“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 you pay me?” say St Sepulchure-without-Newgate

Says who BGC? And whilst we’re at it, what’s all this about a 4 month hiatus without a blog update or a journey out on the old Oranges and Lemons tour?

Brenda asks why there hasn't been a tour for 4 months!

And my dear faithful reader, I’m afraid even I do not have a suitable excuse for this unforgivable transgression. I can shout from the rooftops about new jobs and leaving do’s of various people and varying enjoyment and can even tell you of “extra” made up tours (like the Bells of St Brenda’s) but at the end of Jeremy Kyle’s day I just haven’t bothered my lazy arse to do anything about it. How can you ever forgive me?

And on planning the blog for writing up this particular visit it would also seem that I’ve also forgotten everything about recording the tours as my collection of photographic evidence from the evening was an appalling array of under-exposed and unfocused shots that does me or the tour no credit whatsoever.

Therefore I have to resort to using this photo of Brenda getting all argey-bargey in the Pride of Spitalfields during the St Brenda’s extra visit tour whenever we need a suitable photo for this visit.

So ready to get going? Got your bag of oranges? Got your insulin pen? Nope, either have we.

So firstly we need to clear up the actual verse of the rhyme that leads up us the church of St Sepulchure-without-Newgate. Those with an encyclopaedic knowledge of London’s churches will know that this particular place of worship is the large church at the top of the street called Old Bailey and from it’s position on the North West corner of the crossroads faces the Central Criminal Court and the famous Viaduct Tavern (which folk will remember from the “Go to Jail” square of the great Monopoly tour). And this is all because the actual verse from the Oranges and Lemons poem this time is “When will you pay me say the bells of Old Bailey”. Because we’d already covered the Viaduct Tavern (and other pubs in the area) we needed other suitable venues to hold the tour in to celebrate this pithy verse.

Magpie and Stump.

The first place, and rendezvous for the various elements of the tour to meet up in, was the superbly named Magpie and Stump, which is half way up Old Bailey itself on a little side street called Bishop Court. My journey there from deepest darkest Wimbledon was actually quite straight forward as a direct train takes you from Wimbledon Station all the way to City Thameslink Station on Ludgate Hill meaning it was just a 5 minute stagger from station to bar.

Gemma, (remember her? A bit scraggy? Hollow legs?) also had a nearby start location which was also just round the corner and her new job is obviously going so well she’s even brought along a new colleague who’s name slips my beer addled mind. But because there was a running joke between the two of them that she was dressed like a nun, I want to say it was something like Bernadette or Theresa.

So once they and I had found each other in the murky gloom of the Magpie and Stump we could take stock of what the place was offering. The beer was good certainly; I was making inroads into a very nice pint of Goddard’s Fuggle-Dee-Dum whilst I think the ladies were on some sort of grape based beverage at this point. The rest of the pub was also making a good impression being a mix of modern smartness and quirky history but why was it so dark? It may have been an effort to try to create a Dickensian appearance of candle lit atmosphere but personally it just gave me a headache as I couldn’t see who I was taking to.

Brenda agrees that it's just too dark in here.

And the others to whom I was trying to talk to came trooping in just a moment later. We had all the old faces including Buddy Rob, Munchkin Steve and New-Guy Mickey, but also so not so regular faces in Niresh and another blast from the Monopoly past of Stretch Arm Max, who like so many of these old veterans are no longer working for the old firm. There were also a couple of new faces of Mark and Ali who it turned out was my replacement and luckily I’d left not a too bad a mess on the desk as he didn’t want to fight me. Well not immediately anyway.

And completing the group, arriving but just 5 more minutes later were the lovely Lucy (remember her? Hair? Eyes? Accent?) and Nicole (remember her? Fringe? Fringe? And something that rhymes with Fringe?).

We stayed for another in the Magpie and Stump, Gemma, Bernadette and I plumping for pints of Bath Ales’s Gem (Gemma convinced it was named after her) which we all enjoyed to varying degrees.

Bath's Gem

The pub was a hit with the rest of the tour though with certain people claiming it was the best one every on any of the trips out. I wouldn’t have gone that far but by the time we left we were all in a good mood for the Church which was next on the list.

Good Mood outside the Magpie and Stump.

Just as we reached the door of the church, another tour group, this one looking professionally led by someone who knew what they were on about turned up and planted themselves not 5 yards from where our rag-tag bunch had gathered. It was therefore in a somewhat muted fashion that I told them that this was yet another Christopher Wren built church, rebuilt after the Great Fire of London and that it still houses a bell which was rung to notify a hanging in the Newgate Prison. The other interesting fact was that a former organist (no sniggering Brenda) was Sir Henry Wood who went on to found the famous series f concerts now known as The Proms.

Brenda can't help giggling at Sir Henry Wood's organ.

Because we were having to strike out to new ground for new pubs now I took the merry band of travellers further along Newgate Street to where the Holbourn Viaduct crosses over the A201 also known as Farringdon Street and formerly known as the River Fleet.

We descended down one of the set of steps on each corner of the bridge and emerged onto Farringdon Street having lost Gemma and Bernadette who were off to play netball (yes, quite) but the rest of us made the short walk south along Farringdon Street to the next two pubs which stand opposite each other. On the west side is The Hoop and Grapes, a Shepherd Neame owned pub and on the east side facing it, is the White Swan. But this place, never mind who owns it, was closed, hopefully only for renovations rather than a permanent closure, but wasn’t going to be giving the thirsty tourists anything close to liquid refreshment tonight.

Brenda looking gutted that the White Swan is closed.

Brenda looking much happier that the Hoop and Grapes is open.

So it was into the Hoop and Grapes and straight into the arms of possibly the drunkest man I’ve ever encountered on a Tuesday night. This suited and booted gent was well away with the fairies and if he wasn’t dancing on his own to Michael Jackson – “It’s Jacko the King, you’ve gotta dance to the King!” then he was shoving his Movember fuzz into everyone’s faces whether they wanted it or not.
Lucy, despite our pleas to the contrary, decided to strike up a conversation with him which only encourages his antics and it was to everyone’s relief when our jitterbugging hero called it a day around 8 o clock. “He was here since lunchtime” declared one of the barstaff which must have meant they were serving vodka jelly or something similar.

Lucy and Nicole encouraging some drunken old fool

There’s not really a lot else to talk about. Gemma reappeared, more Shepherd Neame drinks were drank and I worked my way though all of the Whitstable Bay offerings, the Pale Ale, the Organic Ale, the Oyster Stout and even the Blonde Premium Lager before stumbling home via Farringdon Tube Station, the branch of Upper Crust at Paddington and the rail replacement bus home.

Brenda ordering the Tuna baguettes on the way home.

Good to be back on the road and with only 3 more tours left on this one we might finish it before the end of the year……………or not.

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!

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!