We ate at Bizarro, our favourite little Italian place easy to get to near the station, but still had a while before our train and went in search of a time-killing watering hole; we found success in the form of the Dickens.
The pub is famed, it claims, as the longest pub in London and it was a small hike to the back where we found some plushly stuffed leather chairs to relax in whilst watching some Spanish football. My beverage was a Bitter and Twisted ale, a blond with American northwest hops of some variety. “How appropriate,” J remarked as is her right, duty, and habit.
She claims the women’s loo was filthy, small, and nondescript (yes, the loo, not me). I found the gents’ clean and welcoming (before my visit) and covered with framed historical prints of the neighbourhood. I don’t know if there’s anything else, really, to say.