Sunday London

We rise at around nine. Well, I do. Dolores has already made tea. She’s such a wonderful woman.

After a bit of pottering around, we head downstairs for breakfast. It’s surprisingly quiet.

“What do you want, Ronald?”

“A fried egg, two rashers of bacon and some tomato.”

A breakfast of bacon, egg, tomato, toast, orange juice and tea.

I wouldn’t usually have Dolores collect my food. But it’s a bit tricky going to the buffet with one hand out of action. She also gets me some tea. Nice strong tea with milk. That’s the English way.

“Do you have your phone? I forgot mine.”

“Why?”

“I need to photograph my breakfast. For my blog.”

“That’s weird.”

“My readers expect breakfast photos. Especially one Canadian blogger.”

“They’re weird, then.”

“A specialist interest group is how I would describe them.”

Back in our room, we laze around for a while.  We’re in no rush. We literally have all day.

“What do you fancy doing today, Dolores?”

“Not much. We could go to that pub.”

“Which pub?”

“The one you went to with the kids.”

“The Swan?”

“I can’t remember the name.”

“It sells Old Puke. That’s why I went there.”

“Sells what?”

“Old Peculier. A strong beer.”

“Now there’s a surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you want to drink a strong beer.”

“It’s a classic English beer.”

“Yeah, right. A classic that just happens to be strong?”

“Exactly.”

Then Dolores makes that noise of hers. Still not quite sure how to describe it. Or what exactly it means. I’m sure it’s something positive. It has to be positive, doesn’t it?

The eight handpulls in the Swan.

The Swan isn’t too busy. Though quite a few tables are reserved again. Pubs definitely don’t seem to be suffering as much as in the Midlands. Or maybe it’s just busy because it’s Christmas.

“What’s a nice Bitter.” Old Puke isn’t Dolores’s style.

“Greene King IPA.”

“I want a Bitter, not an IPA.”

“It isn’t that type of IPA. It’s like an Ordinary Bitter.”

“Why is it called IPA, then?”

“Because the term was used totally randomly in the past. At least in the UK.”

“What was the point of the name, then?”

“That’s a question I’ve often asked myself.”

Dolores gets herself an IPA. Along with an Old Peculier for me.

“What do you think, Dolores?”

“It’s fine. Just like a Bitter.”

My Old Peculier is pretty nice, too. I’m glad I was told about it being on sale here after the Museum Tavern dropped it. Which left me heartbroken. I look forward to a few pints of Puke when I’m in London.

We stay for two pints. Then Dolores wants to move on. To ‘Spoons. Shakespear’s Head, to be precise. It’s not far away. Just past Holborn tube station.

Wetherspoon crowd.

As is usual for a Wetherspoons, it’s quite busy. But not totally full and we can find seats.

“A pint of Abbot, please.” I say, pre-empting Dolores.

She gets herself a Greene King IPA. Mostly because it’s so cheap.

“It’s only £2.79. How can it be so much cheaper than in the last pub?”

“Because this is a ‘Spoons.”

Dolores's Greene King IPA being pulled.

Lots of people are milling about the pub. Many of them eating. The couple on the table next to us get a weird flat thing. That looks like it has brown sauce all over it.

“What’s that?” Dolores asks.

“A pizza, I think.”

“That’s a weird looking pizza.”

Realising that there is another set of handpulls, I go and have a look at what they’re offering. Ooh, there’s Black Beer: Portobello Market Porter.

“I’ll have a pint of Porter, please.”

“OK”

Frugal as ever, Dolores sticks with Greene King IPA. The Porter is nicely roasty. But no so much that it’s like licking an ashtray.

We had considered a cheap Chinese lunch. But the offers are only available on weekdays. Looks like it’s sandwiches in our hotel room again.

In the early evening, we wander out again. Dolores suggested the Norfolk Arms. But that’s full. Instead, we go to the Lord John Russell. Which has some free seats.

Drinkers drinking in the Lord John Russell.

Lots of Guinness is being drunk. By fairly young people. Including quite a few women. Guinness definitely seems to have got more popular.

My beer choice is easy: “I’ll have a Landlord.”

Dolores joins me. It’s in fairly good nick and slips down a treat. Cask is so easy to drink. Which is why I love it.  No chill and fizz to get in the way of the fun.

We only have the two pints. Then it’s back to the hotel. Where whisky and yesterday’s Match of the Day await me. And a can of cider awaits Dolores.

I cough myself to sleep just after midnight. Waiting for the whisky medicine to work.


The Swan
7 Cosmo Pl,
London WC1N 3AP.
https://www.greeneking.co.uk/pubs/greater-london/swan


Shakespeare’s Head
Africa House,
64-68 Kingsway,
London WC2B 6BG.
https://api.jdwetherspoon.com/pubs/all-pubs/england/london/shakespeares-head-holborn


Lord John Russell
91-93 Marchmont St,
London WC1N 1AL.