“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.

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!

Kettles and Pans say St Anne’s (and St Agnes)

One of the things that’s becoming obvious as we delve deeper and deeper into the verses of the Oranges and Lemons rhyme is the fact that all the church locations are based around the square mile of the City of London and it’s becoming increasingly more and more difficult to find new pubs to visit and not to make the various evening-outs overlap each other.

This week’s mission had just that sort of problem when the church revealed itself to be that of St Anne’s and St Agnes (poor old St Agnes doesn’t get a mention in the rhyme) which is on Gresham Street, just slightly further on down the road of where we finished the evening out for St Giles without Cripplegate. Although usually you only have to look left and right to fall over the nearest pub in London, this part of the city around Barbican isn’t at all well provided for in terms of pub numbers and it was quite a stretch to gather together some venues for the evening.

The City Tavern before it's demise.

What also didn’t help the mission was that one likely candidate; the City Tavern on Trump Street has now been demolished to make way for another huge office block that probably no-one will ever use. Luckily for the record-keeping of this blog, Google Maps hasn’t quite caught up to modern day events and still has images of the pub if you try to walk around the area using Street View. Perhaps as a Greene King house it might have never had the most interesting of beers on offer but it certainly did a nice line in window boxes.

Anyway on to the pubs that were still standing………

No1 Poultry - Loving the weirdy beardy and the bloke with the afro who have photo-bombed me.

We began the night, in a change to the normal run of events by meeting in the first pub rather than doing our normal herding cats waiting around in the office or waiting for the girls to finish their 2-for-1 cocktails in the Slug & Lettuce. The first pub on this occasion was The Green Man, a Wetherspoon’s basement pub located in the No 1 Poultry Building next to Bank tube station. This was a pub I’d visited before in the company of Aussie Pete (Remember him? Used to eat on his own? Funny accent?) when we were charging around getting the necessary Cask Marque scans needed for one of the Cask Ale Week’s special T-Shirts.

(L-R - James, James-James, James-James-James.)

The first arrivals were yours truly accompanied as usual by several side kicks in the forms of Spikey Haired Ed, James James, New Guy Micky and new converts to the tour Lisa and Reece. We were also joined by a second James, or maybe that should be a third James, who had finally after many promises of joining us made it out onto one of the expeditions. The evening was a damp and drizzly one and the 10 minute walk was made all the more challenging by the dawdling tourists and their dawdling umbrellas. Talking of umbrellas, in order to protect my new hair-do I’d picked up a bright blue stripped monstrosity of a brolly from the office and much to the jealousy of Ed remained bone dry all the way to the pub whereas he seems to take every drop of rain that might damage his perfect bonce as a personal insult..
First beer of the night was Darkest Devon from Exe Valley or at least it was for me, as the others went for continental lagers or vodka fun drinks. The pub is split over two floors and with the upstairs heaving at the gunwales we had to make do with a standing table at the bottom of the stairs As we waiting for everyone else to turn up.

There's a better head on this beer than on the person in the photo - oooo, been waiting to deliver that one for weeks!

We were swiftly joined by Buddy Rob just in time for the second round which in my case was something with “Gold” in the title but due to the reason I couldn’t get a mobile signal in the basement I failed to check into Untappd and therefore don’t have a clear record what it was.

A Comb-Under?

Also in my defence though, I was being put off by the chap stood next to me at the bar as I was placing the order. It’s to the credit of the collective British personality that usually even in the midst of the unruly scrum at the bar we still instinctively know who should be served before who. Now this chap standing to my left wasn’t trying to push ahead in fact his “problem” was the exact opposite in that he was being so meek and mild I was almost embarrassed for him as bar-person after bar-person over looked his proffered empty glass and went on to server someone else. That said it may have been down to one of the weirdest haircuts ever. You’ve all heard of the comb-over, which in my experience is usually centred on the front of the head. Well this chap had a comb-over but it was combed over the back of his head making for this mess of a “do”. Ah well, I hope his pint of “something Gold” went down well which is what I heard him finally order when someone had eventually seen him.

Mid-way through the second round we were joined by tonight’s eye candy in the form of Pissed-Up Phil, Natasha, Gemma and Lucie. Luckily for them it was only vodka fun drinks and halves of cider that needed to be downed before we left for the next place. But mind you, I think Phil still got in two pints in that time…..
The next place was the fabulously named The Old Doctor Butler’s Head, a back alley, wood-timber building currently owned by Shepherd Neame.  Doctor William Butler was the court physician to James I and was described as an eccentric, a drunkard and the greatest physician of his time. So apart from any medical qualifications this was a pub we should feel right at home in.

Unfortunately what we did feel in this pub was extremely crushed as it was absolutely rammed with the usual assortment of besuited city types. Somehow I made it to a place at the bar but that wasn’t enough to see me served before Gemma as obviously the barman had fallen in love with her perfect teeth and dazzling smile. We took the drinks outside where it was still spitting and drizzling and the big blue brolly came into its own as we nearly all managed to get under it and remained the right side of wet.

Wouldn't bother Gemma - hair looks a mess anyway.

No doubt this is a historical and interesting pub but the combination of size of the crowd, the arrogance of the suits and the wetness of the rain led us to scurry off pretty sharpish. But that wasn’t before Gemma had accosted two innocent chaps and accused them of being Italian.
The route now led us along Gresham Street and past the Guildhall and the Red Herring at the bottom of Wood Street which we visited as part of St Giles without Cripplegate, but this time we continued to Noble Street and the church for the evening.

Toilets just around the corner.

St Anne’s and St Agnes is another one of Christopher Wren’s rebuildings after the Great Fire of London. It’s built in the shape of a Greek Cross which apparently is quite rare in terms of church architecture and John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress, was a parishioner here once but as you can probably tell I was struggling for anything else interesting to say about the place. I think the tourists were quite glad of that though as the sound of the rains was making everyone need a toilet.

Note - The barmaid was not a Heavenly Blonde, she was actually a bit of a mardy cow.

Luckily then for everyone’s bladders that the final pub was just around the corner in St Martin’s Le-Grand, a Taylor Walker place called the Lord Raglan. Luckily this place was large enough to cope with the amount of people in there so it was relief from both crowds and rain, and relief for the bladders as well. The beer chosen was the delightfully named Heavenly Blonde from Oldershaw Brewery and perhaps it was so obviously named after Mazars’s very own Gelfling, Natasha, both she and Gemma joined me in a pint of the good stuff. Well I say joined, I had 2 and ½ pints whilst they grimaced and moaned about the ¼ pint they managed to keep down.

(L-R Heavenly Blonde, Heavenly Moustache, Devil Woman)

And then before you could say “time Gentlemen please” the night was over as the majority of the male contingent ran off the rest of the kitty to McDonalds and Phil and I had to console ourselves with a pizza in the company of the Three Degrees. But there was still time for a final beer, a bottle of Greens Gluten Free Pilsner, which was only chosen because it was the only thing I’d never had from the menu before.
So it was back to Liverpool Street for Natasha and Gemma, off jogging somewhere in the night for Lucie in her day-glo trainers and me to save Phil from falling on the tracks at Barbican. So just a normal night
really………….

Pokers and Tongs say The Chapel of St John’s

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

Chapel of St John's in the middle.

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

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

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

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

Idiot women got the wrong Tower in the background.

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

The 10 for 1 cocktail offer.

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

One element of the Hung, Drawn & Quartered.

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

Ah well, next time maybe.

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

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

All Bar None.

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

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

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

Titanic Stout.

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

Beautiful people of The Draft House.

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

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