“I do not know” say St Mary-le-Bow

I began the last episode of the Monopoly Blog with the sentence, "Well, it didn't quite end in a blaze of glory...." and if that was true for that legendary escapade then the Oranges & Lemons tour didn't quite end in a blaze of low-key disappointment and underwhelming ennui...it was much much worse than that.

Disappointing ennui.

Actually that's not quite true because this very last missive in this tour, which has been amazingly running for about 18 months (yes, it really did start in September 2013) was one of the better nights out but somehow the length of the tour and the fact that we had month long gaps between episodes for a whole variety of reasons made this a bit of a stop/stop affair and we never quite got the same level of enthusiasm and excitement as we did whilst playing Monopoly. That said, in the tour's defence, it did get us around all over the areas of the East End and there can't be many pubs that we didn't cover during the 16 excursions we completed. And of course we also got to hear the BGC's dulcet tones regaling some most interesting facts about the historical places of worship in the environs.

The Hatchet from the outside, after a 5 minute delay.

The final trip was to hear the bells of Bow tell us that they "didn't know" and for those who might think that this meant we were off for a trip to Bow itself, the bells of Bow are actually those of St Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside.....sort of in-between St Paul's Cathedral and the Bank of England.

Mo demonstrates that we're near to St Pauls.

The meeting point was to be The Hatchet, a Greene King pub right outside the Garlick Hill exit of Mansion House tube station. Meaning that I had a long elongated tube journey from Wimbledon that took the best part of an hour, whilst the old crowd just had to toddle a couple of stops along the District Line. But as I say, the pub is literally just outside the tube exit which meant the only delay I had in getting inside once I was there was due to my stupid phone requiring a reboot before allowing me to take a picture of the outside.

The Hatchet from the inside. Phil towers over the other drinkers.....literally.

The pub is actually quite nice, small, cosy and traditional looking and was quite full with a 40th birthday party for someone called Mr Cheese going on in the back room. It was also full with a rather healthy turnout from the boys and girls including some new people whose names I couldn't be bothered to remember (I can really (it's was Milly and Sarah) but I just want to appear avant-garde and dangerous.) as well as whole host of old familiar faces including Buddy Rob, New-Guy Mickey (soon to be a really new guy at a new job) Spikey Haired Ed, Gemma, Nicole, Mo, Isabelle, Lucie, George, oh and Pissed-Up Phil.

As everyone already had drinks I got myself a pint of Greene King's Yardbird "craft" American Pale Ale - Meh. Just seemed gassy to me - from possibly the most miserable bar maid in the world who served it up in a Smithwicks glass. At least my opinion of Little Miss Sunshine was confirmed by Lisa who'd had a similar experience just beforehand.

£500! Yes, £500! And I'm not talking about the beer.

Due to Mr Cheese's party we were rather cramped against the wall but not cramped enough to stop Gemma showing off her new tattoo. Aside from the very impressive 2 foot high woman with a smoking gun, she's had a lovely pair of anchors on each forearm and ACAB on each fist. What a woman!

Ye Olde Watling.....again

But although the pub was nice and it did yield up its own cask Marque certificate, with the lack of anything half decent to drink, the black cloud of doom emanating from Mrs Smiley behind the bar and Gemma being unwilling to show off any more of her tattoos we made a group decision to leave.
Luckily the next watering hole was just across Queen Victoria Street and a short distance up Bow Lane in the shape of "Ye Olde Watling" which eagle-eyed readers will recognise from the Number 2 Chance square from the Monopoly Tour. On that particular visit, it was a stag-only night so it was nice this time to be accompanied by a much larger host of the fairer sex. One thing that hadn't changed from the previous visit was the busy-ness of the pub and after grabbing my pint of Russian Winter from Itchen Valley Brewery (which turned out to be the best pint of the night) we vacated the premises to drink up in the doorway of the offices opposite.

Itchen Valley - Russian Winter

Note bottle of Duvel and lack of fringe. 

Apart from complimenting Nicole's style of swigging a bottle of Duvel like it was a bottle of Buckfast from a brown paper bag, the main subject of conversation was my recent trip to Brussels which caused Isabelle to remember an uncle of hers who had a street named after him there. Apparently he was the leading pornographic author of his age with books that would knock 50 Shades into a cocked hat. That must have been enough to make her, Lucie and Lisa leave early (again) meaning we were, as usual down to the hard-core tourists by the end of pub 2.

Ed turns his back disgustedly at the talk of pornographic novels. Rob's read them all before.

Moving on it was again another short stagger around the corner into Watling Street and the Pavilion End, a Fuller's pub which I wonder if it was operating when we did the Chance 2 tour as it would have surely have been on the list? Anyway, it's a smart modern place and best of all, because it's Fuller's, it allowed me to use another free beer voucher and get my pint of Gale's Seafarers Ale for the cost of a sheet of paper. The ladies, in the loosest sense of the word cause I'm only referring to Gemma and Nicole, had pints of Adnams Ghost Ship which judging by the grimace on Nicole's face wasn't in the finest form. It tasted all right to me and it wasn't all that appalling to Ed who agree to share his pint of Heineken half and half with her.....anything for a quiet life.

Phil takes to the oche with no idea of what's about to happen.

The Pavilion End markets itself as a sport bar and just above the stairs to the downstairs was a big screen TV which was showing some darts tournament or other. Just as we were settling down with the drinks a match started between the legendary Phil Taylor and some other bloke, (who eventually lost the match), and so began one of the most bizarre pub conversations I've ever participated in.
Ed, ever the suave raconteur of conversation, decided to throw into the mix the question as to whether any of us would sleep with Phil "the power" if as a reward we would then get the right to sleep with anyone of their choosing for the next ten nights. Look, don't judge him. We were in a pub and he was on his third pint and at the end of the day he's still a young chap.

My answer isn't really relevant to the conversation (it isn't alright and that's all you're ever going to get out of me on the subject) but where Ed and I differed was that I presumed to take the passive role in any imagined coupling between myself and poor old Phil whereas Ed wanted to take the active role with the reasoning that he could close his eyes and he would then just be basically banging any old hole in any old body. I think poor old Phil might disagree but there you go.

Nicole, ear-wigging in on the conversation, then chipped in by stating that any form of back-door copulation would invariably involve poo. And so poor old Phil was left bare-butt naked on the side lines whilst we had to argue about how the human digestive system works and whether there was, in fact, a huge long tube of poo curled round inside everyone's body or whether there are little trains of poo all chugging their own way down to the exit and more importantly whether either of these options would result in "poo on willy" syndrome - and that's her words not mine.

So there you have it, intelligent and insightful conversation courtesy of the pub..........and Phil, really really sorry. Just sorry.

This sign outside the Pavilion End reads - "St MA 1886. Edward Carlile Arthur Marten Church Wardens. AHB 1848" Any clues?

Moving on......a sharp right up Bread Street and onto Cheapside itself and there in front of us was the church of St Mary-le-Bow, which is all things told, a very pretty and impressive building. This was also possibly the easiest bit of research of the whole tour as almost everyone has heard of Bow Bells and the story that it was the sound of these which caused Dick Whittington to turn round and take up the mayor-ship of London (again) and it was also the sound of these which denote whether or not you're born a Cockney or not.

The spire of Mary-le-Bow

The church had a sign outside advertising coffee and Mo and Gemma tried to partake of this offer but almost gate-crashing a service whilst the rest of the tour went sailing down Cheapside. I had to call them back with a whistle and direct them back down Bow Street and take the short cut up Groveland Court to Williamsons Tavern. Again this was a re-visit from Chance Number 2 but at least this time it was less packed and we managed to find suitable places inside. There was even room for Phil to latch onto another couple who I understand were both his cousins or something? They're a happy bunch up towards Watford.

Entrance way to Mary-le-Bow

The beers of choice were a Winter Lightning from Hop Back Brewery and Otter Bright interspersed with a shot of Sambuca which apparently was a good idea at the time.

Williamson's Tavern and some drunken lush.

I can't remember a great deal about the conversation, I think we'd moved on from the poo subject by now, but I'll say this for the Williams Tavern, it does have some very nice tiled toilets.

Sierra Nevada in one hand. Phone in the other....still looking up photos of "Poo on Willy"

Nice toilets.

And so all good things come to good ends and in this particular case it was a series of selfies in the foyer of Mansion House tube station before I took the West Bound line and the rest of the gang took the East Bound line. The only thing to accompany me on the long journey home were my lovely shoes, Tintagel Castle (57603) which was getting ready to pull the Night Riviera and some good memories of the Oranges and Lemons.

Shoes and Tintagel Castle

So, what's next for the great BGC and the rest of the tour? Well it's been no secret for a while now and it'll come to you in the form of a question:

"What's the difference between an Embassy and a High Commission? For example, the French Embassy and the Australia High Commission."

The answer will be found in the next blog and the next tour..........I just wonder if there's any one up for it?

“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.

Old Father Baldpate say the bells of St Botolph-without-Aldgate

So come on BGC, how on earth can it be the bells of St Botolph’s who are saying “Old Father Baldpate” when it says any such thing in the rhyme at all!

Well of course my research into the origins of the Oranges and Lemons rhyme is scratchy at best but I am reliably informed that the Old Father Baldpate figure referred to in the song is none other than St Botolph, or Botwulf of Thorney as he’s sometimes known. The nickname must come from the fact that he’s the saint with a perfect monk’s tonsure hence the reference to his shiny slaphead.

I’m not sure why the rhyme refers to this particular church, St Botolph-without-Aldgate, as there are a couple of others bearing his name in London but as far as the tour is concerned, this is of great providence as it means we have another tour location within walking distance of the office and this was a factor we were only too happy to take advantage of.

The 3 Lords hanging in the pub of the same name.

So there were no tube lines to negotiate and as we went for the “meet in the pub” routine again it was only just a few minutes after 5 that James James, Mags, new-Guy Micky and myself found ourselves in the Three Lords on the Minories. This is a Young’s pubs and has only recently been renovated, turning it from a much darker East End boozer type place to a bright and light, hipster and trendy type place. The beer range was admirable with 4 ales and about the same about of interesting keg products alongside.

Even the glass was wrong.

I plumped for something I’d never heard of before, Red Car IPA although I’m not 100% sure it’s the same brewery as the one I’ve linked to here. I probably should have asked for a taster as the beer was just on the turn with that horrible vinegar scent overpowering any chance of smell or taste.

Luckily with the arrival of the girls (Gemma, Lisa, Brenda and Nicola) 15 minutes later and then the arrival of Buddy Rob 10 minutes after that gave us the opportunity to have a second round which for me was a much more palatable pint of Gentleman’s Wit from Camden Town Brewery.

Loverly bit of stuff! (and the beer)

For all its fresh paint and beer range there was something sadly lacking about the Three Lords, certainly the atmosphere was wanting especially as there were hardly any other folk in the place. The same couldn’t be said of the second pub of the evening, the tiny Still and Star, tucked around the back of Aldgate Bus Station in Little Somerset Street.

The girls. (Godzilla is on the end.)

Now this place is everything a proper little boozer should be. Good solid British ales on sale, from which I choose Adnam’s Lighthouse for Brenda and I, a crowd of regulars playing darts in the back of the pub, and enough room outside to relax in the nice early evening sun.

and the boys.

You could see the church from our position outside the pub and in an amazing show of knowledge firstly Brenda asked me if I was going to mention the “plague pit” which was dug in front of the church – I wasn’t but had read about this mass grave for plague victims – and then Gemma asked whether this was the church also known as “the prostitutes’ church”.  Now this was something I was going to mention (no…no….not for any other reason than it’s interesting, thank you very much!) and I can only presume that this secret was imparted to her by the power of her hooker tights.

Mind you this great show of knowledge and intelligence was quickly undone when Rob asked everyone “who was Godzilla?”, which is a pretty normal pub question to be honest, to which Brenda answered, “A monkey?”……..time to leave.

Not one of them do sex for money......apparently.

Crossing Aldgate High Street we passed by the entrance to Aldgate Tube Station and into the paved frontage of St Botolph-without-Aldgate church. As Gemma had correctly stated earlier, due to its position on the traffic island it had attracted more than its fair share of “working girls” and has become known as the prostitutes’ church as it provided a safe haven for these “fallen” women. Whether this has any connection to this place being one of the leading lights in the LGBT movement I don’t know but it’s always nice to hear about a more progressive outlook from within established religions. The final fact I imparted on my knowledge-hungry audience was that Daniel Defoe, he of Robinson Crusoe fame was married in the church, which made a nice link to our Monopoly visit to Super Tax which ended in a reading of a William Blake poem by the gates of Bunhill Cemetry and visitors to this most atmospheric place will know that Blake’s very well-known final resting place neighbour is none other than Mr Defoe.

The third place was somewhere I’d stumbled on whilst wandering aimlessly around the area and isn’t really pub in the true sense. The Trident is marketed as a bar and restaurant but when I’d wandered past the other day I noticed that sitting proudly atop its bar was a barrel of beer complete in cooling jacket and thought that this looked worth a second look.

Tartan carpet in The Trident. Note hooker tights on the right.

It’s a funny old place with a nice line in tartan carpets and the clientele seemed singularly formed of elderly businessmen who had started a lunch around 1-ish and were still going strong by 7 in the evening.
The barrel of beer was there though and tonight it contained Partridge Best from Dark Star and the barmaid reckoned she could just about squeeze out the four pints we needed for Brenda, Gemma, me and Mags who had decided to save her “one beer for the night” for this place although whether this was anything to do with Brenda’s explanation of “doing the barrel” is not clear.

In the corner of the bar were three of the aforementioned elderly business men who were joined by what can only be described as a much younger companion is a very form fitting dress. Far be it from me to cast aspersions on what this girl was doing, after all she may have been one of the guy’s granddaughter, but after coming in and joining the men, one of them started performing a back and shoulder massage on her as she sat there perched on a bar stool. As I clocked this rather bizarre exhibitionism I caught Mag’s eye and she asked me if it looked as dodgy as it appeared to be. I agreed and she then said that one of the other blokes was inviting her over too. I wasn’t invited…..

I was forced against my will to pose for these.....

We were then joined by tonight’s surprise guest, Charlie (remember him?) who’s new job is even nearer to these pubs than our office. He wasn’t in time for a drink in The Trident, which was a relief as there was nothing in the barrel now anyway, but joined us on the short trip to the final pub, Hennessey’s in Old Jewry Street.

If you visit the Hennessey’s website you’ll see that this place is undergoing a change of ownership and is being rebranded back to an original name of The Three Tuns. You could definitely see this was a work in progress with the smell of fresh paint in the air and a very limited range of drinks which on the beer front left us with a choice of Doombar or London Pride.

It will be interesting to see how work on this pub progresses as it in a prime location and is also split over several levels with even a roof top patio so it has the potential to be a really good pub again.
What will also be interesting to see in its development is the Oranges and Lemons tour. It’s been a widely known fact between the tourists, but hasn't been revealed on this blog as yet, that this particular evening was my last as a member of the same company as the rest of the tour regulars. I begin a new job in June and will be working from a different area of the city. But don’t despair because I have been coerced into promising to return to my old stomping grounds, much like a cat returning to the scene of its urination, and completing the rest of the rhyme.

And anyway there’s a much more important reason to continue the tour…….rumour has it that a very very special ex-tourist is returning to these shores and will be no doubt, absolutely gagging for some of the good stuff.

Beer! I meant beer! Dirty people!