Share this, mofos:

An old acquaintance has secured Kate Bush tickets (first of 22 shows — which all sold out in 15 minutes — is tomorrow), one of the more heavily hyped items of late with several pages of bits in yesterday’s Observer and a documentary on BBC4 last Friday.  Since she and partner are travelling from Los Angeles, I feel compelled to give some wholly unsolicited tourism options for any down time they have on the trip.  Most of these are from the blog, so almost all of them require no extravagant expense (depending on what and how much you decide to eat and drink along the way).  Not at all comprehensive, please add your own suggestions for my next trip down the Big Smoke.

Pubs: The map above is my London pub tally through 24 August 2014 and if you click on the picture it should take you to the UK-wide map from which this was gleaned.  The pushpins are more accurately located than Google has them but some of the pubs are now gone.  If you see one you are likely to want to visit, I have an entry for it on this site now linked to the pushpin on the map but haven’t bothered to include links on the map (so you would have to come back here to search for them).  Some of my favourites are:

The Bree Louise: great selection of beer and cider near Euston Station

The Lyric is pleasant enough and you can peer out at the former Red Lion where the Communist Manifesto was mostly written.

I owe the Lord Nelson another visit after their hospitality during the London Marathon. Likewise the Rose of Denmark. The night before the race, we were also thoroughly entertained at the Flowers of the Forest.

Ladbroke Grove is the part of West Kensington where the Clash were holed up in the early years and you’ll find the Kensington Park a fabulous watering hole in the neighbourhood. Another pub with a bit of a punk history to it (and great Thai food on the menu) is the World’s End in Camden.

One of the most beautiful pubs I’ve seen in town is the Blackfriar. If you want to go to just one for atmosphere, this is it.

 

The East End has a few worthy boozers, too. I really like the White Hart with it’s Jack the Ripper connections and proximity to the London Hospital where John Merrick (the Elephant Man) lived out his days. Just up the road you’ll also find the Blind Beggar where Ronnie Kray shot George Cornell (Kray Brothers, Piranha Brothers, and Kemp Brothers fans should make time for a beverage here). Dinsdale.

 

Cemeteries: These are a particular favourite of mine and Jackie’s and we’ve done the Highgate tour several times.  London has a bunch of good ones sprinkled around, and you could do worse than to stumble upon the Bunhill Fields (wiki here) and leave a penny at Blake’s site for the ferryman.  Highgate East is free and very good, but Highgate West requires a tour guide although the hassle is well worth the cheap fee and the advanced planning.  Closer into town, Kensal Green is also truly awesome and a good way to kill a few hours.

Farther afield but still in the London confines, the Necropolis Station is worth trying to find.  Near the Waterloo Rail Station, this was a dedicated rail stop that shipped 10’s of thousands of small pox corpses out to the suburban cemeteries.  Also, if you find yourself at Chelsea Bridge (see the music entry, below), there is another Victorian cemetery nearby we haven’t visited yet but have shortlisted.

Food: Okay, you can probably find more palatable things to eat, but nothing will be more quintessentially London than a bowl of jellied eels soaked in as much chilli vinegar as you can stand…and it comes with a little plate on which to spit the wee bones.  Trust me on this one.  Go to the Borough Market because if you chicken out there is a ridiculous spread of other food to go for, as fresh as you might ever hope for and reasonably priced (considering the floor show that goes with it).

English food is generally dreadful although I am really fond of blood pudding and fish and chips.  If you are from the southeastern U.S., as the catalyst for this note is, you might find yourself more at home dining in the Brixton Market where people know what pimento cheese is and the greens and black-eyed peas are cooked in artery clogging levels of salt pork.  Just pick a street stand and start eating; don’t worry, the contact high you get from the pot smoke everywhere will keep you munchy enough to try everything (wear loose clothing for the trip).

Music sites: More than any music site in London I am ashamed of NOT going to is the house where Joe Meek had his weird studio and eventually killed his landlady before committing suicide.

Look out, kid, there are sites I have been to that are pretty good such as Savoy Street in front of the Savoy Chapel where Dylan dropped cards while Subterranean Homesick Blues played in the background.  You might also want to pop by number 3 Savile Road, the Apple offices where the last Beatles performance occurred, but under no circumstances should you do the Abbey Road walk of shame (better to just leave some graffiti on the walls outside the studios where, keeping with the Kate Bush theme, Man With the Child in His Eyes was recorded).  Also, here’s a Werewolves of London location near the Kensal Green cemetery and not far from Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten’s squat.

Not London, just my Christmas card pic a couple of years ago, but musical

Clapham is an easy tube stop and the Clapham Common is a great and very large park to kill an afternoon around.  Squeeze fans might go to the Clapham Junction station and get Up the Junction stuck in their heads.  It’s not a long hike from there to Chelsea Bridge where you can look out over the Thames toward Battersea Power Station (The Pink Floyd’s Animals should come to mind) and settle into a brilliant Waterloo Sunset.  Classical music fans can find Jimi Hendrix’s place (which had previously been Handel’s place) at 23 Brook Street while you can find the scene of one of the more annoying brain worms, Come On Eileen, at Brook Drive on the opposite side of the Thames.

Here are two websites that give pretty good music tour ideas.  First, Music Like Dirt has a map if you just want to find something near you.  The Shady Old Lady has a much more comprehensive site and a lot of other categories to choose from but you are on your own for mapping.

Dr. Who just started again, and I do try to hit Who sites out here in the provinces.  Below, you’ll find a screen shot of the Google Earth map of Dr. Who scene sites in central London taken from http://www.doctorwholocations.net/  (download the file DrWhoLocations.kml to load into G-Earth and maybe a more useful map overlay — I’m using OpenStreetMap for mine).

For movie sites in London, try the map at https://moviemaps.org/cities/4 which, though far from comprehensive it does give you some touristy ideas, and a map.

 

Other recreation:  I do not recommend Boris Bikes except maybe in the Square Mile on the weekends (the City is abandoned by 6pm Friday).  They are cheap, sturdy, and fun but you can get yourself killed on them as well.

Depending on your interests overlapping a bit, I would highly recommend hashing in the city.  London hashers are a friendly lot, take you to the most interesting pubs around, and if you aren’t careful you might even get a little exercise while trotting around the back alleys and through tunnels and up and down streets you might never otherwise venture.  They have a centralised calendar of events here but sometimes it is irregularly updated; I have never been disappointed by a London based hash…here are some of the individual kennels’ pages:

London HHH

 City HHH

West London HHH

South London HHH (SLASH) … say, ‘hi,’ to Testiculator if you go here or, for that matter, any of the others as he seems to hash a lot.

Share this, mofos:

I still had an hour to kill before my train so I hopped off the Tube at Edgeware Road and worked my way the few blocks to Paddington in search of one last pub. There on Star Road emerged the Rob Roy which looked suitable for purpose. Inside, the Arab barkeep acted unimpressed with the World which, from the looks of the empty (but, as I had suspected, awesome) bar, is just as unimpressed in return. I took my beverage to a stool near one of the lead-and-solder lined windows and settled into catching up on these pub reports and my trip details for work.

My beer was a Belhaven Best and it was only after the first citrus-and-brake-fluid sip that I realised I had this before at the Blackbird in the Blackbird Leys just after the Oxford Half Marathon. At the time I thought it was “off” or anyways strange at a minimum…but it was still just as odd here, like cleaning fluid from the tap lines. What do Scots know about ale? Very foul. But, I finished…as my mom always used to say, “there are alcoholics in the middle east that don’t have even shitty beer.”

Share this, mofos:

Badly in need of food but still making good progress on the trip home, I stopped in the Prince Arthur after the detour for Cock so I could get some proper meat. An odd house, I ordered a burger against my better judgement (with regard to what atrocities the British are capable of inflicting on burgers), then dumped off my burden of baggage near a speaker playing a wonderful Indie-folk-psychedelic CD and headed for the loo.

The pisser is sleazy here, and looks for all the world like a porn theatre lavvie (note, I speak of this as a former projectionist in one of the sleazier porn cinemas in 1980’s Atlanta…I lived in the unused half of the projection booth that was meant to service a second screening room which had an, ahem, accidental fire a few weeks before I showed up with a union card, a mostly clean police record, and a debt to pay the owner’s kid’s gang — I would turn the fire spigot onto the toilets for a while before setting foot into what was essentially my shower for six months).

The burger was likewise obscene, but in the best possible way. I don’t even expect my butcher to provide me beef of this high quality and it was cooked just past raw and without any rusk or other filler (granted, the North African barmaid might be a clue that the cook isn’t British, either). I’m sure I made the orgasm face more than once although I monitored it closely on the mirror across from my seat.

Oh, right, I promised in the previous post that I would have something here for those who don’t like Cock. Here you go: I forgot to take the outside photos at the Prince Arthur and when I realised the fact I decided not to retrace my steps as it was raining and since I had this other fabulous business right next to where I stood:

Share this, mofos:

When you go to London alone, can you be blamed for seeking Cock? I think not and the Cock Tavern is a real gem. It is struggling, too, judging from the fundraising efforts posted around the lounge. Don’t miss the opportunity to visit it when next you find yourself at Euston or it may be gone forever.

The house was full of Irishmen on my stop and everyone seemed to know one another. It is an estate pub but a 1930’s one I would guess and even though the buurt reminds me of the Techwood Homes estate back home (America’s first public housing) the council flats nearby all appear to be post-1960’s build.

I couldn’t linger as I was very hungry, The next post has some ideas for those of you who think you don’t really like your Cock all that much.

Share this, mofos:

 

On my way to Hemel Hempstead I had to transfer from Paddington to Euston, which always puts me in the mind of “Home For a Rest.” I emerged from the Euston Square tube stop with a list of potential targets but none so compelling as the Bree Louise.

She lived up to her reputation, too, with a choice of 17 ales and 11 ciders, all with living cultures still in them and all with a 50p discount for CAMRA members (and, of course, I had my card with me, nearly 5 years in the Campaign now).

The atmosphere was much more like that of a village pub and the house was packed at half noon on a Monday with several other people eagerly heading toward it from the station. They could do a lot worse than settling into a batch of the Whitesides cider, dry and 7.5% abv but with a sneaky character that grows on you after an initial varnish removing first couple of sips.

I had a great moment, for me, in there. Sitting at a line of tables another middle-aged dude shows up with two halves and, after a cursory glance my way and a lot of burden removal, sat down. We admired each other’s drinking stock in silence then, as he finished the darker of his two he raised an eyebrow and in one motion lifted his pack to his shoulders and caught the handle of his suitcase as it fell towards Earth then sept out the door. It was like the scene in “Ghost Dog: The Way of the Ninja” where The RZA passes Forrest Whitaker on the street and everything slows down, if they were two alcoholic and very dorky white guys.

Share this, mofos:

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.

Share this, mofos:

Jackie needed a black polo shirt for a Christmas retail gig and it is a hard find, here. After the last talks at Socialism 2013, we engaged the capitalist beast at its most foul — Oxford Street, London — and finally scored her prisoner’s outfit at a cost of some pounds sterling and several years off our lives. We needed a drink and our side-street escape route plopped us dead centre of the Cock and Lion.

Jacks said she’d buy the round for me being so good and not causing a fight amidst the cattle but once we ordered she handed me a fiver, all she had on her…what a laugh. I took it and added a ten from which I salvaged a few coins and we took the highly overpriced swill to a snug at the end of the bar.

It IS a fantastic house and DOES have decent wine prices. I wouldn’t venture too far out of my way for it, though; and, bring a decent line of credit.

Share this, mofos:

Before I start, I liked the place, the people, and plan to stay here again.

“We booked a room,” I told the bartender at 10 minutes past 2.
“You’re very early. Check in is at 3,” he chastised me. This was strange because I had an email from the manager stating that I could probably check-in early and that they would prioritise our room. No matter, though, since they stored our bags and put us back on the road to our meetings.

We arrived back at 6pm and the next bartender rang Patrick (the B&B ‘manager’) to say we were here. “Would you like some drinks while you wait?” We deferred these till later since we already learned how important clockwork was to this establishment. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick ambled in and awkwardly directed us out and around to the B&B entrance and up to our room where he showed us the amenities and explained procedures.

We left the large room with our host to see the bathroom facilities down the hall (with no eye contact at any time from our methodical but somewhat surreal guide). Stepping in to see a shower room another Irishman (we were the only non-Irish there) dove past us with an armfull of towels saying, “DON’T GO IN THERE!” then after an awkward pause as he knelt with the bundle of towels, “another guest is using it.” It may just be my past life experiences, but I got the distinct felling they were called for our check-in mid-disembowelment of a corpse slated for disposal. I don’t have a problem with that, except for the lack of butchery professionalism…but I have to admit, the place was spotless the next morning.

Happy with the room, we headed out to find some food then returned for a night cap at the bar. Jackie went with the large V&T (of course) and I was going to do a Guinness as seemed appropriate but before I could place the order the barkeep already dashed off to make the cocktail…in order NOT to be rude, I went for the less-time-consuming lager option, which was just grand.

Our hostess wandered through will a giant mastiff which smelled something he liked on me and came over. As she started to apologise for the beast, I scratched his ears and he collapsed against my legs pushing me half a foot to the left. “You’ll never be rid of ‘im, now,” she said to either me or the dog.

I already mentioned the Irishness of the pub, but it seemed almost like a family place, as well. Everyone there in the initial visit was still there late evening as were everyone else in attendance when we finally checked in and the lot of them were leprechauns. Jackie wondered how they could stay open doing the business they were but I think with the cadaver disposal business they are probably doing fine.

Honestly, though, seek the Westport out. They are dead friendly, the pub is pleasant, and if you are staying in London and were going for a hostel you’ll get a better, private, and more, ahem, interesting experience here a quarter mile walk from the Northern Line (tube) and Hampstead Heath.

Share this, mofos:

[*kpw = kebab per week for 2013, as noted in an earlier post and the 49th entry for the 2013 Challenge]

We wandered Kentish Town for a while but found nothing but takeaways and we were doubling back to the Westport Inn when we spotted Baran, a Persian restaurant that had an interesting menu and that stipulated you must bring your own bottle. A quick dash across the street to the grocer and we were soon back with a nice Shiraz.

Jackie ordered something with pomegranate, nuts, rice, saffron and chicken but by mistake was served something similar with lamb. The lamb was so perfect, though, she ate the entire platter despite her complete aversion to anything that tastes of lamb (and don’t get me started on her and mutton). I, on the other hand, LOVE lamb. If it had been on the menu I would have had Lamb, Lamb, Lamb, Lamb, Lamb, Lamb, Baked Beans, Egg, and Lamb…with a side of Lamb.

Instead, I had some kebabs, the larger one a lamb steak and the other of minced lamb. This was one of the most sublime meals I have had this year. Baran is out of the way, but it is dirt cheap and worth seeking out…I may go back this week, in fact.

Share this, mofos:

We have been diligently applying for tickets to the News Quiz since our arrival 4½ years ago and our numbers finally came up.  We’ve been to Radio Four recordings before and having seen how it works wouldn’t have gone again except that this is one of our favourite programmes…now the only other one left on our short list is a recording of I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue and a television taping of Have I Got News For You.

Inside, there was a bar.  This is Britain…there is a bar inside EVERYTHING.  We mingled a bit with our beverages and then, in time, we were herded into the studios where we were treated to just over an hour of efficiently delivered satire about Royal Babies, Anthony Weiner’s public nudity problems, and the end of civilisation as we have been watching it occur in slow motion for so many years.  If I get tickets again, I will most certainly make my way there for more.

Share this, mofos:

Our main reason for travel to London was to see a taping of Radio Four’s News Quiz which was taking place at the theatre of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, but we arrived with a half hour to kill before the doors to the RADA bar were going to open (and an hour-and-a-half before taping would commence) so we explored the neighbourhood in search of a watering hole.  There were probably better prices at the collegiate bar around the corner but the Rising Sun really looked like a good pub.

True, it was pleasant enough and we scored a good seat with an open window looking out on Tottenham Court Road, but the prices were excessive and the cider I had which should have been clear came out cloudy and with debris from the pipes — a scrumpy despite the fact that it wasn’t.  There are definitely better choices in the area.

Share this, mofos:

It had already been a grand day out in London but our tour of Kensal Green left us starving and we decided to take the Overground to the next useful tube station up from Kensal Rise and scout lunch there.  It turned out to be West Hampstead and the Railway Inn beckoned.  Inside we found a lively bar with some friendly (no shit…in LONDON, but they were foreign) staff and I had easily the best burger I didn’t make myself since moving to this culinarily challenged island.

Not in a giant hurry and enjoying the breeze on the warmest day we have ever spent in the big city, we ran a tab and watched the street action.

Share this, mofos:

Oh. My. Dear. Lord.  What a great park!  And, so full of good architecture and points of historic reflection you feel it is a pity that it is so sacred a place…I get the same feeling in good churches, but I really love a decent cemetery and Kensal Green is one of the best I have ever seen, filled with more of the great and good than you could hope to find in a single visit. Here was our little tour from Thursday (the first here, but certainly not the last).

We entered and got a quick guide to some of the interesting sites, but it took a minute or two to orient ourselves; Jackie really wants to be dragged off to immortality in one of these horse hearses so I took a quick shot of it:

Near our entrance we examined a few interesting decorations like the one for the “Special Lady” and another for the Queens Park Rangers fan (the blue and white is the jersey of the local football club).

  

Also nearby, we found the Rattigan family plot under which, unmarked, you will find the ashes of Terence (I do love the boy’s plays).

I learned most from the pamphlet we bought from the Friends of the Kensal Green Cemetery the founder of which was an Honours Doctor of Arts (which I had to look up thinking he was a Dutch veterinarian or ‘hondarts’). He might well have designed the clever coat of arms, though.

  

The statuary is unusually intact in this garden and the first decapitated monument was for George Solon Ladd that, it turns out, was a pioneer of radio communications.

The next one was an unusual little altar for Elisabetta Lamertini, the only Google search of which I could find was a woman working on a civil engineering PhD (which could be used to design a repair plan for her namesake’s monument).

Before heading on to the great and good, here are some of the other cool monuments we found around the grounds. Elizabeth Prince had a nice azure glass and white marble plot, while Thea Altieri got a fantastic metal statue of the Spirit of Ecstasy. There was some nice glass on the Caxton stone, and several of the Caribbean spots were crowded with family artefacts.

Prince’s blue and white

Spirit of Ecstasy

Caxton

Close family

We headed toward the dissenter’s section (unlike Bunhill which is small and all for dissenters — but still marvelous and yet only mentioned obliquely in these pages — Kensal Green has a separate section for non C of E residents) and along the way spotted Jean Francois Blondin, a tight rope walker famous for crossing Niagra.

There was also the great monument, left by the celebrity chef Alexis Soyer to his wife Emma with the inscription “To Her.” Awesome stuff. We found this while unsuccessfully searching for Wilkie Collins, a much less magnificent stone.

Another we found, on purpose, was Dr. James Miranda Barry. Hard to read, the stone marks one of the most singularly interesting characters of the 19th century…a doctor from modest means who was the first to perform a modern Caesarian section, served in every major military venue contemporary with their achievements, fought several duels over their carriage, became Inspector General of surgical hospitals, fought with Florence Nightingale, oh, right, AND was discovered to actually be a woman after his/her death.

  

We found an interesting rock over John Hobhouse who was Lord Byron’s friend and Best Man and who travelled with him. Hobhouse later founded the Royal Geographic Society.

The Egyptian mausoleum of Andrew Ducrow was a puzzlement. Turns out he was an acrobatic equestrian that presented plays entirely on horseback (hence the hat and gloves at the base).

      

The metal cross nearby is still a question mark for us:

Edmund Molyneux was a nice find as we have spent many happy times in Savannah, Georgia where he was British Consul from 1831 until the middle of the Civil War.

Molyneux, our Savannah connection

The four angels atop the temple to Mary Gibson deserve a better story; Mary died of kidney disease at 18.

Mary Eleanor Gibson

William Mulready has a spectacular monument with incredible detail in his death sculpture and nice little incised bits of his artwork (he was a book illustrator and painter).

William Casement’s little temple is supported by the bodies of those he ruled in life as the Governor-General of India. He is actually buried in Calcutta, so this is an especially arrogant installation.

The Brunel Family plot was anticipated to be ostentatious, massive, and perhaps gaudy as they had been responsible for so many massive and important engineering projects–many still in use today. Their simple stone was like an after dinner mint cleansing the funereal palate.

Nearby, though, Commander Ricketts ornately detailed box is fairly eye-catching. Rickets went to sea as a boy and served under Nelson and later married into money and became High Sheriff of Buckinghamshire.

We knew Thackery was nearby but the stones were too weathered on top to make out the names or dates. On the end of this one, though, we saw the distinctive monogram of William Makepeace Thackery still intact.

William Makepeace Thackery’s rock

The name Percy Smythe rang a bell (but not George Augustus Frederick Percy Sydney Smythe, nor did 7th Viscount Strangford). Looking him up later we found him to be a novelist and friend of Disraeli. He was also a mouthy git which led him to fight many duels, including the last one in England.

Viscount Strangford

Feargus O’Connor has an interesting hexagonal spire for his headstone. He was a social reformer and muckraker who drew 50,000 to his funeral.

It is probably best to end this little trip with something simple but quite moving in its own way. Boots Davidson was credited as the guy that brought steel drum music to England and taught music and founded important bands in the genre for decades thereafter. Here are his markers…simple, austere, and they actually stand out in stark contrast the thousands of tons of marble nearby.

Philmore “Boots” Davidson, cross

and marker

Share this, mofos:

Named after the penultimate elected Republican president (the others, Republicans by name only, make us all long for Nixon), this poured-concrete bunker obscuring the art-and-architecture edifice across from the Royal Academy for Dramatic Arts theatre in Bloomsbury begs a multitude of questions:

Share this, mofos:

…and his hair was perfect.

Near Kensal Green Cemetery, but closed when we passed by.  Damn:

 

Also, kind of taken with the pun, “Chick Inn.”

Share this, mofos:

Inspired by (linked to the London map):

2010:

2011-2012:

2013:

Stretham (2009) gets auto-corrected to the London neighbourhood of Streatham.  If you defer to it as “Ely is” then it get’s changed to Eli.

Further back, we have 2006-2009:

 

2004-2005:

 

2002-2004:

 

Good question.  Answer here.

Share this, mofos:

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

Share this, mofos:

I couldn’t bear to go into the bar called Beat One, which may sound surprisingly out of character on many levels.  Moreover, Beat One used to be a Red Lion and I ALWAYS go to a Red Lion when I get a chance.  But, this particular Red Lion rename and rebranding offended me as a history buff and a leftist as well as a functional alcoholic…this was Marx’s Red Lion (yeah, THAT Marx) and this would not stand.

Across the street there’s a large lap dancing club behind which the stage doors to the Lyric Theatre lie.  Across from those (opposite corner from the Beat Off), is a small but entirely suitable ale house also named the Lyric.  It is nothing special and a bit pricy (pint of Doom Bar and a large red wine were nearly £10, but two glasses of wine get you the rest of the bottle free).  The street (Great Windmill) is just off Shaftsbury and only a few blocks from Chinatown but much, much quieter than anything else non-residential in Soho.  A minute or two walk from Piccadilly tube station gets you here.  Comrade.

Share this, mofos:

What time is it? Too early for dynamic and passionate speakers, it seems.

“The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” because it would not make for compelling or, even, interesting viewing if the participants at the Saturday session of the meeting dubbed Socialism 2012 were any indication.  Perhaps we chose our sub-meeting unwisely, a discussion of whether or not environmentally friendly politics could or even should be sought while inequality is so rampant but neither of the panelists were good public speakers and, in fact, seemed almost addled.

The open discussion after their introductory remarks was a little more lively but, as I suspected/dreaded would happen, too many of the volunteers from the audience were cultists, peppering their diatribes with phrases such as, “Marx wrote,” or, “as Lenin said.”  We know all that, kids, we really do; don’t beg the question of whether or not the fundamentals of 19th Century political philosophies are appropriate to modern challenges OUTSIDE of this little family venue, please.

Several of the speakers really made some compelling points, though, most often on questions of the need for ‘growth’ of economies if you assume that the insatiable appetites of Capitalism are no longer an issue.  There were True Believers, too, who were scary not because of the fire-in-the-belly but more so because of the bats-in-the-belfry: in a country with easier access to deadly weapons these folks could pose a formidable threat.

The meeting itself had an amusing moment or two.  Besides the few dangerously mad cranks blathering on about taking to the ramparts and mobilising the masses, there were some very passionate old-school (and quite ancient) reds ready to lecture anyone they crossed on the why they aren’t following the true path (regardless of whether or not you agreed with them or had given them any indication at all of your beliefs).  By far the best thing I heard, bar none, was one of the staff outside the book stalls hawking wares thus, “Get your Socialist merchandise in here, folks.”  Without a hint of irony.

We skipped the rally in favour of some supper since we had an early train.  I thought it would be appropriate to get a drink at the Red Lion in Soho since this was Karl Marx’s local and where the lectures he gave upstairs with Engels eventually became the Communist Manifesto.  We walked and talked about the things we observed (more than in this post, certainly) and after about 20 minutes of dodging tourists found our bar, now no longer the Red Lion but a neon chain bar monstrosity serving 2-for-1 shooters to fucked up children (that’s how it appeared, anyway).  Appropriate, indeed (as well as the new chain’s name: “Beat One”).

We went to the Lyric at the opposite corner, instead.

Marx was not renowned for his sense of humour, but if that is unfair then he is probably having a good, otherworldly laugh at this.

Share this, mofos:

Jackie had the obligatory biennial trip to see her mom and I have over two weeks of un-used annual leave (with a new year starting the 1st of October). so, dutiful husband that I am, I went as far as the baggage check and gave her a big smooch and told her to call if there were any problems.  Then, before starting my own holiday of runs and pubs, I popped into the Cafe Rouge at the top of Terminal 4 Groundside and had a cheeky pint of Becks…yum.

Look. it’s an airport bar and thus overpriced,  but if you aren’t yet ready to go into the Heathrow matrix it ain’t too bad.  On the other hand, the Windsor Castle is just about 40 seconds stroll away.