And good gardening...!

Pub no. 125. The Abbey Tavern, 23rd December 2012.

Always be wary of pubs that say things outside like "Drink Eat Garden". Are these nouns? Clearly "eat" can never be a noun, can it? I'd be more happy if they were verbs, and I could go in to drink and eat, and then nip out the back to see how my carrots and runner-beans are doing. But we all know what it means really, it means they're idiots.

G

The only ale on was Shingle Shells, so I shingled-shelled out £1.90 (I think) for a half. The place is big, empty, dark and cold. But that didn't bother the barstaff, who were clearly very excited about Christmas or going home for the day. One barmaid decided to swap her Santa hat for the one on the other pump above, and popped hers back on the Shingle Shellsu pump handle. "Oh - is the Shingle Shells off? I was going to have another." I lied. "No." she looked at me with a look that said "Why? Why are you asking me this stupid question you stupid person? Why on earth would it be off?" as she waltzed away very happy with her new hat on her hear and her old one on the pump.

A lady came in and asked to order some food from one of the numerous menus. One girl took her order to be then told by a chap that he wasn't sure if they still did food. She went to the loo while he went to kitchen to ask. No more food he told the lady, can you collect the menus he asked the barmaid. The lady wasn't happy. "I'm starving!!" she whinged.

The blackboard outside was boasting that they were showing Christmas movies, A Wonderful Life, Mary Poppins (is this a Christmas movies?) - etc. I can't remember what the others were. Inside they were indeed showing Mary Poppins - always a fun film to watch. But they were showing it with the sound down, so you could singalong to the jukebox rather than Julie & Dick. Chim chim cha-boo!

Wild west Annie.

Pub 124, Annie's Bar, 23rd December 2012

Not long back this was once one of the most colourful pubs in Kentish Town and called itself Auntie Annie's Porter House. I never went in though, sadly - perhaps not being a huge fan of porter. Apparently it was another honest rough & ready Irish pub, but then they went and did it up. I was chatting to a drinking-pal just recently, who's very knowledgeable about all things Camden-pub, and he mentioned that a Christmas knees-up he was going on was to take him to Annie's. "Isn't that a bit poncey now?" I aked. "Naaaaahhh! It's like the wild west in there!" he said. Intrigued I had to go.

Blimey. What an odd place... it wouldn't look out of place in Las Vegas. Luxurious curtains, velvetette banquettes, what must be the hugest chandelier-type-thing in Camden and a weird wavey bar that seemed to think it was in a cocktail lounge.

I got myself a pint of Guinness and settled down at the front of the pub. The football was on, and everyone in here was watching it, perhaps 8 or 10 gentleman all with lager and shirts untucked, but not at at rowdy. In fact it seemed very calm and cosy in there, and despite it all feeling very odd felt very comfortable.

A middle-aged couple sat down by me, with no interest in the football, chatted for an age about what to drink and then moaned about how football in pubs ruins conversation. The Sky boxes went to standard for a moment or too and quiet murmuring threatened to break out while the cheerful friendly barmaid looked for the right remote and then looked for the right button.

Probably not a bad place to watch the footie if you're not after real ale. But it seems that the only people it attracts are moaning middle-class types who think it's trendy - "poncey" like I did, or the same old boozers that came here before the refurb. They should've just left it be... still it's nice to have a novelty I suppose no matter how odd it feels.

Uncomfortable reading

Pub no. 123. The Old Eagle, times various.

Nothing against the Old Eagle but I've never really like it. I'm not sure if it's the beer, which there isn't a huge lot to choose from and I'm sure isn't cheap. Or the barstaff whose English is rudimentary but seem to harbour the idea that they work in one of Camden's great secrets. Maybe it's the faintly ridiculous contrived bric-a-brac. Or maybe it's that I've never comfortable in here - physically comfortable that is. They've worried so much about making the chairs look trendy and stripped back and rustic, as places do these days, they've not worried at all about what they're like to sit on. So the resulting array of wobbly pews, straight-back dining chairs and "cool" battered leather sofas is a bit of a mess, and one that's difficult to get comfy in. The plants and conservatory bit round the look nice though.

I'd go back without too much moaning if there was a reason, but just to write a scoffily dismissive paragraph is not one!

Flown like a Falcon

Pub 122. The Falcon, long time ago.

This is first pub in Camden that I remember causing much angst when it became known it was going to close, which was some time ago now. Ten or twelve years probably. I would go there to watch bands, and don't remember much now. I remember a triangular stage I think, and a friend who was playing there one night being stalked by his eccentric Japanese ex who walked round cupping a toy frog in her hand.

Predictably it's luxury flats now, and sadly this is the only photo I can find on the net - admittedly after a very half-hearted search.