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The previous post was better, but I wanted to showcase the screensavers pieced together by Squeezin’ (with my gratitude for these).  The pics, in order, are

Venue	Where	beer #
The Princess Hotel (done around 5 am New Year’s Day)	Swindon	1
The Bank House	Cheltenham	2
At the New Year’s Races in Cheltenham (watching my nag drag in)	Cheltenham	3
Midlands Hotel	Cheltenham	4
The Queen’s Tap	Swindon	5
The Four Candles	Oxford	6
The Turf Tavern (at the sign commemorating Clinton failing to inhale there)	Oxford	7
The White Horse	Oxford	8
O’Neill’s	Oxford	9
Ellington’s	Swindon	10
The Red Lion	Oxford	11
The Gloucester Arms	Oxford	12
Eurobar	Oxford	13
The Volunteer	Faringdon	14
The Red Lion	Faringdon	15
The Bell	Faringdon	16
The Lamb and Flag	Oxford	17
The Bird and Baby	Oxford	18
Far  The Madding Crowd	Oxford	19
Southbrook Inn	Swindon	20
The White Hart	Wolvercote, Oxfordshire	21
The Red Lion	Wolvercote, Oxfordshire	22
The Plough	Oxford	23
The Gardener’s Arms	Oxford	24
The Rose and Crown	Oxford	25
TP’s	Swindon	26
The De’s Cut	Oxford	27
The King and Queen	Longcot, Oxfordshire	28
The Woodman Inn	Fernham, Oxfordshire	29
The Eagle	Little Cocks Swell, Oxfordshire	30
The Wheatsheaf	Faringdon, Oxfordshire	31
Faringdon Folly	Faringdon, Oxfordshire	32
Salisbury Cathedral	Salisbury	33
The King’s Arms	Salisbury	34
The Old Castle Pub	Salisbury	35
The keep at Old Sarum	Salisbury	36
Wheatsheaf	Lower Woodford, Wiltshire	37
Bridge Inn	Upper Woodford, Wiltshire	38
Black Horse	Great Durnford, Wiltshire	39
Wilsford Cum Lake sign (heh, heh)	Wiltshire	40
Stonehenge (really a great disappointment)	Wiltshire	41
King’s Arms	Amesbury, Wiltshire	42
George Hotel	Amesbury, Wiltshire	43
New Inn	Amesbury, Wiltshire	44
The Greyhound	Amesbury, Wiltshire	45
Royal Oak	Oxford	46
The Red Lion	Marston, Oxfordshire	47
The Angel and Greyhound	Oxford	48
The University Club	Oxford	49
The GW Hotel	Swindon	50
Jude the Obscure	Oxford	51
The Victoria	Oxford	52
The Rickety Press	Oxford	53
Wahoo Sport Bar	Oxford	54
The Oxford Retreat	Oxford	55
The Grapes	Oxford	56
The Rolleston	Swindon	57
The Baker’s Arms	Swindon	58
The Dolphin	Swindon	59
Marsh Farm Hotel	Royal Wootton Bassett	60
The Cross Keys	Royal Wootton Bassett	61
The Old School	Oxford	62
The King’s Arms	Oxford	63
The Swan and Castle	Oxford	64
The Victoria Arms	Marston, Oxfordshire	65
The Black Swan	Abingdon, Oxfordshire	66
The Blue Boar	Abingdon, Oxfordshire	67
The Bowyer Arms	Radley, Oxfordshire	68
Zen Bar	Swindon	69
Sir Daniel Arms	Swindon	70
White Hart	Lyneham, Wiltshire	71
Sodom	Wiltshire	72
The Angel	Royal Wootton Bassett, Wiltshire	73
Cape of Good Hope	Oxford	74
Rudi’s	Swindon	75
Burn’s Day Lunch (Haggis, Neeps, Tatties, Whisky, and 2 beers)	Oxford	76
Swindon Wildcats 3, Sheffield Steeldogs 4 (SO)	Swindon	77
The Longwall	Oxford	78
The Royal George	Purton, Wiltshire	79
Riff’s Bar	Greatfield, Wiltshire	80
Magic Roundabout	Swindon	81
The Three Tuns	Wroughton	82
The Havana	Swindon	83
The Lydiard	Swindon	84
The Savoy	Swindon	85
The Brewer’s Arms	Cirencester	86
The White Horse	Woolstone	87
The College Farm	Watchfield	88
The Horse and Jockey	Ashton Keynes, Gloucestershire	89
The Vale Hotel	Cricklade	90
Goldfinger Tavern	Highworth, Wiltshire	91
The Red Lion	Northmoor, Oxfordshire	92
The Bell Inn	Standlake, Oxfordshire	93
The Maybush	Newbridge, Oxfordshire	94
The Beehive (this is about 100 yards from the house we are moving to)	Swindon	95
Baker Street	Swindon	96
Steam Railway Company Pub	Swindon	97
The Pig on the Hill	Swindon	98
Long’s Bar	Swindon	99
near Parliament, with a Cuban cigar and a bunch of dirty looks (and after 5 pub stops)	London Marathon	100
The Bear	Oxford	101
The Old Tom	Oxford	102
The Crown	Oxford	103
The Beehive	Carterton, Oxfordshire	104
The Crown Inn	Faringdon, Oxfordshire	105
Romany Inn	Bampton, Oxfordshire	106
Talbot Hotel	Bampton, Oxfordshire	107
The George Inn	Sandy Lane, Wiltshire	108
The White Hart	Calne, Wiltshire	109
The now defunct King George	Calne, Wiltshire	110
Barrington Arms	Shrivenham, Oxfordshire	111
Groves Company Inn	Swindon	112
Revolution	Swindon	113
The Plough	Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire	114
The George and Dragon	Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire	115
The Fish	Sutton Courtenay, Oxfordshire	116
Great Western Railway Staff Association	Didcot, Oxfordshire	117
The Prince of Wales	Didcot, Oxfordshire	118
Tap and Barrel (good read goes along with this pic)	Swindon	119
Old Town Festival	Swindon Town Gardens	120
Cock Inn	Combe, Oxfordshire	121
Three Horseshoes	Long Hanborough, Oxfordshire	122
Swindon Pride 2012	Swindon (duh)	123
Wernham Hogg’s	Slough, Berkshire	124
The Myrtle Grove	Risca, Gwent, Wales	125
The Sirhowy	Blackwood, Gwent, Wales	126
Railway Tavern	Sirhowy, Blaenau Gwent, Wales	127
The Castle	Bryn Serth, Blaenau Gwent, Wales	128
The Coach and Horses	Ashvale, Blaenau Gwent, Wales	129
Ye Olde Red Lion Hotel	Tredegar, Blaenau Gwent, Wales	130
The Tumble Inn	Pontypridd, Wales	131
The Maltster’s Arms	Pontypridd, Wales	132
Wyvern Theatre	Swindon	133
Byron’s Bar	Swindon	134
The Bear Hotel	Wantage, Oxfordshire	135
Source ot the River Thames	Kemble, Gloucestershire	136
Carpenter’s Arms	Lacock, Wiltshire	137
Mill House	Chippenham, Wiltshire	138
Sunny’s Pool Bar	Swindon	139
The Royal Oak	Marlborough, Wiltshire	140
The Lamb Inn	Marlborough, Wiltshire	141
The Crown	Marlborough, Wiltshire	142
IMS/TOF Mass Spectrometer	Oxford University	143
New Year’s Eve on Ferndale Road	Swindon	144

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Something was familiar about the Emperer but I couldn’t put my finger on it until I was ready to leave and stopped by the toilets to evacuate…it USED to be the Globe Ale House.  I had many steaks in here at lunchtime when I worked around the corner, but the new paint, the pleasant music (and it is a live music venue now) and the lack of the odours of stale beer and bodily emissions through me off the, erm, scent.  The kids running the place seemed to have done a good job and seem to know what they are doing.  And my Tribute ale was the perfect end to a day do performance maintenance tasks on some friends’ mass spectrometers.

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The Nags Head is no longer a pub but it seems to have been one in the past.  I realised the following morning on my way to Cambridge that the restaurant must be separate from the hotel area and that I probably could have gotten my drink down there.  However, assuming that the hotel dining area was all there was and, since it was dark Tuesday night I treated the place the way I treat all ex-pubs in order to include them on the list and had a self-procured beverage (some bourbon from Aldi).

The drink was fairly pleasant and steeled my nerves for the evening in Room 13.  I have never known a room 13 or a floor 13 in any hotel and Kevin the manager said that some people have left due to it.  Kevin was a quite friendly fellow and he runs a clean, quiet, and convenient hostelry.  My room was large and better than most I’ve stayed while in Europe.  If I ever find my way back out here, it will be my first choice.

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Back in St Neots at 7:15, I wanted to catch Eastenders but was starved having survived my trip and a 10 mile run on three cookies and two cups of coffee (breakfast) and four pints spread out over the trip and the run.  Nearly back to the hotel I spotted lights that could only be a chippy and followed the side street down to Mr Chips.

I order a cod and chips and was served by a young, blonde Englishwoman (fairly unusual in this business these days) who barely understood a word I said so I didn’t get the flood of vinegar I had hoped (and asked) for but the food was quite good with a salty but delicious batter and thick but not at all soggy or greasy chips; and, I was carrying it back to my room by 7:25 so I am caught up on my soap.

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I found my way to the Anchor with the help of a stranger.  Entering the big one-roomed house I immediately drew attention (not a lot of runners in this watering hole) but my choice of beer must have been good as I was soon left to enjoy it in silence.

That choice was a Caledonian Flying Scotsman, a chocolatey and peaty brew.  Yep, peaty; it was like a boiler maker with a shot of malt instead of straight whiskey.  Very fine and with an after to savor.

When it was time to leave (getting dark) I asked directions back to St Neots and got some fairly succinct ones from the drunk on a nearby stool, but I had the bright idea that I should try to go via the river trail I originally planned and asked if that was possible and he gave me slightly more elaborate ones which I followed precisely and wound up doing a two mile loop through some swamps.  Man, there really are some things I miss about Fennies.

 

The pub puts on a bunch of music which is surprising for so small a village, but St Neots has a good music scene to start with so this may not be so surprising.

 

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I checked into my hotel in St Neots and caught up on some work for an hour then changed clothes and headed out intending to run the path along the River Great Ouze, but got lost as is so often the case.  I turned up a half hour later in the village of Hail Weston and just as I was about to try to find my way back overland by dead reckoning I spotted the Royal Oak, a fantastic little 16th Century pub that reminds me an awful lot of the house we lived in at Stretham.

The place was packed and it was only 5 pm.  I pushed through the crowd (no mean feat) and ordered a Red Stripe.  As I paid I noticed the old guy I had been standing next to was drinking out of a Big Nose Kate’s (Tombstone, AZ and a place I know far too well) mug so when he returned I used this to strike up a conversation.  Wonderful man, he was a retired submariner and had spent several years cowboying around the west.  Quite a find out here in the Fens.

I left the place and headed down a road promising a ford, but halfway down remembered I had forgotten my pub photographs and had to double back.  As I returned after the pictures were taken, I  passed a guy with a dog and asked directions and discovered I was much further afield than planned but he assured me there was a village ahead, “Little Paxton.  Are you sure that’s what you want?  I don’t want to read about an American turning up dehydrated out between here and Huntingdon.”

“Little Paxton is fine,” I assured him.  “I promise to stop in the Anchor there to ward off the thirst.”

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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.

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

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.

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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.

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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.

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“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.

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I got lost and did a couple extra miles on the run from Six Mile Bottom and was happy to spot the Baker’s Arms, one of the two remaining Fulbourn pubs I have been trying to hit.  Not really a special atmosphere, just a bunch of guys hanging out after work on a Friday.  The place seemed much too nice for their sort and then I came in covered in sweat and mud (in another sub-freezing evening) with a headlamp on and a bunch of twigs from an altercation with a bush that got mouthy on my way down the last hill.  The worm turns.

I ordered an Abbot (more Green King), had a sip, dropped it at a windowside table and retired to the Gents to change into the dry clothing I had shlepped the last 8 or so miles.  That was a big relief.

The music was sort of crappy dance/80′s stuff and if these guys weren’t so unfashionable I would have reckoned “gay bar,” and it may well still be.  Fulbourn seems pretty hip, but not so much so that their gays would have any better taste in music than that.  I think they were just run of the mill builders, though.  Oooo, and there’s my bus…gotta dash, lads!

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If there was ever a pub to take an acquaintance from PETA (of which I have none) it would be the Green Man in Six Mile Bottom.  There is more animal carnage represented within arms length of anywhere you sit in this pub than in any of their worst nightmares.  Here’s a wall:

Note that amongst the real game animals there are things like a magpie and a ferret:

This picture, on the same wall, left me surprised that the title wasn’t “well the hunting was shit, but I can still shoot the dogs” :

And, speaking of dogs, this antelope looks suspiciously like a greyhound with some antlers screwed onto his head (never mind that the pigeon had probably alit one too many times on a garden ornament):

Oh, the beer is Green King, and the IPA was delicious in the lousy weather.

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The rain was torrential and the snow melt had more than saturated the fields. The temperature was hovering around freezing and the wind was gusting to 30 mph. Six miles of running and I had more than two more to go to get back to the office, but it was lunchtime and the Travelers Rest loomed.

It is a fairly large inn, with a discount hotel tacked onto the back. It is part of the Beefeater chain, which I have seen around but don’t think I had ever eaten in. After a quick change into some dry clothes I ordered a medium rump steak platter and a pint of London Pride and dreaded the spread that would be laid before me for my £5.99 (the dread coming not from the beautiful 1930′s–I’m guessing–architecture but from the chain menu and the pop-disco Muzak piped in a bit too loudly).

But the food was quite good. It was the first steak I’ve had here that was tender and flavourful enough not to need any sauce or other seasoning, the salad greens and tomatos fresh, and the chips steaming hot and delicious. London Pride is pretty bombproof and so there were no surprises associated with it being likewise refreshing. The place DOES have more of a restaurant atmosphere than that of a pub and I can’t imagine settling in for a session, but it is definitely on the list for good places to have a reasonable and reasonably priced meal.

And, then it was over, the soaked clothing was put back on and I was on my way back to work. Brrr.

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There’s still snow on the running paths, especially on the hilly bits between Cambourne and Bar Hill but I was able to find my way into the village of Boxworth to try out the Golden Ball.  More of an Inn than a Pub, it was staffed by waiters–as opposed to bartenders.  I make this distinction because waiters tend to be openly aloof, self-centered and self-important whilst bartenders do an admirable job of masking those irritating qualities.

There appears to be money in Boxworth, the kind of money that is just high enough to know not to be conspicuous but not so much as to be very comfortable about the fact…maybe not so much ‘new money’ as ‘new class,’ and I’m not even sure that describes it well, but I believe ‘old class’ could have pulled off the feigned welcome and minimal level of politeness better than the staff at the Ball.  I guess the idea is to seize the upper hand from the unwelcome customer, but then once he has been grudgingly served and then blatantly ignored he has the time to look around; it’s at times like those that you notice such pretentious items as a bit of fake Bayeux tapestry or wine layed on it’s side in spite of it being screw cap wine ( “yes, Chas, let me dust off this bottle…a whimsical MD20/20 I imported from across the pond, you simply must try it.”)

To be fair, it is a very nicely maintained house and they were just finishing a banquet set for some ancients (who were friendly the way that the staff and proprietor could not managed, see ‘old class,’ above) and I was covered with sweat, underdressed for the -1 deg C weather, and only purchasing a beer but the place looks for all the world like a Public House from the outside.  I quickly finished my Elgoods Thin Ice (which was an especially tasty–perhaps even capricious I should say in the spirit of this otherwise awful review–dark ale) and continued my run with directions gleaned from some of the friendlier clientele.

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[Note: on our last evening out in Cambridgeshire before our move to Bicester we stopped in at the Dog and Duck to have a couple drinks, some delicious food (although we arrived too late for the Wild Boar pate) and to drop off the puzzle]

Linton is a strange little village to come into from a run down the Roman road that stretches northwest-to-southeast and lies a little to the north of town (and a little to the south of Fulbourn, where I started this trot).  The Roman road–more of a track anymore but nice hiking/running/biking material–is dead straight for miles as was typical of the Romans, whilst the streets of Linton are all medieval curves and higglety-pigglety and disorienting to a casual visitor (the English say, “disorientating,” but I haven’t got the hang of the language, yet).  I eventually came out on the High Street and spotted a pub sign down the hill and headed toward it.

I’ve never been to Linton before, but the pub seemed strangely familiar from a distance.  Up close, it finally struck me that it was the Dog and Duck pub featured in the jigsaw puzzle we completed on Christmas Eve to clear the dining room table for the feast to come.  We have been using the photo of the puzzle, at top, as the computer desktop for the past week or so.  I had to go in.

The bar was busy and I had time to remove the back pack full of dry clothing and look around before ordering a pint of Abbot and intercolating myself into a friendly conversation on scotch and the relative merits of mixers for other fine liquors.

The pub has a big dining room and boasts a fine Italian menu that I hope to try before we leave East Anglia (Jamie likes the Roman road walk so an early start might give us a weekend lunch stop here).  The back garden lies on the River Granta and looks inviting if it was better/warmer weather.

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The Chequers was packed.  It appeared that everyone in any of the businesses nearby had decided to start Christmas early and start boozing (and eating…there’s a fantastic menu here) early.

I was still damp from the run and it was still below freezing outside so I took my Woodfordes Nelson to a cubby at the end of the bar where an excess chair was stored next to the napkins and condiments. A bartender reached over and handed me a copy of the G2 (the little “fluff” section of the Guardian) to read, which was much appreciated.  I visited with the house dog for a few moments but didn’t want to cool down too much as I still had a few miles to go to get back to my bus stop so I left the crowd…but it does me good to see a pub doing so well.

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After a jog across a frozen field and an unsure run on an icy lane leading to the Whittlesford rail station, a ginger few steps across the pedestrian overpass deposits you at the ancient Red Lion Inn.  Inside the large bar area, the atmosphere is warm and cozy.

The beer choices were just Adnams on this visit, but I think the draw to the pub is mainly that it is adjacent to the rail station, it houses a large (and I suspect very nice) hotel and conference center, and it appears to be the local for this midsized village.  The bar keep was friendly and tipped me off that the Chequers (my next stop) was open all day so I needn’t rush.  So, I didn’t.

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The Bees in the Wall is a nice roadside tavern that I get the feeling was a coaching inn in days past.  I read about it in the Good Beer Guide a few months ago (there really are bees in the wall, but they aren’t very active when the outside temperature is a little below freezing), but I have also seen reviews that the staff is surly and the service poor.  Don’t believe it!

Shrine to hops and football, I think

I was poured a beautiful pint of Henry’s IPA not thirty seconds after I opened the door to the Public Bar (the Lounge/Dining section was packed with folks finishing a late lunch).  Because of my ridiciulous attire (sweat pants and a long sleeve tee shirt in this blistering cold, and sweat and steam pouring from my head at that), I wound up having a helpful conversation about the other pubs I wanted to hit on this run and the best routes to use considering the snow and ice.

Whittlesford is a bit remote, but if you do find yourself down this part of the county you could do worse than dropping in here.

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There were some opportunities to run in some pretty wintry scenery the week leading up to Christmas.  On one occasion I caught the bus to Sawston and followed the paths (they are still apparent even under 4 inches of crunchy powder) out to Whittlesford, a few miles east.  I did get lost but I think that had less to do with the snow than with me starting on a different path than I intended; the security gaurds at the paper plant I trudged up to were especially helpful, though and sent me on a much nicer path than I had originally planned, crossing a couple of creeks and coming up behind an ancient church via the cemetary.  The route, in total, was 8.5 miles but I had some typical refreshment stops planned (more on those to follow).

The ice became treacherous as the week wore on, though, and this was the last good day for running of this sort until after boxing day, although I did get approximately 3 miles in after picking up our Christmas goose at our butcher in Cottenham.  It was already dark and I went up every street but the right one, it appears, trying to find the Waggon and Horses.  The 5 kg goose packed in its cardboard coffin and the glazed streets and pavements put me at about 11-12 minutes per mile pace, but it was fun, got me warm and killed as much time as I would have done at the pub.

Proud of their monarch and proud of their bus shelter!