A pub crawl

The week before last saw what has become a very rare early evening outing, that is to say a visit to no less than four public houses in the vicinity of Waterloo Station. A  modest pub crawl by the standards of old, but, allowing for age, a pub crawl nonetheless.

It was also a cheese day. Opened proceedings with the trolley already noticed at reference 2. Then lunch, then a short siesta. Then a lift to the station, to find a substantial queue on the way over West Hill. But it moved along fast enough, despite the two sets of lights on the far side of the railway bridge moving in and out of phase.

Police and a dog unit outside the station, although I did not see any dogs. Then on the platform we had two youths. A policeman ambled up to them and started chatting about nothing at all - and then asked about tickets. A rather mouthy youth started explaining all, but he was clearly getting a bit nervous. The one policeman mysteriously became four policemen (transport variety). Despite the nerves, the youth kept his gob up. Sadly, I did not get to see how it all turned out as my train came in.

On the train, I had occasion to wonder about the phrase 'op-ed', and so looked it up, not for the first time. For some reason it does not seem to stick - but I was reminded that it is short for '[the page] opposite the editorial [page of a serious newspaper]', often used for a mildly provocative piece from someone, usually reasonably well-known, not on the staff of the newspaper concerned. Maybe it will stick this time. Maybe I would remember to take my evening pill a bit later. And as it has happened, it has stuck so far and I did remember to take my pill!

My ticket - probably a one day Travelcard - failed at Waterloo, despite having been carefully lodged inside the little plastic folder in which I keep my travel cards and passes. 

For a change, I had taken my bicycle lock, the plan being to do the round trip in one hire, locking the Bullingdon while I was in the cheese shop. Unlikely but possible that someone would make off with an unlocked bike, even if I could more or less see it.

It took a while to get my Bullingdon off the pole position of the stand at Waterloo. Central computer clearly struggling. But I got there, and then over Waterloo bridge and up Drury Lane, to find cycling in and around Long Acre in the dark quite challenging. One way streets. Cobbles very bumpy. Large herds of school children coming or going from children's shows - and I wondered afterwards how on earth you keep track of 50 not very old children wandering around London in said dark. Perhaps there were more helpers than I realised. Bought my cheese, headed back to Kingsway, down the to (illuminated) Aldwych and back across Waterloo Bridge, against the wind. But at least there was no slope to contend with, as there is from the other side. I thought about an hour all in, but logged by TFL at just over half an hour. Perhaps I was counting platform to pub, rather than stand to stand.

Failed on the snack department. A simple ham roll - the round sort - would have done fine, but such is not readily available these days, despite all the outlets.

Still a little early, so kicked off in the Wellington snapped at the top. With the picture above being a larger version of same in the Duke of Wellington in Eaton Terrace, a much smaller and once much smarter establishment. You used to get real toffs and toffesses in there in days of old, the days when such people seem to have only just discovered public houses. Having a bed-sit nearby, I got to know it quite well. 

I wondered about Napoleon. Were his wars all about commercial rivalry between England and France, or were they more an excuse to go chasing after power & glory which last, after all, he started off rather good at. Probably both, both the money and the glory. And he needed the money to pay his large army and his many marshalls.

Then off to my rendez-vous at the White Hart. We took some reserved seats, from which we were very politely ejected at the due time. Nicely done by a very young barman.

Next stop the Windmill in the Cut. Taking in the residential scene snapped above. Superficially, not unlike Romsey Town in Cambridge, but actually a good deal older and probably a lot more expensive than Romsey Town, despite the massive increases there over the past thirty years. And these particular ones are double fronted. £1.5 million? The front doors might open onto the pavement, but there are compensations.

The same story at the Windmill, crowded and with us being very politely chucked off our seats when the reservation came up. Ceiling snapped above, complete with what is presumably a cased up steel girder holding it up. Casing probably with timber foundation with plaster and paint on top. I wondered whether, given the current fashion for full exposure in such matters, whether one should score such a covert girder as a fake. In the end, deciding that that would be pushing the envelope a bit too far.

Out to inspect the handsome, pillared frontage of Wellington House. Which Bing tells me today is a Grade II listed frontage from the 1920s with a 1980s office block behind, now the headquarters of the Department of Health. While the shiny new Gemini, first mentioned yesterday, explains that it was built for the once reasonably prominent chain of 'David Grieg' shops. Which were then absorbed into the Key Markets chain, then Gateway, eventually vanishing. I am starting to get the hang of the user interface and Gemini itself is quite impressive. Although I ought to sit down and check all this Wellington House/David Grieg stuff properly. With reference 4 being a start.

Oddly, while I have no memory at all of these shops, neither David Grieg nor Key Markets, at least at present, BH has vague memories of them in London parades and high streets, places like East Sheen and Streatham.

Next along was a building site, once the 'Bar Kitchen' which we had liked the few times that we had used it, before it morphed into 'Hello Darling', a rather short lived venture featuring attractive and provocatively dressed young waitresses, which we failed to get into the one time that we tried. As I recall, we were offered seats at the bar but declined.

As luck would have it, the Street View camera van has not been by for a while. Northern end of pillared frontage visible right. Perhaps somebody could do a statistical analysis of the longevity of High Street shops, taking some sensible account of the difference between collapse & closure and takeover & morph?

And so to the last stop, the Duke of Sussex, a place which I used to use in the evening occasionally and was once the provider of a memorable Christmas lunch during my time in the world of work.

Another pub ceiling, another sort of light fitting. The Duke is still not a bad place, but it has moved on a bit since my day. The public bar, for example, has lost its pool table and is now equipped with lines of small tables, presumably intended for pairs of office workers relaxing after a hard day's graft. After which we called a halt and I made my way up the ramp into the side entrance to Waterloo Station, right by platform 1.

It really was time for a snack now, so I settled for one of the ham and cheese baguettes you seem to get everywhere now. Usually involving cheap ham and cheap cheese - but at least that is better than lashings of goo.

Entertained on the train by a lady who worked from home, had taken up residence in the middle of France - more or less the geographical centre that is - but who had plenty of business to bring her to England. On her way, on this occasion, to Knock of all places, for some kind of a retreat or conference. Perhaps a corporate hugging event. A place of pilgrimage since the important miracle of 1879, a place visited by Popes. For all of which see reference 5.

No taxis about by the time I got out, so I shared the one that turned up after a while with another traveller who happened to be going roughly the same way.

Back home, pleased to see from the front of the Evening Standard that I am not the only one cheesed off with hire bikes being left all over the streets of London. Docking stations should rule.

And so to bed.

PS: I noticed subsequently that what used to be the downstairs gents toilets opposite platform 1 at Waterloo Station has now been opened as a public house again, the latest in a series over the years that I remember. Operated by Bewdog. According to reference 1 they also do Seven Dials and Poland Street, so one way or another I ought to investigate. It may of course turn out that they don't sell wine, which would be a pity, as I am not good for more than the odd half pint of bitter these days.

References

Reference 1: https://www.brewdog.com/uk/brewdog-waterloo.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2024/01/trolley-623.html.

Reference 3: https://gemini.google.com.

Reference 4: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Greig_(supermarket).

Reference 5: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knock,_County_Mayo.