Brickbats and Tiles say St Giles without Cripplegate

Look, anyone can make a mistake, even someone as awesome as the BGC and when you’re dealing with ancient folk tales and a city as big as London it’s no wonder that the odd error creeps in from time to time.

It would seem that the last excursion to St Giles in the Fields was actually a visit to the “wrong” St Giles. The Oranges and Lemons rhyme features churches from the City of London and other parts of the East End and as faithful readers will do doubt have been screaming at their screens, St Giles in the Fields is in the heartland of the West End.

The “right” St Giles, it turns out, is St Giles without Cripplegate, located in the heartland of the City of London in the middle of the Barbican Centre. This is a much much older church and apparently the “Brickbats and Tiles” reference refers to the materials used by nearby builders and if you’re wondering about the strange word of Cripplegate it actually refers to a Saxon word, Cruplegate, meaning a tunnel or covered way. That said, St Giles is the patron saint of cripples, beggars and blacksmiths which I’m sure could be made into a joke: There were these three blokes in a bar, one of them, a blacksmith turned to the other two………..

It was a bit of a cobbled together tour that eventually got together in the first pub, Rack & Tenter in Tenter Square. The IT department had managed to put in a woeful turn out with only Spikey Haired Ed and James James eventually being persuaded to come out. Payroll had put in a much better performance with the regulars of Gemma, George, Tasha, Lucie and Isabelle being joined by new regulars of Lisa and Young Phil and a fresh face on the tour of Kevin.

A box full of tit-heads.

The journey to the first pub turned out to be easy as we timed our entry into the tube perfectly and met a Circle Line train with only a minute’s wait and with the first pub literally just round the corner from Moorgate Tube Station the only problem we suffered was having to wait until 6pm for Ed to finally finish work and herd the rest of the cats together, some of whom had left early for food (James James & Lisa for a romantic McDonalds) and some who got so tired of waiting for Ed had sneaked off for pre-tour cocktails.

The afterglow of McDonalds.

The area around Moorgate is to be quite frank, a bloody mess at the moment. There’s another massive bit of the Crossrail works which seems to have dug up every other road and quite a large part of this area resembles a 1970’s concrete shopping precinct with all the glamour of The Bill’s infamous Cockcroft Estate. The Rack and Tenter had all the charm and presence of a pebble-dashed council house and is nothing more than a square box-like drinking hole for City tit-heads in suits. It should be much more, it’s a Marston’s pub and had they put any effort into it like Fuller’s would have done it might have been better. The only redeeming feature was the very pretty tattooed barmaid and the free drink vouchers that we’d all downloaded before visiting. I had an acceptable pint of Marston’s EPA but the others had to make do with the limitations of the voucher which meant pints of fizzy Foster’s for Ed, James James and Phil and glasses of the house red or the house white for the lovely ladies.

Even though I would avoid the place like the plague under other circumstances, it had managed to attract a huge crowd of the aforementioned City tit-head in suits and it was a fight to get to the bar. Our ordering wasn’t helped by the vouchers as each individual voucher number had to be imputed into the till and we can only be glad the aforementioned pretty tattooed barmaid had the patience to do it all with a smile and a wink.
We took our drinks outside to escape the scrum and apart from discovering the outdoor heater could be turned on and off by a switch (a la The Ship in Talbot Court) I think the best thing than can be say is that at least we didn’t have to pay.

Photo not taken on the night......obviously.

Moving on, we took the 5 minute stroll along the beautiful and sculptured concrete jungle that appeared to be a multi-storey car park but in fact hides the Salters’ Institute and Salters’ Hall until we hit the corner of Fore Street and Wood Street. There tucked in the corner is another appalling looking pub called Wood Street Bar & Restaurant and having taken note of the signs outside which instructed people that “Drinking is not allowed outside the public house. Drinkers must stay inside” I was fully expecting the worst.
Thankfully the interior of the pub, lots of etched glass and dark wood was actually really really pleasant. Firstly the place was at the exactly right level of busy-ness, with a smattering of other drinkers but still with plenty of room at the bar and spare seats. This all was made even more so by the warm welcome of the barmaid and barman who were delighted to pour off a pint of Shepherd Neame’s Whitstable Bay Pale Ale.
Because we had vouchered in the first pub we didn’t bother with a whip on this tour so it took slightly longer until we were all “avec les drinks” and installed in a very cosy corner in the pub. Quite how the conversation got round to the next subject is anyone’s guess but at some point someone (I bet it was Ed) announced that we were all going to end up in a “Titty Bar” (presumably not one full of City Tit-Heads in suits?) to which three of the ladies performed strange actions in Pavlov’s Dog type fashion. George’s hand leapt into the air, either volunteering to go to said place or announcing that she knew of where one was, Gemma did some extraordinary hip grinding and thrusting but perhaps the best reaction of Lisa’s screeched exclamation that “why do I wanna go to a titty bar. I wanna go to a penis bar!” Say it in broad TOWIE tones and you’ll get a feel for this special moment.

Just before the Penis Bar comment. Looks like butter wouldn't melt........

Time to leave.

Church. Pavement. Not night.......obviously.

Just around the corner of the pub, you enter the Barbican Centre (I need to investigate this area further) and the impressive stone structure of St Giles Cripplegate. The church is, as already stated, old, much older than any we’ve visited so far being built on a Saxon church which turned into a Norman one before having various bits and bobs added on over the years. It was severely damaged during the war and needed to be much repaired and renovated and now sits rather incongruously in the middle of a paved pedestrian area which I’m not sure does it any favours.

As you would expect with such an old church there’s a whole host of interesting facts to regale about such a place but the three that I focussed in on were that John Milton (he who had his daughter christened at St Giles in the Fields) was buried here in 1674, Oliver Cromwell was married here in 1620 and Rick Wakeman recorded his track “Jane Seymour” here. Enough history, let’s have another drink.

It was but a 5 minute walk down Wood Street and underneath the overhead complext straddling City Wall before continuing down Wood Street  and walking past the City of London Police Headquaters and the solitary standing spire of St Alban’s. The next pub was The Cape, a chain of Stonegate pubs all bearing the same name that are dotted around London. This one wasn’t packed but looked to have been in the same state as the Rack and Tenter was an hour or so ago. The pub had been  Cask Marque accredited up until the end of October last year but had either lost it’s rights to claim this honour (even though the certificate and door stickers where much in evidence) or had failed to renew. Either way the scan wasn’t working.

Should be publically demoted.

Pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord secured we retired to a isolated and unattended corner where although there was a huge curved banquette that could have seated us all we chose to stand in a uneven huddle.
Drinks drank it was also an uneven huddle which paused for a photo by the handily parked Police Horse Wagon, much to the disgust of the passing cabby, and then we needed to just round the corner to reach the next place, The Red Herring located at the end of Wood Street and the junction with Gresham Street.

Book them Dano.......

The Red Herring is a smart Fuller’s house doing everything Fuller’s seems to be able to do remarkably well with its City pubs. That said this one wasn’t Cask Marque accredited which is something or a rarity as most of their pubs are. But to make up for the lack of certificate we’d all got vouchers again, these one being a little more generous than the ones for the Rack and Tenter, allowing us to choose any drink up to the value of £5. I choose a pint of Gold by Butcombe Brewery and left the others to choose their vodka based fun drinks to their heart’s content. Naughty Lucie though, had once again done the trick of bringing her glass of wine from the previous pub into this one……just can’t trust the French.

Ed prepares to exchange his voucher.

Unfortunately as sometimes seems to happen, the evening slightly fizzled out and after some heartfelt rantings about work and a replay of “snog, marry, push off a cliff” we all disappeared our separate ways. Talking of “snog, marry, push off a cliff” though, the tour may end up being postponed for some weeks as Gemma and George are to go off gallivanting half way around the world to meet former tourist and former “marry” candidate lovely Nicole. So perhaps we should end not with the tale of my lonely tube journey back to the last train of the night out of Paddington but wish them Bon Voyage and ask them to drink a Croucher Pale Ale for me.

Brickbats and Tiles say St Giles in the Fields

So after much cajoling, nagging and a Christmas break, we finally got the tour organised again. Those following the rhyme will of course know that the next stop was St Giles’ because, and please feel free to join in if you know the words, Brickbats and Tiles say the bells of St Giles’ (I’m sure this is all made up.)

St Giles’ in the Field to give the place its full name is in Soho and is also known as the poets’ church. The Poetry Society holds their AGM at the church and various poets had their children buried there (Milton, Shelley, Byron to name but three). And it was with this bombshell of an interesting fact that I began the church talk. Determined not to be accused of missing this out again we went directly to the church from Tottenham Court Road station.

This area is all a bit of a mess at the moment. Not only have you got some massive Crossrail development underway directly outside Tottenham Court Road station but that end of Oxford Street and around the brightly coloured Central St Giles buildings is not exactly salubrious to say the least. New-Guy Micky who used to work in the area had already warned us to watch out for the “smack heads”.

It was also a pretty wet and miserable evening when the majority of the tour stepped off the Central line at the afore mentioned Tottenham Court Road station. It’s always the most difficult tube line to get onto from our corner of the Circle Line at Tower Hill as the routes to get the famous red line throw up many questions. Do you wait the 10-15 intervals between Circle Line trains to get round to Liverpool Street? Or do you take the much more frequent District Line service down to Embankment and walk from there? Or do you do what we did, which is one stop on the District down to Monument and then walk through seemingly endless miles of tube station corridors to Bank and get the Central Line from there? Luckily we managed to stay together and lost no-one on route even though Young Phil (a New-New-Guy) and myself had to pause whilst the geriatric others finally caught us up.
The long walk through the station must have took its toll on George and “Smash-a-Glass” Lisa as they took advantage of the pause outside Tottenham Court Road to dash into the McDonalds across the road and line stomachs with various meaty treats. The pause was to locate New Guy Micky, who turned out to be waiting for us at the church and the double-act of Mr Cheese and Mr Clarke, who turned up finally in the 1st pub.

Burgers eaten and New Guy Micky located we took stock outside the Church, which again is not benefitting from overgrown shrubbery and boarding panels. Built between 1730 and 1734 this was the first church on the tour which didn’t leap from the mind of Christopher Wren but is instead a Henry Flitcroft creation in the Palladian style (oooo get her). It replaced an earlier church where victims of the Great Plague had been buried and became a landmark on the journey of condemned prisoners from Newgate Prison (see Go to Jail) to the Tyburn Gallows (see Park Lane) where the soon to be hung would stop for a drink in a local pub.

Talking about drinking in a local pub, this seems like an ideal point to move on to Monmouth Street and The Crown which is a triangular end of terrace pub from the Taylor Walker stable. There was no sign of the Cask Marque certificate (Remember that? Collecting those scans?) but there was sign of Mr Cheese and Mr Clarke who were instantly recognisable because of the Dorset Knobs.

Look at the smiles on seeing the Dorset Knobs.

The beer was ok, although the selection of Pride, Doombar and Old Golden Hen are never going to set the world on fire, which was a bit of a shame because the pub is actually quite nice in a strange shapely, horse-brassy, Victorian picture sort of way.

The Cambridge

The tour was soon on its way again, skirting around the Seven Dials before crossing Shaftsbury Avenue and onto Charing Cross Road which was to be our route for the rest of the evening. The Cambridge is an imposing looking place which belies a quite small interior into which we just about managed to squeeze amongst the early evening theatre goers. Again the beer offerings were actually quite slim, disappointing for another national chain (Nicholson’s this time) with the only more unusual brew being Ultra Pale Ale from the Bristol Beer Factory. This satisfied the ale drinkers, limited this excursion to just Mr Cheese, Mr Clarke, Brenda and yours truly. The rest were on a variety of fizzy yellow stuff (Bud still for Buddy Rob you’ll be pleased to know), vodka fun drinks and in the case of Isabelle and Lucie a surprising diversion to red wine.

Inside The Cambridge - Red Wine not in view.

The pub filtered out slightly as curtain up must have been called in the surrounding theatres but we didn’t spend that long enjoying the extra room. In fact we were so quick Lucie took her glass of wine with her.

The next pub was quite literally a stone’s throw away being the gaudily green looking Molly Moggs. Look at any website about this pub, (not the pub’s own one, that seems to be down) and you’ll see a variety of brightly drag acts camping it up like Baden Powell’s back garden. Sadly it must have been a quiet night tonight as although there was a smattering of all male clientele in the pub there wasn’t a hint of a sequin or a feather boa.

Molly Moggs - Feather Boas not in view.

Obviously not a pub that builds its living on beer there was but a single lonely ale pump but the pint of London Glory it served wasn’t too bad and more than drinkable. Lucie managed to sneak her half glass of red inside without any challenges, I guess I only wonder if the owners of Molly Moggs wonder where the extra glass came from?

It’s a good job the tour wasn’t feeling too exhausted tonight as the next pub was literally next door meaning one of the shortest crawls between pubs on any of the tours ever. The next place was a narrow fronted but hugely interiored Wetherspoons called the Montagu Pyke (aka The Cinema King – look it up).

Montagu Pyke - Good Service not in view.

As previously mentioned the inside of the pub spread out to the back of the pub with a vast number of tables as well as a small balcony, it was also doing a roaring trade as it was almost full with drinkers and diners. Managing eventually to get to the bar, I ordered 4 pints of something which has slipped my mind. The first two, which went to Mr Cheese & Mr Clarke looked ok but the 3rd which was destined for Brenda had the look and consistency of a swampy pool.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to get the fourth out of this” shrugged the non-plussed barman who was wearing a name-tag that said “manager”. “Yes, not so sure I want that cloudy third one” I commented. “Up to you” shrugged the shruggy “manager” who was managing to take disinterest to a whole new level. And without going too CAMRA on you all, it’s experiences like this which is why the Real Ale crowd will never fully endorse the Wetherspoons chain.

Anyway, the pint of Oxford Gold from Brakspear that I finally choose from the vast range of ale pumps where far too many of the pump clips were turned round was OK but to be honest, you get some good Wetherspoons, in fact you get some great ones, but you also get some bloody awful ones and this one was one where no matter how cheap the drink is it was always going to fall into the latter category.

The one redeeming feature was that the Cask Marque certificate was proudly hung on the wall by the bar which meant the first scan of the night from the third accredited pub.

The final pub of the night was not quite so little a distance away as the previous two, but it was still only a short hop to the top of Charing Cross Road and a left hand turn into the Crossrail building site and the Royal George, whose bright pink neon sign can just about been seen around the cranes and cement mixers.

The Royal George - Mr Cheese just in view.

The first thing I noticed was the Cask Marque certificate just by the door which meant the second scan of the night. It was a good job that the certificate was by the door because it was hard to make anything else out in the gloom of the pub’s interior. I can’t remember the whole beer range but I do remember that I was drinking Hopback’s Winter Lightning which the ale drinkers amongst us persisted with.

I can’t remember what caused the exodus but it seemed that one moment the place was full and then in a blink of an eye there was only Mr Cheese, Mr Clarke, New Guy Micky and Spiky Haired Ed in the place. Oh and me of course. It seemed somehow fitting that we finished the evening by ordering a lovely bottle of Delirium Tremens which was only spoilt by a veritable mixture of mixed glassware. I mean, come on pubs, if you’re going to invest in a range of interesting bottles, invest in some decent glasses as well yeah?

Well I said “we finished the evening” because for me there was only the attraction of a double Upper Crust baguette and the last train home whilst Mr Cheese, Mr Clarke and Micky ended the evening with a slap-up Chinese meal in Soho. What Ed did is anyone’s guess.

Bullseyes and Targets say St Margaret's, Lothbury

I suppose I should start with an apology………….so to the thousands of faithful readers out there, I’m sorry.

Sorry that I’ve not updated for so long. Sorry my entry for St Margaret’s is so small. Sorry for not telling the tour newbies that they would be immortalised in this fair blog. Sorry to the tour quitters that we never said goodbye in blog format.

And maybe most of all, sorry to everyone that once again there’s some more piffling drivel that you have to read.

OK? Happy? Satisfied? Can we get onto St Margaret’s now?

St Margarets

Unfortunately it now about 10 weeks since we did this tour and quite a bit of it has dropped out of the memory banks. So like a brief news bulletin, here are the highlights.

Tour attendees – Most of the usual faces;

Most of the usual faces, in Simpson's Tavern.

Tour newbies – Me old china Rob the Big Cheese and his on-off landlord and on-off lover Clarkey. New payroll girly Lisa who was so excited she decided to smash a glass outside the Jamaica Wine House whilst kicking off.

A smashing time.....

Pubs – The previously mentioned Jamaica Wine House – absolutely rammed back alley pub that needs to be visited again. Simpson’s Tavern – Another back alley place that wasn’t rammed. In fact we were at one point the only customers. Cock and Woolpack – mid-terrace pub that seemed to go back forever. Main highlight, I found a glove in the toilets. The Phoenix – Strange mix of old man’s pub with drum and bass music.

Pubs

Beers – I seem to remember some sort of coffee/choco/mocha porter thing at The Phoenix. The rest was average.

Mr Cheese and Mr Clarke taste the Scotch Eggs.

Church – Apparently Bull’s eyes and targets say the bells of St Margaret’s, or St Margaret's Lothbury to give it its full name. When we got near the church (which is opposite the Bank of England) I asked the group if they wanted to take the short detour down to the church for the talk. No, it’s too cold they all shrieked. So we didn’t. I then get nothing but earache for the next 10 weeks about missing out what some were describing as the best bit of the tours. Some people!

Tour quitters – Just have to mention a couple of tour stalwarts who were there from the beginning of Monopoly and may only be making guest appearances on the tour from now on. Charlie has left the company and although he’s still somewhere in the dirty city no doubt he’s got some new friends to play with. Aussie Pete on the other hand will have some job on his hand trying to pop back for a night out having returned to a land down under. Guys, hope you do make it out again…….you’ll be missed.

Oranges and Lemons say St Clement's, Eastcheap

So here we go with round two of the Oranges and Lemons tour, a mere two weeks since our initial foray into the world of citrus fruit based pub crawls. This week though we were actually in a way retreading old ground, as we were visiting another St Clements church as there are no less than two churches in London who claim the honour of being the one mentioned in the Nursery Rhyme.

Last week it was St Clement Danes and this week it's St Clements Eastcheap which as luck would have it is a mere bagatelle in terms of distance from our office location.

Firstly though, before we dive into the pubs and happenings of the night a quick word on the lead up to the night which was based around the very welcome visit of Munchkin Steve, down once again to dip his toes in southern culture from the cave-like existence of the northern wilderness. It also turned out to be the night that our illustrious national football team were due to play their final World Cup qualification match against Poland, needing a win to guarantee entry into the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

By the time that I’d realised it was a footie night though I'd already researched the pubs I wanted to visit so the last minute requests to ensure that at least one of the pubs had a big screen were left entirely in the lap of the footballing gods. That said, I did try to encourage some casual betting by seeing who would be willing to lay a couple of pound out on predicting the first scorer and final score of the match. In the end 5 of us girded our loins with stubby biros and placed the following wagers:

Munchkin Steve – Baines - 3-0 to England

Aussie Pete - Lewandowski - 2-1 to England

Big J - Gerard - 3-1 to England

No-Nickname Michael - Lampard – 3-1 to England

BGC - Sturridge - 1-0 to England

None of our fairer sex tourists seemed interested in laying out some money although we did hear later that George loves a flutter and can often be found down her local bookies with a flat cap and rollie.

Anyway onto the tour……..

Our exit from the office was somewhat delayed by the cosmetic application of the ladies meaning that Spikey Haired Ed, Pete and Steve actually left early to get a quick one in on the way. The rest of us were left stood around waiting for various touching up procedures, especially by Lucie who seemed to be going for the full war-paint look. Finally on our way, we could this week forgo the tube journey and take a leisurely stroll down Eastcheap itself, picking the three early doors drinkers up on the way to the first pub.

....a small place tucked up an alley way......

 

The Ship in Talbot Court is a small place tucked up an alley way but which never the less opens out into a sizable courtyard. It's a Nicholson’s place which meant that the scanners amongst the tour were back on track with a potential scan although this was scuppered when the certificate couldn't be located for love nor money. What could be located was beer and we once again did that trick where everyone says "we'll have what Rich is having" (in this case a beautiful pint of Gathering Storm from the Leeds Brewery) and then they all moan that it's not what they really like. Well I say all, it did meet with some approval from some quarters but the general opinion was that they'd sooner be drinking Peroni, which in the case of Pete, Steve & Ed was exactly what they were doing.

If you push this button, it operates the heaters.

Because the pub was so small and crowded, we had to split ourselves up, with 4 or 5 of us drinking outside in the courtyard and the rest huddled round a table on the inside. But maybe the external drinkers got the best of the deal as the owners of the Ship had not only fitted patio heaters but a switch that allowed you to turn them on again once the timer had run down.

A fantastic photo showing the tour both inside and outside the Ship.

 

The next place I'd selected was just a few hundred metres further on along Eastcheap by the junction of Gracechurch Street and is the sort of place I would normally avoid like the plague. Called the Folly it's a vast cavernous modern drinking hole designed for the young and trendy but from their website it seems you can also buy fruit and veg there? Thinking there might be an orange or lemon or two on offer I'd put this pub into the schedule but probably could have saved myself the trouble.

The Folly - Photo not taken on the night.

It wasn't all bad and I should be fair as there was a choice of two beers which places like this don't normally have at all. Plumping for pints of Woodfords Wherry it was far too cold but at least it wasn't bottles of Becks or Stella. (Joke for the murder mystery people there.)

So with two pubs down and two to go it was now time to move on to the Church for the evening and it was just a quick pop around the corner to the very aptly named Clement’s Lane and the aforementioned St Clement’s Eastcheap. Unfortunately the history and interesting facts about this place were fewer than the other St Clement’s and as the church is a) crammed up a narrow side street and b) undergoing restorations it was also hardly the scenic beauty that the first St Clements was - and it's only got one bell.

Amazing blue sky for an evening this time of year.

Anyway interesting facts such as they were are that it's another Sir Christopher Wren designed place which he did after the original church burnt down in the Great Fire of London. For this job he received the princely sum of a third of a Hogshead of wine which works out, I reckon, to about 420 bottles of the stuff so you'll have to make your own judgement as to whether he got a good deal or not.

SamuelPepys came and listened to a sermon here once and Edward Purcell, son of the great English baroque composer Henry, was once organist here and that folks, as Mr Buggs Bunny might say, is all.

Brenda and Steve face the camera. Ed hides in his Super Dry jacket.

The next watering hole was another Cask Marque venue called the Vintry, a Fullers pub but quite different from their normal shiny brass and traditional looking places around the corner in Abchurch Yard (but nearer St Mary Abchurch than St Clements). This was more a restaurant than a pub and although there was a good compliment of Fullers ales the focus seemed to be on the food and wine rather than the beer.

People having a good time - honestly.

 

I went for Red Fox which I think both Charlie, Jayson and Gemma followed suit on. Brenda was still on the ale mission but went for Gales Seafarers instead. Lucie and Isabelle had switched to cider, such are the vagaries of French taste buds and George was on the Vodka Fun Drinks. The rest were on lager and as such don't get a mention.

To be perfect honest the Red Fox wasn't the best it can be. I usually really like this autumnal offering from Fullers but I don't know whether this was too cold or just out of condition, but I've certainly had better, much much better.

 

BGC gets all arty.

 

It was that time of night when the lightweights left and so it was au revoir to Lucie and Isabelle and sod off to Ed (he had ironing to do or something) but the rest of us made our way down Cannon Street, pausing only to photograph St Pauls, before turning into Bush Lane and the final pub of the evening, the Bell.

There seems to be some history to the Bell as it claims to be the oldest small pub in the City of London (I guess that might depend on your definition of “small”) and also can trace the various landladies and landlords back to 1673.

The Licensees of The Bell - Exactly what it says on the tin.

 

It's certainly a charming little place that was just the right side of crowded and atmospheric and to the relief of all followers of the round ball it came complete with three of the smallest big screen you're ever likely to see in a pub nowadays.

The beer range wasn't huge, but there was Cornish Coast from Sharpes alongside their better known Doombar. I think there was another ale on as well but I'm struggling to recall the name of it.

Anyway, just about making out the footballing action though the subtitles which were taking up almost a third of the big screen’s small screen, we settled down (standing) to watch the match.

Football never makes for good reported commentary but the highlights were when the bar manageress stood on a stool to raise the volume of the telly and instantly England scored (a Rooney header) and halftime when almost everyone dashed out for a halftime McDonalds.

A tricky second half and a tricky second pint were negotiated and we were all satisfied with a 2-0 victory which will see Roy’s men safely on the plane to Rio for next year. What was less satisfying was hearing that the Bell closes at 22:00 for some reason and that none of us had won any money on the bets.

Still thems the breaks!

Oranges and Lemons say St Clement Danes

Well if ever we wanted a good turn out to kick the new tour off with a swing we certainly got it on Thursday night. A very grand total of 15 of us braved a pretty dull old evening to get things underway, which was very comforting especially as we’d lost a slack handful of tourists since completing Monopoly and starting this one. Some to new jobs, some to new countries. Hopefully it wasn’t anything I said, but the inappropriate touching might have had an effect.

For those still not crystal clear about the theme for this tour, tonight we were visiting the first church on the Oranges and Lemons rhyme, which happens to be St Clement Danes on Strand just by the Law Courts. The best thing about starting things off with this place is that the bells actually do chime the tune to Oranges and Lemons so things really could not have been set up better.

Now as all fans of Monopoly and the Monopoly Blog will have spotted we had to visit this area before, both when we did Strand itself and then again when we did Fleet Street, which joins onto Strand. But as we’re not tying ourselves to just Cask Marque pubs this time it really wasn’t much effort to find 4 likely locations to make sure we had plenty of liquid refreshment on our way around.
There were 8 of us who took the tube down to Temple and upon exiting the station stumbled straight into a fruit and veg stall. It would have been perfect if the vendor had been crying out about his “oranges and lemons, nice and fresh, 4/6 a pound” but you can’t have everything and it was still a good omen.

"Eh? You want a kilo of lemons?"

The first place on tonight’s agenda was the Walkabout bar, which is built into the same building as Temple station itself. Now, normally I avoid place like Walkabouts, vast cavernous vertical drinking dens with few features to redeem themselves, but I felt that the tour should embrace all manner of pubs and especially as Aussie Pete had arranged his diary just to make this place, it felt right to at least give it a go.

That decision was soon proved to be a foolish one. I’d not expected a range of craft ales in such a place but when the larger of choice, Heineken, is also “off” and we were left with the watered down fairy liquid that is Coors Light, things are really only going to go one way.

But at least we could retire to a comfortable seating area couldn’t we? Well no. We could perch on a couple of stools by some tables laid out like a school classroom and try to speak against the distraction of 47 big screen TVs, all playing something different and the overpowering beat of some tuneless music. The one good thing about such a well known location like this though, is that it makes for a good meeting place and we duly met up with New-Guy Micky who was cutting a very casual figure next to all us suited buffoons.

Look at everyone having a great time. Mags is phoning a taxi.

I know I sound like a grumpy old man, (hey I am a grumpy old man!) but this is my own personal pub hell which makes the fact the place was rammed and had a man dressed as a Punch and Judy show in it even more puzzling. George, Monika and straight-hair-Adele turned up and were rather unfortunately forced to down their drinks quickly as the rest of us desperately wanted out. Luckily George and Adele were only drinking vodka based fruit drinks but I have to say how impressed I was by Monika’s downing of her pint! Well, remember whose seat she’s in back in the office, she’s got a heck of a lot to live up to!

From the banks of the Embankment we cut through the Temple Inns of Court to Little Essex Street where our next pub was to be a revisit of one from the Monopoly Tour. The Cheshire Cheese is a lovely little corner boozer which is rather over looked by it’s more well known namesake on Fleet Street (Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese). Aussie Pete, New Guy Micky and Spiky Haired Ed and I had had a really nice evening there in November last year and this visit was just as nice although as the weather was a little milder we could take our drinks outside. Which was quite lucky because the 12 of us had now swelled to 15 as we met Ed, Sybil and Buddy Rob on location. The beer range seemed to be the same as before and I selected Tribute from St Austell for all those not partaking of Vodka Fun Drinks. It was certainly a welcome change to the awful Coors but some of the girls did seem to struggle. Monika on the other hand was downing a second pint of Becks very much in the style of Jack Duckworth.

Gemma and George strike their everyday work pose.

When we visited the Cheshire Cheese last time we had to walk past another pub on the opposite corner which looked everything the Walkabout wasn’t and now we weren’t handcuffed into any sort of limitation it was but a 50 metre dash from the pretty Christmas Windows of the Cheshire Cheese (Gemma’s words, not mine) and into the welcoming arms of the Edgar Wallace.

First things to note of course is that Edgar Wallace was a famous British Crime Writer and co-creator of King Kong. Quite why he has a pub named after him is maybe more mysterious than his books but that was all really by-the-by as we entered to be greeted by about 38 different barmaids who all wanted to serve us. When it came down to ordering the drinks they really did all want to take part, one would pull the pint, one would add the price up, one took the money and a different one gave me the change – perhaps they were all really pumped about meeting the BGC and just had to get in on the act? Maybe?

Pumps at the Edgar Wallace

 

The beer range was superb. I don’t know exactly how many pumps there were, but there were at least 2 porters and I rather adventurously chose the Vanilla Coffee Porter called Brazilian from the Colchester Brewery. I thought this amazing, rich, sweet, dark and very moreish, it was definitely a one pint only sort of beer but totally unique for all that. Alas the tourists, with the exception of Big-J, failed to agree with me, I never knew so many people don’t like coffee anyway? How do they get through their working days without it?

We retired to an upstairs room where there was a second bar with a mannequin with a fedora behind it and all manner of 1950s & 19060s advertisement memorabilia over the walls. You would never get bored in this place or need to take in a newspaper; you could simply read the walls!

There's a good day's lung cancer in 5 Grandees. Look, it says so there!

 

We stayed for another here round. The ale drinkers went for Triple Hop by Partners Brewery, the Vodka Fun Drink drinkers went for Vodka and Monika had another pint of Becks.

It was then onto the highlight of the evening as we meandered to the top of Strand and crossed onto the traffic island that is the home of St Clement Danes church. First interesting fact is that it is one of only two “island” churches in London and second interesting fact is that it’s the central church of the RAF, which is why there are statues of the war time commanders of Fighter and Bomber Command, Hugh Dowding and Arthur “Bomber”Harris outside.

From L-R: Bomber Harris, Air-Vice Marshall Smith, Sergeant Slaughter etc etc

 

If the tourist weren’t amazed by these monumental vignettes then they were blown away as we timed our visit to perfection and the bells rang out at 9 o clock. At first we feared we might be short changed as the Westminster Chimes and 9 “bongs” were sounded but then as if by citrus fruit magic the tune of Oranges and Lemons gently played out. It was actually quite nice!

So with music in our ears and fear in Gemma’s eyes after spotting a very dodgy looking geezer hanging around in the church gardens we made our way into Carey Street and the final pub of the evening, the tiny little Seven Stars.

It’s a cute little place but you really wouldn’t want GiantHaystacks, Hattie Jaques & Cyril Smith to come in on a pub crawl as you were trying to get served. There’s but a tiny slim corridor between the bar and standing area and anyone trying to go up the stairs to the loos needs crampons and an ice pick.

Rob and Simon wait for the appearance of Oliver Hardy.

 

Luckily we managed to sneak into one of the end rooms which gave us slightly more room amongst the legal wigs and the pub cat, who for some reason was sporting an Elizabethan ruff. He didn’t seem to mind though as long as we didn’t disturb him from his ultra cool pose against the lights on The WigBox (very very creepy) and kept tickling his ears.

A single round was consumed here, it was Truman’s Runner Ale for me, not exactly sure what the others were having, probably more Vodka Fun Drinks and no Becks as Monika had left by now. So it was quite a sensible and sober crowd that took a rather roundabout route back to Charring Cross and various tube and main lines.

Call me Andy Pandy again and I'll claw ya eyes out!

 

But still the new tour is begun, so let the bells ring out! DingDong!

Get 'em while they're fresh!

“Is there such a thing as too much of a good thing?” asked the wonderfully voiced Spine from Steam Powered Giraffe and to answer his question I would say, no.

So to that end, and after much badgering and personal requests I’ve decided to resurrect the London Pub Crawl Tour and carry on from where the Monopoly Tour left off.

Those faithful readers of the Playing Monopoly with the BGC will remember, hopefully with some sort of amusement (but probably not), the yearlong trundle around the Monopoly Board, taking in as many Cask Marque pubs as we could whilst visiting all the various property and other game squares.

And the point of this rather pointless task? Well, leaving aside the fact that it did get us out of the office and into something places just a tad more interesting, we were also following Cask Marque’s Cask Finder trail as we all (well some of us at least) tried to be crowned as Cask Marque Ambassadors.

Anyway, you need to read the first blog to see how we all got on but once this had finally finished there were a couple of forthcoming ideas muted around for a new tour, including playing Cluedo (how exactly that would work I still don’t know) or visiting some of the various blue plaques celebrating the great and the good that are littered around the streets of the capital.

But somehow none of these suggestions seemed quite right. But luckily inspiration wasn’t too far away as a superb idea was put forward by none other than one of the Monopoly Tourists, namely Big-J.

What he suggested was a similar tour round various locations, just like Monopoly, but this time following the children’s nursery rhyme “Oranges and Lemons”. For those who haven’t a clue what I’m going on about, and I was most surprised to discover that a heck of a lot of people really didn’t know this poem; you can discover a huge amount of information about the origins and the various versions here.

Big-J and I were only familiar with the 6 most common verses so we had thought that the tour might prove to be very short but the wiki page shows a much longer version and if you consider we can also “double up” on some of the locations as there’s some dispute as to which of London’s churches the rhyme refers to, there’s actually a total of at least 18 possible locations. So for those who want to plan their diaries the rhyme we’ll be following will this: 

Gay go up and gay go down,

To ring the bells of London town. 

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clements. 

Bull's eyes and targets,

Say the bells of St. Margret's. 

Brickbats and tiles,

Say the bells of St. Giles'. 

Halfpence and farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin's. 

Pancakes and fritters,

Say the bells of St. Peter's. 

Two sticks and an apple,

Say the bells of Whitechapel. 

Pokers and tongs,

Say the bells of St. John's. 

Kettles and pans,

Say the bells of St. Ann's. 

Old Father Baldpate,

Say the slow bells of Aldgate. 

You owe me ten shillings,

Say the bells of St. Helen's. 

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey. 

When I grow rich,

Say the bells of Shoreditch. 

Pray when will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney. 

I do not know,

Says the great bell of Bow. 

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

Here comes a chopper to chop off your head. 

Chop chop chop chop

The last man's dead! 

For those who still haven’t got a clue what’s going on here’s the rules in much simpler format. 

·         We visit each of the churches mentioned in the rhyme.

·         BGC discovers at least 3 very interesting facts about the church.

·         BGC tells those facts to the rest of the tour.

·         The rest of the tour tell BGC to shut up and stop being boring.

·         We find some pubs near to the church.

·         We drink something. 

There is one final change to make clear, and I hope the good people at Cask Marque don’t strike me off their Xmas card list, but this time I’m not going to limit the tour to just Cask Marque pubs. Now let there be no misunderstanding, I still heartily endorse the Cask Marque aims and objectives but I did feel we sometimes found ourselves on a revolving carousel of Nicholson’s, Taylor Walker and Fuller’s pubs. This time I want to take in “the others” be they ale pubs, snazzy bars or horrible chain places with no redeeming features whatsoever. We may well revisit some old favourites as well and of course if there’s a new Cask Marque place to visit then, well it would be rude not to. 

So, it’s time to join hands, form a circle and begin our second childhoods. Things are going to get fruity!