The "Cal-torpe" Arms,

Pub 90. The Calthorpe Arms, 25th August 2012.

The last time I came here it was wonderfully shabby. I like that. but now it's been spruced up - and thankfully they haven't ruined it, although it does look a bit like the decor has come on the advice of Sir Walter Scott. 
The photo above, by the way, is nicked off Google and shows it pre-tartan tarting up. The doorway incidentally is handy for loitering in while watching for your bus coming, which I was doing on my last visit.

The usual Young's fare on offer, reliable as ever. Although the eastern European barmaid caused some price confusion thus:

"Tree-tur."

[I took this to mean £3.10 and presented her with £3.20]

"Tree-tur please!"

"Yes, there's three tweny."

"No! Tree tur!!"

"How much?"

"Tree turrr!"

She meant three thirty. Three pounds and thirty pence please. "Tree tur"??? What does that mean? It certainly deosn't mean you should give me a look as if to suggest the confusion was all my fault and I am stupid.

There was a gang on regulars round the bar, and it was nice and quiet - the telly with the sound down. All jolly good. 

Then a bemused looking German tourist came in sat down and perused the menu before getting up to order the gammon, and sat down to eat it while engaging with his iPhone.

Then a few minutes later another bemused German tourist came in, sat down to peruse the menu before getting up to order a lasagne, and he sat down to eat it while reading his book. 

They didn't seem to know each other, so what an odd coindence I thought. And how annoying that now the pub stinks of fried food.

Grey area

Pub 89. The Yorkshire Grey, 25th August 2012

I only had time for a quickie in here, as as soon as I got to the bar I was told they were closing soon for a private party. This really annoys me when pubs do this. It's a public house! PUBLIC! Where's your function room? It was never allowed in the old days. Oh well. When I said no problems, I just want a swift half and the toilet they helpfully & eagerly pointed me in the direction of the toilet. I really had to convince them that I wanted a drink too. But the bar-staff were very nice all the same, although one of them spent the whole twenty minutes I was in there pounding some white powder in a large glass jar with a long metal implement like a medieval alchemist's apprentice. God knows what he was doing.

The beer was nice - although I can't remember what it was now. The one on the right in the photo, which I can't make out. The pub was very pleasant, a bit smaller than it looks on the outside though. Look out for the man on said Yorkshire Grey at the top of the building, very nice that.

Clerk is unwell

Pub 88. The Clerk & Well, 25th August 2012.

I don't really know what to say about this pub. It's awful. It's not rough or unpleasant or horrible or loud or dirty... it's just so dull and bland it's awful. Ok, so there's nothing about it to actually dislike but that's because there's nothing about it! Which makes it awful.

Completely devoid of any character. And a stupid feeble made up name too, I'd bet a pound to a penny that who-ever came up with has no notion of the actual clerk's well just down the road that gives the area its name.

The Deauchars IPA was not very nice, and bar was a bit itimidating so I didn't notice the EPA just a drip tray away. The few people in here were bar people, as opposed to pub people, if you get my drift. For example, two very trendily dressed young chaps, heavy with hair-gel and guffawing loudly came to the bar. One ordered a Kopperberg or whatever this week's hip cider is. The other carefully examined the pumps, walked up and the down the bar perusing each shiney silver tap, and then still had to ask "What lagers have you got?" and on hearing a run-down of their fizzy fare stopped at one, say Stella, and quickly piped with a "ooh - a Stella shandy please!". Please indeed.
It had been raining all day and I counted 3 men in knee lengths shorts and flip flops.

There's nothing really made me want to stay here at all, maybe if they were showing a footie match and there was no other pub within a country mile. The only thing that entertained me while I was hear was the Chinese takeaway next door was called "Kung Food". Haha. And the pub stunk of it.

Cocks

Pub 87. The Cock Tavern, 25th August 2012.

The only time I've been here before was on the occasion of the Somers Town Festival or something, when after drinking beer outside all day we decided to go inside and drink more, and go to the loo. I can't remember being overly enamoured with the pub then but do remember that when I went to the loo on finding it a bit busy decided to pop into a cubicle for a wee, as you do. On entering what I thought was the cubicle,  and being multi-tasker I was already extracting John Thomas ready, I was somewhat surprised to find myself in the pool room. Rather than a poo room. I quickly zipped back up and spun on my heels, chuckling to myself. I wonder what fun will be had this time.

Well, none in a word. What an awful pub. Just seemed to be full of people shouting at each other. Irish people shouting in an excited gossipy benign way, and English people shouting at each other in a foul-mouth moronic way. But as they had live footie on a 4x3 CRT telly I pulled up a barstool and got a pint of John Blog's kegflow tinny-taste bitter. Which looked cloudy.

The football coverage was marred by the ill-considered opinions of particulary vociferous cretin, who can only be described at best as rather unpleasant and more accurately as very ugly. How anyone can swear so loudly and with so much vitriol over a corner-kick, within 3 feet of the landlady and not get a ticking off I don't know. He would probably blame the lager and blacks.
The pool room round the back was now a dingy 'big-screen' room, and wasn't very nice at all.
The only moment of levity was when a very old chap in tweed asked for a port & brandy to be told that they've been told he wasn't allowed. He was obviously aware and was chancing it on a different barmaid. He chuckled / sighed, "worth a try!" I said, and he nodded in agreement.
But that aside, what an awful pub.

East nor west

Pub 86. The Eastnor Castle, 25th August 2012.

What is one to do when caught out in a heavy thunderstom sans-brolly while out and about on a non-pub related photo-assignment? Dash into the nearest pub of course! And the nearest pub on this occasion was the Eastnor Castle in Somers Town - uh no! It's always looked a bit rough on the outside, but as we've seen that can and does often mean nothing.

Inside it's quite cosey and comfy. Just the one room but it's nicely arranged. No surprises in that there's no ales on - despite the painted gable end stating otherwise - so a cold, fizzy lager was ordered, and cold and fizzy it was. 

It was quite busy, with most people sticking round the bar. Three of four other lonesomes were dotted around at tables here & there, and so I did likewise, cagely taking photos hoping not to be spotted. To be honest I don't know if anyone would give a hoot, but I'd rather not find out.

One of the other loners was a woman who'd seemed to have just popped in for a pint and a quiet moment to herself. Nice to see proof that women can do that.

There isn't much else to say really. It's a locals' boozer for its locals. They all seemed to know each and the atmosphere was rather pleasant. If they had ales on I could easily spend more time here. Watching the football scores on the new-fangled digital text reminded me of being a student and doing the same thing via Ceefax. Happy days.

The rain carried on outside and got heavier and heavier. A huge clap of thunder caused everyone, including myself, to look towards the door as if they'd be something to see. The chap with the beard joked about it being a great excuse not to go home, and needing a boat if it carried on. Always nice to have a little bit of pub banter about the weather! Anyways, by now my crossword was done so off I went, sadly no boat was available.

Gold sovereign

Pub 85. The Sovereign. 7th August 2012.

Don't judge a book by its cover they say. And rightly so. But what about judging a pub by its cover? Can the inside of a boozer be determined by its outside? Probably not, but you still do though. "Looks a bit posh...", "What a dump!" etc.
The Sovereign is stuck on the end of a rather run-down looking parade of shops (can you judge parades of shops by their covers??) in the huge council estate mini-town that sits just west of Euston station, so it certainly doesn't look posh. The numerous black cabs parked up outside suggest that it may well be no dive either. And hanging baskets are always a good sign right?

It's much bigger than I thought and, well, much nicer. A proper basic pub interior, which sadly these days has taken as a good thing. I scanned up & down the lengthy bar and asked the friendly avuncular landlord if the hand-pumps did anything No, they didn't. So I went for a pint of Guinness - then the landlord pointed out the range of bottled ales he had, and a bottle of Greene King IPA was popped. Which is worth noting tastes much better out of a bottle than out of a cask!

The landlord disappeared off to one end of the bar to quietly read the paper and mind his own business, and down at the other were 4 or 5 boozers postulating loudly and enthusiastically on matters of the day and local gossip. The conversation was a good-natured mix of laughter, incredulity and the phrase "faaakkkin' ewl!". Presumably they were the cabbies - not drinking too much I hope! I took a few snaps as discretely as I could.

After about half a pint a chap came in and settled at the bar next to me. After a brief chat with the landlord he said hello to me and introduced himself. Eamon. Hello Eamon! Eamon was annoyed because he'd just had an argument in the Exmouth Arms over the amount of change given. Then he asked me to pop into the Costcutter to buy him some fags! He even said I could spend the change on an ice-cream. Bless. When I came back in I mentioned that's the only time I'd done that someone who wasn't a tracksuited yoof! A few moments later I was sat down the end of the bar with the "cabbies" and had been introduced. Dave, Bernie, Gary... I think. Not too sure now. And the very nice landlord Denny (I think) - the best guv'nor in Camden by all accounts and I saw no reason to disagree.

After a little while a few of the chaps had to go, and it was just me Eamon and Bernie (?? I think). So pleasant was it all that I asked Denny to get me another bottle. Offers to pay for it were offered, and I offered to buy them one as one does, I can't remember now but as pub etiquette demands it doesn't really matter who pays for what, as long it balances out. More chat & life stories followed. We tucked into the aftermath of a buffet for a funeral wake that had taken place in the pub that afternoon. Beer and sausages!

Eamon showed me some of the items hanging up around the place, one being a letter about the Denny's dad being executed or shot by the Brits in the 20s for IRA activitites. Like so many good honest boozers the Sovereign is very Irish. Of the four tellies each showing a different sports channel, two of them were Irish.

After more chat, including other pubs in the Borough amongst other things - these are people that like pubs, it turned out that all the taxi drivers were in the cafe next door, the Sovereign Grill I think it's called. Indeed each time the (land/?)lady came through the connecting door by the racks of bettings slips to get something or other it sounded very lively in there.

As I left I was implored to come back. And I will. I think it's another one that's under the threat of closure. Fingers crossed the threat fails. Everyone knows each other, and strangers like myself are made to feel very welcome too.

Eamon says the Sov is the best pub in Camden, and real ale aside I don't think I'll find better. If you like a proper pub how a pub should be for people who like pubs, then you'll no doubt agree.

Head sup

Pub 84. The Camden Head, 13th April 2012

Oops! I popped in the Camden Head ages ago but clean forgot to write it up. Such is my dedication and commitment! Or perhaps it was all the excitement of the Grand National that day distracting me - spending my winnings may have addled my memory perhaps... thank goodness for 5th place payouts!

The Camden Head - thankfully no longer Liberties - is one of the oldest pubs in Camden Town. Although having said that it's no older than any of the buildings around it which by other parts of Camden isn't really that old. But we all love a good old Victorian boozer (well, building). And it would have probably remained missing from my record forever if it wasn't for a nice chap called Jack who was wondering why I'd not popped in it. Jack does have an interest, but for a gratefully received reminder Jack receives a link to that interest: his Camden Head page - the pub's own website. Prepare for the traffic Jack!

The pub itself is fine. Adnams this and Adnams that. Took a while to get served but it was very busy on a sunny Saturday afternoon. They do food, comedy and music - I haven't tried any of them.

Perfectly good, pleasant, uncontrived, no-frills but decent hectic high street boozer and on this particular stretch of Camden's lariest high street that's worth a lot.

Pineapple chunks

Pub 83. The Pineapple, 2nd August 2012.

Remember the hoo-har a few years back when they wanted to close the Pineapple down? Famously, a public revolt that Wat Tyler would have been proud kept the pub open for the good people of Kentish Town, and I'm proud to say that I played a very minor role myself. And it served as a wake-up call for other imminent pub closures - with mixed success.

So roll on 5 or 6 years or so and what we have we got? Pub of the year on a few occasions and I'm sure people will tell you it's some kind of hidden back street treasure. And it is, although not hidden enough on gig nights at the nearby Forum. Local reports are that the beer has gone downhill, but on this visit the Bombardier was fine. Annoyingly though Gemma Gibbons' fantastic silver in the judo came just 2 minutes too late for me to enjoy paying £2.12 for it. (All pints were £2.12 for an hour after Great Britain won a medal - nice touch!)

The bar-behind is lovely, and the pub is lovely. The front room can be a bit cramped and the bar is always surrounded by a hardcore gang of locals who seem to want to protect it from the advances from anyone else not in their clique. Although these bunch of regulars have much fun amongst themselves they have no time for irregulars like me. And to be honest why should they. This is their pub and a good pub should have a good bunch of regulars. Otherwise it's just a bar, but I digress... You should have seen their faces when I made a pretend-approach to their cheese & biscuits that they had laid out on a table, on open view to everyone but seemingly just for them. But the bar-staff are welcoming to all!

As well as getting cramped there's a lot of furniture for too small a space. Where I was sat by the door the locals were towering above on their bar-stools and that pretty much blocked the space for anyone walking past. At least on this occasion one of the great pub destroyers of modern times didn't happen - the person on the banquette next to me ordering up a huge plate of sizzling spicey stinky Thai-food. It has happened here before - most off putting and made my eyes water for the wrong reasons. But everyone else seems to like it!
Maybe I should have sat out in the rather nice conservatory.

The beer festivals and Easter bonnet competition are worth a look. Thank God it didn't close.

Can't stand the heat?

Pub 82. The Blues Kitchen. 31st July 2012.

Who is the Blues Kitchen for? Tourists I suppose who want to come to London / Camden and then want to forget about where they are for in here they could be anywhere in the world. The idea is that you're in some Memphis roadhouse but the reality is you're just some big dull insipid gloomy air-conditioned faux-American contrived-pubbery somewhere in the world.

No ale of course, but the very subtely labeled chrome pumps make it very difficult to know what they do have. I had a Guinness. It's so bland and designer-comfy it's impossible not to dislike it but there's not a lot to like really either. Perhaps the recently exposed brickwork on the exterior? The endlessly cheery league-of-nations barstaff?

It does have two things going for it, 1. it's not the Oh! Bar anymore. And 2. there's free live music most week day evenings, which isn't a bad thing.

Solid gold

Pub 81. The Golden Lion. 31st July 2012

Surely one of the most impressive buildings in this part of the borough, now the Golden Lion stands isolated and lonely looking out like a Victorian sentinel over the bland 20th Century light-industrial redevelopment.

Sadly property developers - the same lot that did for The Parr's Head - have their eyes and more worryingly their paws on it, and there's a real chance it could go the way of many other fine old boozers. English Heritage are considering listing, and you can't really see why they'd turn it down so fingers crossed

The pub is large and airy but not barn-like so agoraphobics should still be able to feel cosy. Although long since joined together the public bar room and the saloon bar room are still very much evident. In the public bar end a load of lager drinking Brits were playing pool, down at the saloon end the Irish contingent were busy downing the Guinness. Everyone seem very local and very friendly, including the barmaid and long-standing 'proper' landlady. Too few are these are left nowadays.

The bar itself is a wonderful wooden work of wonder. The two old tills are lovely, and one is more than just an ornament busily ker-chinging away with every sale.

There's no ale on, although they do have some handpumps and one still had a turned-round clip on. I asked whether they ever issue forth but the barmaid said they'd not had ale on for ages. Oh well, fair enough. A pint of Guinness for £3.60 isn't that bad.

A few of the Irish fellas who were engaged in much jolly pub banter amongst themselves and the barmaid & landlady suddenly sat down round a table, got out their banjos, pipes and the like and started twiddle-diddley-deeing away - and very very nice it was too. They were playing for a good 20 mins or so, and it seemed very impromptu. Take a look & listen on YouTube here. Super stuff. Every pub should have one!

The Golden Lion is a really super pub, and where else can boast an array of bakelite light switches like this? Pray to whomever you pray to that it stays open. The sad but not-unexpected news this week that it looks likely the Crown & Goose is going might hopefully be a Euston Arch-style last straw for pub redevelopment.

Signing up to the Facebook campaign can't hurt.


**Update** - plans have gone in to redevelop the Golden Lion into flats. A familiar but sorry tale.
The plans are here - read all about it, and tell Camden Council your views.

***Another updated*** Despite Camden chucking out the last application, the developers have appealed.
The details for it here - and you can leave a comment. So please do!