“When will that be?” say St Dunstan’s, Stepney

Oooooo, it’s getting all so close now! I can smell the finishing line and almost feel the weight of the gold medal being hung around my neck. This is the penultimate tour of the Oranges and Lemons extravaganza and that means we might just get the job finished before we hit the 18 month mark.
So this “next from last” outing took us further into the East End than we’ve ever been so far as the church in question was St Dunstan’s in Stepney and it was asking that all important question of just when we might see the colour of the money owed to us.

Stepney, for those whose London geography mean they get their Whitechapels mixed up with their Blackfriars, is sort of a bit further east than Whitechapel and a bit more north than Limehouse. And it was on a DLR train bound for Limehouse station that the excursion started on a cold wintery Thursday night.

Due to the delights of a bit of an afternoon off, it should have been the whole day but eventually ended up being about 2 hours only, I has spent some of the afternoon puzzling my way around the Tate Modern gallery in Southwark. Now I quite like art and I quite like modern art and I’ve no objections to some of the stranger things we’ve been told are “inspirational” and “awesome” but I’ve got to say quite a lot of the stuff there just past me right by.

Yes JBG, I really could have done that.

Firstly there was nothing in the Turbine Hall apart from some bits of cloth hanging from some bits of wood and the majority of the other compositions seemed to be composted of balls of string and scraps of metal. Half an hour saw me done and I then spent the next 40 minutes wandering around trying to find a pub in a rather comedic hail storm.

With no pub found I eventually made my way to the old offices and blagged my way inside using the excuse that I had a meeting with Spiky Haired Ed. He, along with several others I then learned had just left to make their way to the Minories (which was mentioned when we did Vine Street (yes, I know it’s still the wrong Vine Street) as part of the Monopoly Tour) to await the boarding of the DLR at Tower Gateway.

So that left me kicking my heels in the company of Lucie, Adele, Nicole and mad pissed up Phil as they filed their files and put away their pencil cases after a hard day of messing up everyone’s pay.
Over in the Minories we met up with the majority contingent of Mags, Buddy Rob, James James, Lisa, Gemma and Mo and then even managed to all get on the same DLR and all get off again at Limehouse without losing anyone of the way.

After the lengthiest crossing of the road ever we finally made our way into York Square where you’ve got facing pubs with the Old Ship on the south-west corner and the Queens Head on the north-east one.

The lights are those of the Old Ship, viewed from the Queens Head.

The Old Ship is a gay friendly location which does a big line in drag cabaret (according to the web site) but on this quiet Thursday evening it was disguised as a 1970s timber and horse brass local with a pleasant smattering of likely workmen types in day-glo and hard hats. Unless this was a sort of reverse drag night of course? Anyway we were made very welcome by the bar staff and I selfishly obtained my bottle of Guinness West Indies Porter whilst the rest of them were still fighting about kitties and whips and how cheap it was because we were in before 7.

One half of the tour by the pool table. Look at Ed posing!

The back of the pub opened out in a sizeable games room and people of different generations will remember this sort of room differently. For me it brought back memories of caravanning trips where the only entertainment laid on for the under 18s was a damp port-a-cabin into which was installed a dodgy 20 inch black and white TV which was then grandly called the Television Room. At least in the Old Ship’s version there was a full sized pool table which several of the tourists took immediate advantage of.

The other half of the tour. Ed still posing.

This allowed for a couple of latecomers to slip into proceedings without too much disturbance as we saw New Guy Mickey make his usual “working from home” entrance, Charmer Palmer put in a rare appearance and lovely Brenda turn up again looking extremely fit and well on a diet of leisure and retirement. We were also graced with the presence of Charlie who according to my records hasn’t been on a tour of any kind since Aldgate in May last year.

Brenda and BGC steer the Old Ship into port.

Due to the attraction of the pool table and the offer of cheap before 7 drinks, we were persuaded to stay on for another in the Old Ship before making our way around the square to the previously mentioned Queens Head. The head of the queen in question here was that of the Queen Mother as not only did she appear on the hanging sign outside the pub but also in various photos dotted around the place.

If the Old Ship had pool to offer, then this place had darts, and once Charlie and I had got our orders of Young’s Special sorted (let the others sort themselves out) it was into the back room for a few round of arrows (or in Ed’s case, a few rounds of Pointless) to while away the time.

The Queens Head.

Lisa and James James made their excuses at this point (yeah, don’t tell me there ain’t nothing going on) but the rest of us were eventually rounded up and we made a very brisk way to the church of St Dunstan’s who, as the clocks struck 9, played a special peal of the bells (all cast in the Whitechapel bell foundry no less) in honour of the visit of the BGC.

We stopped, very briefly as it was still bloody parky, just long enough to take on board that the dinging bells had been cast in the previously mentioned Whitechapel foundry (that got a cheer) that the church and the graveyard was home to many sailors and seamen (that got a completely inappropriate giggle) and that it was also the final resting place to one Roger Crab, who may or may not have been the inspiration for the Mad Hatter (that got a round of applause.)

To get the full effect, you need to imagine the sounds of binging and bonging.

It was a very quick dash up White Horse Lane to the junction with Mile End Road and the final pub of the evening. But this dash wasn’t quick enough to avoid the carelessly deposited dildo that was laying the middle of the road. Perhaps this is a common occurrence in Stepney and it’s one I wish I’d had the thought to take a photo of (well it was still very cold) but the poor thing looked quite pathetic and lonely all abandoned like this and I think I may have heard one of the girls offer to give it a good home……or maybe I didn’t.

The final pub of the night was a Wetherspoons by the name of the Half Moon, which apparently was a former theatre and is now home to a whole host of students from the nearby University of London just yards further up Mile End Road. At first I thought it was one of the smallest Wetherspoons I’ve ever been in until we stumbled into the cavernous rear bar which was just as full with students taking advantage of the cheap curry night as the front bar.

Charlie and I had pints of Whale Ale’s Ruby Moby and just generally felt old and knackered as the young and beautiful around us tried to decide how exactly to wear their baseball caps to see if they could get served without being asked for ID.

By half 9 I was well and truly done in and luckily it was only a quick scoot next door to Stepney Green tube station to run back to Reading via Paddington only to find out that it was Rail Replacement Bus night. And just to really fuck my luck that little bit more, the bus driver insisted on playing the Organist Entertains with Nigel Ogden.

Hey ho! One to go!

“When I grow rich” say St Leonard’s Shoreditch

We’re nearly there dear faithful reader, we’re nearly there, and if I take the sort of liberties I did with this one on the final two I could even get it all complete before the year’s out.

Details of the exact nature of the “liberty” need explaining but can basically be summed up by avoiding actually visiting the church in question. The church was St Leonard’s in Shoreditch and even a very scanty investigation shows that this is actually quite an interesting church with many more than three interesting features which I could have referred to had I bothered to do any sort of a talk in front of the place. But the problem with this particular place, a bit like Edward the First supposedly said about the Scots (well according to Mel Gibson he did) “The trouble with Scotland…is that it’s full of Scots” and the trouble with St Leonard’s Shortditch is that it’s in Shoreditch.

Nothing against the area directly but it’s off the beaten track even if you’re travelling from within London, but if you’re having to plan an expedition from Wimbledon it’s even more of a logistical nightmare to get too and would eat into any reasonable person’s drinking time much too much. And secondly, although I do have nothing against the area, honest I don’t, it is full of the young hip and trendy and neither I nor my tourist partner on this evening could be bothered having to fight off thousands of men in skinny jeans, combing out their beards and talking about which cereal bar to visit next.

That’s not to say that either I or my tourist partner for the night aren’t young hip and trendy of course. I fulfil at least two of those roles and Spikey Haired Ed fulfils all three and several others more besides. And now that all the female readers of the blog have their appetites well and truly whetted we can reacquaint ourselves with Beckenham’s answer to all four members of Blue.

Poor Ed had been absent from the tour since May and had missed all the visits we’d made since then due to either enforced work which had taken him all round the country, or better offers from more attractive people than me – hard to believe, but there you are.

Anyway to celebrate his return to the fold and to get some half decent conversation I suggested a quiet duo-tour of just him and me and it was just that niggling issue of having to trudge up to Shoreditch that was the problem.

And how did we solve it, by simply not going there, and instead heading to four Cask Marque pubs around Liverpool Street Station that I’d never managed to scan before and making sure that we at least glanced in the direction of Shoreditch at least once.

Our meeting point was The Magpie in New Street which is directly opposite the entrance to the station as long as you can safely cross Bishopsgate without getting run over by a suicidal hipster bearded cyclist, who is probably on his way home to Shoreditch. The pub is at the end of New Street and just around the corner is the City of London Police’s station in Bishopsgate which means you get panda cars (do they still call them that?) having to slowly crawl through the hordes of drinkers who have straggled outside onto the pavement.

Hordes of drinkers.....

It’s a Nicholson’s place and features much of the dark wood and shiny brass that their places always seem to feature. Tonight the hordes had well and truly straggled outside, most probably because the pub was filled to the rafters with pre-Christmas drinking city workers no doubt swilling down one or six before their trains home (apart from the Shoreditch hipsters that is). As I arrived earlier than Ed I squeezed my not inconsiderate frame inside and somehow managed to find myself at the bar placing an order in much less time than it should have taken. I plumped for the only thing I could see, a pint of McEwan’s Signature, and a pre-arranged pint of Becks for Ed. I did take a quick glance round for the certificate but with the amount of people inside I would have had more chance of finding a dropped contact lens than a random QR code.

Achieving more than Ed...

Straggling outside with the best of them, I positioned myself on the corner of the street and awaited the arrival of the great coiffured one, which gave me chance to read up about Mr Nicholson himself. He arrived without a blast of fanfaring trumpets (Ed I mean, not Mr Nicholson) and we commenced a good old round of moaning about work with Ed definitely taking the lead. So much so in fact that I was waiting at least 20 minutes with an empty glass while Ed barely took sips between slagging everyone else off.

Woodin Shades....and hordes.

Finally taking the hint that was getting pretty thirsty we moved on to the next venue, another Nicolson’s pub called The Woodin Shades, which is on Bishopsgate itself and was unsurprisingly just as rammed as The Magpie. Queuing took us slightly longer this time, much down to Ed’s lack of presence at the bar but we did emerge with a pint of Big Hop Little Beer (yeah, me too?) from Firebrand Brewery and another pint of generic lager.

Ed uses all the powers of his presence. Look at that barman taking full notice of him.

Again with no obvious signs of the Cask Marque certificate we retired outside to continue the moaning and did this very well for the next ½ hour or so.

Our next stop was not a Nicholson’s pub and is instead owned by the Metropolitan Pub Company with whom we’ve drank before in The Phoenix (where Mr Cheese had a Scotch Egg) and The Old Tea Warehouse (where Nicole told me that Gemma was pregnant (she wasn’t)). They at least make their pubs look like independents, and this particular pub, Kings Stores, was a curious mix of City boozers and people trying to look hip and trendy without having to bother to go to Shoreditch. Anyway it was a nice change from the rather identikit look of the previous two Nicholson’s.
What hadn’t changed though was the crowds and it was rather a scrum again to wedge our way to the bar but my presence was obviously working better than Ed’s as I instantly caught the eye of the young and attractive bar maid and put our orders in for a pint of Estrella and a pint of Urban Dusk from Redemption Brewing, much to the disgust of the chap three down the bar from me who felt he was certainly next in line.

Urban Dusk.

Still, survival of the fittest and all that, we made our ways outside again and took up a good observational position on the other side of the road which gave me a great view to see the “old man” detailing on the outside of the pub and some bloke walking a pit bull terrier have to drag it away from humping some innocent drinker’s leg.

Note the old man heads on each column.

The final scheduled pub of the night was just round the corner but Ed’s nature sense of direction took us the long way round to Artillery Lane and the destination of The Williams Ale & Cider House which funnily enough is another one of the Metropolitan Pub Company’s stable of pubs. Again it was absolutely full to the gunnels and it took us an absolute beard (which is probably why 80% of the clientele were very hirsute looking) to get served but Ed eventually emerged with something yellow for himself and a mug pint of Sambrook’s Brewery’s Powerhouse Porter, which was probably the drink of the night.

Powerhouse Porter.

The pub was friendly enough and features a “free to play” piano which some young, hip and trendy bloke (with a beard) was bashing away like he had a promise of a blow-job was dependant on it. That’s not to say that the old crumblies like Ed and myself went without music whilst we sipped away outside. We didn’t have a fellatio expectant piano player but we did have some random geezer who stopped in the middle of the street, whipped out an accordion and before you could sing along with “Tequilla!” he was wandering around with an upturned tambourine looking for a few quid.

If you look carefully enough you can hear the accordion.

Taking our cue to leave there was just time to sink a quick one in Dirty Dick’s, a non-Cask Marque Young’s place which promises more than it delivers both in terms of beer and atmosphere. My pint of Young’s Winter Warmer was drinkable enough but not after we’d waited far too long at a not very busy bar which was full of staff who all seemed to be “not qualified to serve drinks mate”.
The night ended with many trips to the toilets which revealed we were drinking in Finch’s Bar and some embarrassing selfies that prove having longer arms to take the photo is much better for the appearance of chins.

Finch's Bar

I wish I had long arms like Ed.........and not as many chins.

Ed left to stumble his was back to London Bridge whilst I jumped on a Circle Line tube and was petrified by the bloke opposite who not only had the vacant stare of a man intent on causing mayhem and murder but the reddest hands I’ve ever seen. I would not be surprised to learn of a spate of stranglings in the next few days!

Murderer's hands.

So only two to go and then we can all go and do something much more interesting……..oh, bollocks, we forgot to look in the direction of Shoreditch.

You owe me ten shillings say St Helen’s Bishopsgate

Has it really been 7 and a bit weeks since we last did one of these? Nearly two months of a working life without any sort of post-labour refreshment? Well the facts of the blog don’t lie so whilst the collective livers have no doubt enjoyed the extended break, the social sides of our brains were craving the attention of chat, beer and of course interesting facts about churches.

To pick up the story properly from where I left off and to do one of those “last time on the BGC’s O&Ls blog…….” refreshers I am, you may remember, no longer working with the majority of the rest of the crowd and am instead fighting my way through the remnants of Andy Murray supporters to my new labour location of Wimbledon.

The rest of the crowd are still eeking out a living on the banks of the river Thames by Tower Bridge and there has only been one change of any note in the membership of this unruly bunch of reprobates.

Cast your minds back the Monopoly Tour? Yes? No? Whatever, well one of the main movers and shakers was Nicole who decided to crush the dreams of certain IT workers by leaving the country and getting away as far as possible by moving back to New Zealand and attempting to establish herself as a new-age professional surf board polisher. But God (or the lord of surf boards) moves in mysterious ways and in a matter of days after I left my old work, she returns to take up her old job as if nothing has happened……..

Hang on…….wait a moment…..having just written that all down, let’s resummarise the facts. She comes out on the Monopoly Tour. Fleas to the other end of the world. I leave work. She comes back…….anyone would think there’s a conspiracy going on here!

Big shiny gherkin.

Anyway, back to the tour. The one advantage of me working so far away from the city, out in the suburbs now is that there was no need to hang around at work waiting for people to finish and to finally  get down the first pub. This time I just instructed them to all meet me at the Slug & Lettuce opposite St Mary’s Axe, better known as The Gherkin and the usual rounds of fun and frolics would commence from there.

I'm smiling here cos I've not actually go in the place yet.

You may have read about my opinions about Slugs and Lettuces before and this unfortunate example and excuse of a pub was no better. In fact it was far far worse. Leaving aside the fact that it wasn’t bursting at the seams in any way shape or form, I was still made to wait a good ten minutes at the deserted bar before the barmaid dragged herself away from adjusting the lights to serve me with a disgusting pint of London Pride. How this place has managed to obtain Cask Marque accreditation is a mystery I certainly won’t be revisiting this place to get to the bottom of that particular conundrum.

So whilst the liquid based welcome was pretty dire, the welcome from the rest of the tourists was a little more heart-warming. There was a rather healthy turn out, one that would have put several of the previous tours to shame. From the old team Buddy Rob, New-Guy Micky and Kambiz were present and correct and from the fairer looking side of the office, Gemma, Natasha, Brenda, Lucie, Isabelle, Lisa & Jade were all looking their normal stunning selves. We’d even picked up a couple of more fair-weathered tourists again in the shape of Charmer Palmer, Lee and Gemma’s “special” friend Sam.

So with the reunions all completed and being told I hadn’t greeted Nicole as lustily as everyone seemed to have expected I should have, there was nothing else to do but hurry everyone out of the pub before suffering any more appalling beer and make the short hop round the corner to the church of St Helen’s Bishopsgate. This particular church had been built back in the 12th century and those thoughtful ancient architected had created a handy courtyard area that allowed us to huddle together for the long awaited “church talk”.

But, what a minute, what’s this……..oh you guys! They’ve only gone and all produced cut out moustaches on straws. Oh what a wheeze! (Actually I was quite touched………..no, not in that way!)

Awwww, look, the gang's back together!

Anyway back to St Helen’s. Apparently this is the only church in the City of London which has been built from a nunnery still in service. It contains more monuments than any church in Greater London apart from Westminster Abbey and survived the Great Fire, both World Wars but had its roof blown off by an IRA bomb in the early 1990s.

There was just time for a moustachioed posed photo by the church door before we said goodbye to half of the tour, the younger ones it must be noted who still believe in beauty sleep, whilst the rest of the more mature members cut through to Creechurch Lane and the fabulously named Old Tea Warehouse.

Outside of the Old Tea Warehouse

Thanking my lucky stars that the beer range was 600% better than that at the Slug & Lettuce those of us who required ale-based refreshment could take advantage of the house brew, The Old Tea Clipper Ale which was lovely well balanced bitter that certainly hit the spot for Brenda and I. Nicole went for the Red Squirrel Conservation Ale which was described as “flavoursome and fruity”…….that’s the beer presumably, not Nicole. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Old Tea Warehouse Pumps.

But on the beer front, the most impressive was Gemma who plumped for an impressive trilogy of Brooklyn Lager, Kirin Lager and Palm Ale, which came in a nice branded glass.

After the first pint I explained the proposed route to Brenda as we pondered whether to move on or stay for another one. The next two pubs were meant to be The White Horse in Houndsditch and another Slug & Lettuce in Stoney Lane but she soon pooh-poohed these as potential locations but did approve of the final location of The Bell in nearby Middlesex Street.

I had no problem with this as The Old Tea Warehouse was more than a pleasant place to stay and a pint of Conservation Ale (“flavoursome and fruity” – that’s me and not the beer) made the stay all the easier.
The walk to The Bell didn’t take long at all even with the fact that we had to miss out the two potential pubs on the way. It’s a funny old place from the outside mixing a classic corner pub location with a sign that twinkles and sparkles in the light and reads “Ding Dong” when looked at from the right angle. Mind you it’s a funnier place from the inside with a mixture of stuffed animals, deer skulls and other random artefacts adorning the walls. It also features a heavily tattooed pink-haired barmaid which certainly brightened the place up.

Well blow me down, if it isn't the BGC and the O&Ls tour.....

The beer range was smaller, just three ales on, but certainly the pints of Harvey’s Sussex Bitter than Brenda and I took part of were in top notch condition and at least we continued to fly the real ale flag whilst everyone else flip-flopped back to lagers or vodka based fun drinks.

Harvey's Sussex Bitter - The choice of champions.

So with one eye on the Argentina vs Holland World Cup semi-final Mickey brought the thoughts round to some form of edible sustenance and I was dutifully dispatched to the bar to collect some sort of “crips” [sic]. The pub was selling those classic wheat based snacks, Bacon Flavour Fries, Cheese Flavoured Moments and Scampi Flavour Fries. I asked for one packet of each to which the barman gave me a respectful nod and said, “Ah….the triple hey? Good choice.”

The participants of "the triple" about to be devoured.

It might have been a good choice but as Shania might have once sung, “it didn’t impress Nicole much” who bemoaned the fact that apparently there was a secret supply of Monster Munch also on sale and no other deep fried calorie laden nibble would do. Seeing as this was her “welcome back” tour I relented and was extremely happy to shell out a whopping £1.10 per bag on both the Pickled Onion and Roast Beef flavours.

Still I guess in retrospect this might have been a good bargain for the Harvey’s pint glass that somehow fell into her rucksack of a handbag and was transferred to me on the concourse of Liverpool Street Station. Not quite Brief Encounter, but hey……….good to have her back!

Oh, and if you want to read what happened on the exciting journey home, just mosey on over to the best blog about travelling on trains since the year dot.

Pokers and Tongs say The Chapel of St John’s

The last episode, as regular readers and those with nothing better to do will know, didn’t actually take place in or by a church. This week’s missive almost headed down the same route as my nursery rhyme based research revealed that the St John’s as mentioned in this part of the song was The Chapel of St John’s which forms part of the White Tower located right in the centre of the Tower of London.

Chapel of St John's in the middle.

This was good news as on one level as it meant another extremely local tour with only yards to cover from our place of work and also James James had insisted on not walking more than 10 feet before he’d ever set foot on the tour again. But on the downside, this meant we would get no nearer to the “church” than the Beefeater guarded drawbridges of the Tower itself.

For those who don’t know much about the Tower of London, the White Tower is the square keep building right in the centre and as one might have guessed from this description, it’s the oldest part of the Tower and as such, this is another place which claims to be the oldest church in London. Luckily although we wouldn’t be able to get very close to the chapel, the White Tower is so prominent it’s easily visible from the path that runs by the Thames and it’s very simple to make out the arched windows on the second floor which is where the chapel is located.

Obviously the Tower abounds with interesting historical facts and the most interesting of these that I could connect with The Chapel of St John’s was that Elizabeth of York was laid in state here after her death in 1503. Now, who on earth is Elizabeth of York I hear you all cry out loud, well she was a woman who was daughter of a king, wife of a king, sister of a king, niece of a king, mother of a king and grandmother of a king (and queens). And to make matters even more incredible most of these facts she achieved in her lifetime.

I was quite impressed that I managed to recall all of these various kings and their numbers (Edward IV, Henry VII, Edward V, Richard III, Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I and Elizabeth I respectively) and even managed to weave my story into the claim that the two children’s skeletons found under the stairs leading up to the Chapel are supposedly those of Elizabeth’s brothers, the princes in the tower Edward V and Richard. That however didn’t seem to be enough for all female audience of hecklers. We were getting suggestions and questions of “isn’t this where Lionel the XIV was beheaded?” or “oh, I remember that this is when Shane the VIII hung his 12 wives, one after another.”

Idiot women got the wrong Tower in the background.

So leaving aside the finer points of British History we made our way to the first pub of the evening still at this point an all-female grouping. This had come about because the usual headache of gathering everyone together had multiplied into a right old mess and resulted in the girls getting squiffy on 2-for-1 cocktails in the appalling Slug and Lettuce and the boys refusing to drink in such a naff place going on ahead, a solution which it’s hard to fathom why we hadn't come to this sometime previously. I, like a poor man’s version of Dan Snow, had to hang around to do the church talk which judging by the claims that Arnold the II had burnt the cakes at the top of the Bloody Tower I needn't have bothered.

The 10 for 1 cocktail offer.

The first pub tonight was one we had passed on many occasions when on our collective ways to other tour locations, which is a shame because it’s a damn fine one, as we’ve come to expect from the Fuller’s stable. The Hung Drawn and Quartered might play on its name and take liberties with exact history but it’s still a fine pub and being a Fuller’s pub, one where we could once again produce copious amounts of free drink vouchers.

One element of the Hung, Drawn & Quartered.

I must say here that although we've never been refused a Fuller’s voucher, the blank look on the bar-people’s faces has shown that the message about what these are hasn’t quite filtered down to the shop floor. The chap that was serving me declared that my voucher was only good for limited ales, i.e. London Pride and even after I pointed out that in fact it was good for any drink I still ended up with the Pride instead of the Brit Hop which is what I wanted. Mind you, by this point I would have sucked the water out of a soggy flannel so thirsty was I that I quite happily accepted the Pride.

Ah well, next time maybe.

We did have a few new faces on the tour who need welcoming, the first being the replacement for Charlie. (Remember him? No hair? Couldn't hold his drink?) A much improved version of Charlie called Kambiz. We also had Shirley and Jade from Payroll, both making their first appearances even though both had been doing their best to avoid the tour for as long as possible. Jade admitted as much by answering my innocent remark of “nice to see you out finally” with “well, I was running out of excuses.” Mmmm, this might be one to watch. We were also joined by Monika who we haven’t seen for some weeks but who had dragged along her better half to endure an evening of beer drinking in the fine spring sunshine.

Endure was certainly the right word as we moved to the 2nd pub of the night, one which everyone was asking me why I’d picked it, and I have to wonder myself why I had. The pub, or bar, in question was the All Bar One on Byward Street which you just knew was going to be a disappointment when upon enquiring what ales were on offer the answer I received was “Doombar in bottles.” Ah.

All Bar None.

I settled for an icy cold Meantime Pilsner which gained me an Untappd badge but precious little else. Clever Brenda I noted had gone for a pint of Guinness and even cleverer Lucie had managed to coerce the management into fulfilling the free wine tasting that the signs littered around the place were advertising. That’s certainly one way of getting a free drink and much better than taking your own stuff from place to place. (Hint to Lisa and the miniature bottles of vodka!)

Ah yes, we're massive wine fans us. Phil leads the way.

Luckily the next stop was much better prepared in terms of beers as it’s the specialist beer bar The Draft House and their Seething branch which is located just behind Seething Lane Gardens. This is where we had Charlie’s leaving do (how has he managed to get two mentions this time?) and the range of beers on offer is substantial to say the least. I went for a Titanic Stout, (from Titanic Brewery) needing something rich and warming to take away the sting of the pilsner.

Titanic Stout.

Unfortunately although we managed to secure a large long table at the back of the bar we were split into two groups and in a rather role-reversed fashion the ladies remained propped up at the bar whilst the men sipped drinks sedately sat the table. I did enquire to see whether they wanted to join us but all I received for my efforts was a clove of garlic which I think Lucie eats in preference to chewing gum. Well she is French after all.

Beautiful people of The Draft House.

The final stop of the night was back across the road and into the Wetherspoon’s emporium called the Liberty Bounds which whilst doing nothing more than your normal Wetherspoon’s does, it has a competent range of beers including White Out from Brains which was my 1st pint, followed by a Märzenfest from Inveralmond Brewery which Brenda forced on me much to my jelly-spined resistance.

The group was now whittled down to the hardened most alcohol dependant tourists and there seemed to be much in the way of shared bowls of chips and shared gurning #selfies. None of which probably did us any favours. I think the evidence is conclusive.

Two Sticks and an Apple say Whitechapel

If you were attempting to throw together the ingredients of the perfect pub crawl you might search the back corners of your cupboards for such factors as; infamous pubs that were the scene of infamous murders, brew pubs where they brew their own beer in the cellar, crazy indie pubs with easy-going toilet attitudes and the oldest manufacturing business in the UK. Add in a sprinkling of three bare naked lady-bits to the mix and I reckon you might have the perfect combination.

This was the first location on this tour that wasn’t centred around a church because although The Oranges and Lemons rhyme says that “the bells of Whitechapel” are ringing for “two sticks and an apple” it turns out that these bells aren’t located in any place of worship but rather in the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, which is located as one might well expect, on that famous London thoroughfare, Whitechapel Road.

Tour Destination - The Whitechapel Bell Foundry.

BGC fans and followers will remember Whitechapel Road from the much lauded Monopoly Tour which was just about the first time Spikey Haired Ed and the BGC started their blooming and ongoing bromance. On that occasion we visited a few pubs at the Aldgate end of the street so in order to tread some new turf we needed to relocate further along to find some places we hadn’t been to before.

The Blind Beggar.

When I had done my research for Whitechapel Road for the Monopoly tour I noted that it was home to the infamous Blind Beggar pub, the much fabled location of one of the Kray Twins murders. Without going too far into the folklore that surrounds this rather sorry event it is obviously an intriguing pub that we only didn’t visit last time due to the fact it isn’t Cask Marque accredited.
I did some reading into the pub and even forced myself to sit through the Kemp brothers attempts to act menacingly and still couldn’t quite decide what to expect when the time of the visit came around, whether it would be a spit and sawdust drinking den of East End hard men or a twee and rather Disney-fied tourist trap playing on the reputation of its violent past. It was these and other thoughts that crossed my mind as I led the healthy troop of tourists on the short walk from Whitechapel Tube Station to the pub.

There was a good reason the turnout was so healthy on this occasion which we must also explain. Gorgeous George, someone who has brought an element of much needed glamour on the tour, was cashing in her company chips and moving off to pastures new. She very generously asked me if I would mind allowing this week’s tour to also double up as her leaving drinks and of course I was only too happy to oblige. We’d therefore picked up a few new faces for this particular visit as well as all the ugly mugs of the tour faithful.

Watney Combe Reid Brewery Sign on the wall at The Blind Beggar.

So knuckle dusters at the ready we entered the Blind Beggar and met up with New-Guy Mickey who would be a key figure in tonight’s tour. In the end The Blind Beggar turned out to be all those things I’d previously thought about and some more besides. It’s a big open plan place and definitely more on the spit and sawdust side of things than the gleaming horse brass and copper kettle side of things. The only nod to its violent past is a red plaque on the wall marking the spot where George Cornell met his demise and a display of commemorative t-shirts. There were three real ales on offer although my suggested round of pints of Timothy Taylor Golden Best was quashed as the attempt to pull a pint signified the end of the barrel. So it was pints of Courage Best for the beer drinkers and vodka fun drinks or yellow lager for the others. Lucie put her best syndicat d'initiative ears to the test and finding out that the barman was French managed to explain her request to share a bottle of cider with Isabelle. The other drinker of note was Gemma who much to the shock and awe of everyone who knows her was sipping fizzy water due to a slogging drive to Newcastle the next day. Bets were on to see whether that would last!

In this scene, Rob is playing the part of George Cornell.

Check out Brenda's jugs!

We retired to the garden area which was the biggest surprise about the pub. This was a very nice decorative area with lots of pub benches, pot plants and water features and was the perfect spot to crowd around a long table and enjoy our drinks on a rather balmy evening. There was a covered area at the rear of the garden, covered with blackout material with the walls made of bubbling falling water behind glass. The whole effect was very tranquil and calming and you have to wonder whether if Ronnie had had a quick fag out here before entering the pub that fateful night whether history may have been different.

All very civilised. Not a cosh in sight.

The next pub was just across the road and was named The White Hart, a brew pub in what Brenda thought was an old bank building saying it smacked of Nat West decoration. But by the carved etchings on the outside of the pub showing the pub name and an actual hart, whatever it had been previously used for it must have always been called the white hart.

The White Hart.

This place was doing a roaring trade and it was very much a younger hipster-ier crowd that had gathered at the various tables and mismatched chairs dotted around the interior. As previously mentioned this is a brew pub so all the ales on offer were brewed on the premises and were announced on the pump clips by the means of mini-chalk boards. I plumped for the stout which I have to say was superb and was the stand out beer of the evening. Brenda, new tourist John and any other ale drinkers we were still persuading to drink the real stuff went for “Hard Tackle”, a flavoursome IPA.

BGC attempts an arty selfie in the bar mirror.

I could have happily spend another round here but I guess if you’re sipping fizzy H2O (still watching Gemma) then it tastes the same wherever you are so we had to move on. It was a shortish walk down the length of Whitechapel Road walking past lots and lots of old buildings that you could just tell had been pubs at one time or another. With the flourishing immigrant community requiring its needs to be fulfilled many of these seemed to have been turned into fried chicken restaurants. In fact, this interesting website states that around the time of the Ripper murders there were a total of 33 public house establishments along the Whitechapel Road. Once of these was the Blue Anchor which can no-doubt tell many a tale before it was renamed to Indo in the year 2000.

Indo.

Indo is quite possibly the slimmest pub I’ve ever visited and when I researched the area before the tour, I thought this was a take away joint and completely missed the door leading into the skinny interior. Luckily the place wasn’t too full and we managed to crowd around the end of the bar and I got the order in for pints of Scarlet Fever from the Wild Beer Brewery. That I’d made the choice so easily was, as it turned out, a bit of a surprise as the beer range in the pub was substantial to say the list. There were 4 handpumps, 3-4 interesting things on tap (including Hofp Weizen) and a vast list of bottled stuff.

Pumpclips at Indo.

It was here that slim Spikey Haired Ed slipped into the tour after being previously engaged earlier in the evening and it was also here that Natasha slipped to the toilets and rather than waiting for the ladies to become free she popped into the gents with the end result that she ended up chatting with the next chap to visit doing his business whilst still washing her hands. Very friendly place this Indo.

Rob and Stuart by the striking clock-window at Indo.

John guards the list of bottled beers. Isabelle does her best Ronnie Corbett impression.

Scene of Natasha's Chat Show.

It was the across the road and a right at the East London Mosque and down to the non-church for the evening, The Whitechapel Bell Foundry. As previously hinted at, this is the oldest manufacturing business in the country and has been casting bells for the great and good since 1570. On my earlier reconnoitre the rear doors to the workshop were open and I could see the rows of bells being worked on. At ½ 8 in the evening everything was closed unfortunately and so it was in front of the yellow shuttered frontage that I explain that both Big Ben (or the Great Bell) and the Liberty Bell were both cast here and if you have a spare 48 or so thousand pounds lying about you too can be the proud owner of a 4 and a ½ ton C Bell

It was back over to the other side of the road again for what had been planned to be the final venue of the evening. If I said the name of this venue was “The Nag’s Head” you’d probably just think this to be another typical London pub, but if I said that all the windows to this particular Nag’s Head are blacked out and there’s a hefty bouncer on the door you might think this could be a different sort of venue, and you’d be right because I’d brought the tour to a “Gentlemen’s Venue” – Look, it says so on their website.

No point in trying to peer through these windows.

Now before I get accused of being supportive of such seedy places and the tacky trade that they purvey I will say in my defence that this particular venue had been on the “going out” bucket list for ages mainly because it’s run by relatives of New-Guy Mickey and he said he could get us all in for free!

Mickey, bless his cotton socks, was as good as his word and before you could say tight-fitting spandex body stocking we were inside and trying our very politest not to stare too much at the bevy of half-clad ladies that were working that night. Stuart, George’s soon to be ex-boss, had promised to get a round in for her leaving do and so was forced to the bar to complete our order. I had an average pint of Worthington Keg and I’ve no idea what the others were having as I was kept busy fishing pound coins out of the kitty so people could tip the next girl due to dance on the stage.
The “stage” was the size of a large postage stamp and was dominated by a tall silver pole upon which the girls would perform. Now whatever you want to say about strip clubs or this area of the sex industry in general, one thing you cannot criticise is the skill it takes to hang upside down from this said pole, clinging on by only the curved muscles of a sculptured thigh, whilst taking off your bra, doing it all in high heels and managing not to face-plant into the floor. Ladies, I can only respect your erotic athleticism and wish that I had had more available pound coins to have shown my appreciation more.

But it was probably wise to leave after one drink as some of the more delicate members of the tour were showing signs of palpitations and Nicola’s excuse for not tipping the girls in that she was leaving in a minute were wearing thin. Luckily my earlier research had located a final-final pub just a couple of doors down from the Nag’s Head also called, would you believe it, The White Hart, so it was here that the tour stalwarts ended their evening drinking pints of Hogs Back TEA and Shepherd Neame Spitfire whilst all trying to encourage George to book that flight to America and adhere to the rules of #YOLO

Don't look so glum George, have a beer and be as cheery as Brenda!

So George, you can have this tour dedicated to your good self and it goes with all the best wishes and thanks for making the tour that little bit more interesting!