewhere in Portugal or Spain (and every story corroborated by someone else in the bar with a “oh, aye, yeah I remember that trip.”

So, I would highly recommend hitting this bar mid afternoons and trying to find a drinking buddy for a local pub crawl.  Friendly and with a high potential for getting out of control, the regulars here are tops in my book.

The Waggon and Horses, Linton, Cambs

Five minutes into a run up a moderate hill and I wasn’t sure if I was lost or not but I was sure a beer would not go unwelcomed and popped into the Waggon and Horses.  A cookery show was on the tele and I asked the landlord what was going on in the program; “oh, some fucking shit, I reckon.”  I turned my attention to the beer and a conversation with the only other patron about usury interest rates on credit cards.

Around 1900, click photo for website of Linton photos this one was lifted from

The pub is pretty nice, and I think there is a big back room besides the small front bar.  The pair wished me luck on the run as I left somewhat bolder than I entered.

The White Horse, Witcham, Cambs–Pub #300

More mud and unmelted snow–unmelted because it was fucking cold–blighted the run from Witchford to Witcham on Sunday but all was righted by a big bowl of warm pork scratchings and a pint of Oakham Tera at the White Horse. The place was packed and even more were arriving behind me and each of them greeted by at least half the assembled crowd. This is a real community pub and the web site is even maintained by the local council.

The Tera was ordered on suggestion from one guy down the end of the bar and the scratchings sent down by his mate. “They put these out for the bar after the roast is gone.” Sublime, not too salty and not at all chewy but rather crisp and light; I roasted a pork shoulder the day before and the scratchings were tasty but you could have mended shoes with pieces of them.  The Tera was floral and light and perfect for a mid-run break, although the anime pump clip did put me off; there were at least 10 other ales lined up and ready to go once the 3 on offer ran dry at the taps.

Oh, yeah, this was the 300th pub I’ve visited since moving here. Cheers!

The King William IV, Histon, Cambs

A longish run from Histon to Rampton (where the Black Horse wasn’t open for a few more hours…shit!) and on to Cottenham (where the Waggon and Horses would open in another 20 minutes but it was too cold to wait outside with wet feet and only a few miles to close the loop…shit!) and on back to Histon to the King William IV.

I arrived at KW4  just after the Friday lunch rush had departed and there was no one at the bar; I could hear the staff in the kitchen having a chat and for a few–quite a few in fact–minutes considered putting mouth to tap and filling up then stealthily slipping out the door, but I’m still on my “ethics and other good behaviour” New Year Resolution (shit!) and opted to wave at them once I found an angle where we could see one another.

I had a Kingstone Press Cider, which was especially refreshing after the snow flurry laden run, and chatted about the unusual hours kept at the King Bill.  I’ve been trying to hit this pub for a few months but I always seemed to catch it closed in the past.  Very nice venue, though, and a friendly and very young staff for such a traditional house.

The menu looks especially tantalising although I’m not too sure about the item in the lower left corner; have they stuffed a wee dog with sausage, potatoes and onion gravy and, if so, does the RSPCA know about this?  Not much on the board for your vegetarian mates, but the haggis is very tempting.

The Snug, Lensfield Road, Cambridge

I claimed at some point in the blog’s history that I would not enter a chain pub…like All-Bar-One or The Snug.  Okay, fine.  It was the end of a long and stressful moving week for the lab and I made such a scene at the Panton (fuck the Panton) last time that we had to go somewhere else and lo and behold there was the Snug equidistant from the doors.

The food was okay (delivered efficiently, as ordered, and frankly my lamb burger with tzatziki sauce was delicious).  The Czech lager was cold and eventually found its way to the table.  And, the company is always pleasant.  I still wouldn’t go out of my way to get here for a drink, but the food is better than the average pub grub.

Nostalgia laden run 24 Jan 2010

POOP! (For all the Kimchi out there, this one is for you.)

I went out for 11 miles of back roads and mud trails Sunday afternoon and added 3 more pubs to the crawl (3 short of 300 now).  I’ll be moving away from East Anglia soon and it started to hit me along the way.  It also brought up memories of past homes and the runs there as well.

The bunkers you see everywhere in southeast England are fairly reminiscent of the occasional, abandoned Titan missile silo you find in the desert southwest.  Certainly, that heat is a thing of the past though, but the poop up there at the start reminds me of those other far west hashers in Colorado.

The trails, all damp and unkempt and everywhere you look are almost Dutch in their ubiquity.  If there were only cheap and frequent public transport at the ends of the trails (and a coffeeshop or two) this would be hard to tell apart from Holland (except the Dutch have a better command of the English language).

And, what trot down memory lane would be complete without some trailer trash.  Only, here the trailer trash live in house boats (not the nice, stylish ones to the left but the actual floating trailers on the right).  This is why I don’t get homesick…there are reminders of the past everywhere.

The Rising Sun, Isleham, Cambs

“There is a house in Eyes-El-Ham
They call the Rising Sun.
It’s been the ruin of many a fen jogger and
Lord, I know, I’m one.”

Actually, the Rising Sun is a remarkably friendly gaff with a real family atmosphere and decent prices for the beer.  The only other house I have visited in Isleham is the Griffin, a few months back, which seemed bleak and dangerous (both of which are fine attributes, in my opinion) but now seems also a bit sad in comparison. 

I had a pint of Adnam’s Abbey and chatted about the run with a couple of folks at the bar, then again at a table when I decided to escape the crowd.  Fun place.