Before I say anything about the London Marathon, let just take a second to say that the Angerstein Hotel can go fuck itself.  Thanks, that’s a load off my mind. The booklet the London Marathon authorities sent included a map of the route with a little pint glass marker at every pub along the way (which [...]

I was able to get a beer, eventually, in the Porter’s Lodge, unlike having to supply my own in front of the Angerstein Hotel (did I mention before that they can go fuck themselves?).  Rob at the Porter’s originally offered a free beer after I asked if I could buy one and have it brought [...]

Like the Angerstein Hotel (which can go fuck itself), I asked the fantastic Lord Nelson if I could buy a beer and have it brought to the fence during the London Marathon and like the Angerstein Hotel (which can go fuck itself), the marvelous Lord Nelson offered to comp me that beer. Unlike the Angerstein [...]

Approaching the Farrier’s Arms, I almost forgot about how much the Angerstein Hotel can go fuck itself.  I received even more of the appropriate psychologically palliative care within this wonderful, if small, boozer. Once more, I threaded my way through the crowds and approached the bar.  The older of the two women told me where [...]

Before I say anything about the wonderful Rose of Denmark, allow me to point out that the Angerstein Hotel can go fuck itself. Left high-and-dry by the proprietors of the aforementioned shithole, I veered off the London Marathon course when I spotted the delightful façade of the Rose.  Excusing myself through the crowds of well [...]

At about mile 9 of the Swindon Half Marathon, you climb into Liddington and there is a little break in the barricades at the Village Inn, which was nice since I was in no shape to climb over.  I headed into the bar hastily and some of the spectators commented about the loos, but were [...]

I was 2/3 through a 13.1 mile run when I realised I was going to miss a pub stop I had planned because the course I was on was veering away.  I asked some bystanders (this was in the midst of the Swindon 1/2 Marathon, by the way) and found that indeed the nearest pub [...]

I descended the hill toward Wanborough  with the 1:40 pacers, secure in the knowledge that I had blown my projected race time but thinking I was approaching Liddington, a half mile further along so, in fact, I had blown my time much worse than I reckoned.  As we made the hard left turn away from [...]

From down the street, the King’s Head looked like a pub but I got the feeling it is a private residence having trekked up to it from the Old Bear.  Shit.  I still had about 20 minutes to kill before the bus, so I rushed back down to the White Lion which was dark and [...]

The Cricklade Half Marathon is my third in four Sundays and the third in a row with absolutely no workable public transport options: the first bus from Swindon is schedule to arrive at 10:28 on Sundays, two minutes before the gun but you have to pick up your credentials BEFORE 10:15 in order to run.  [...]