Elixir of life?

Pub 216, Elixir. 22nd July 2013.

Must be difficult running a pub here, in that no-man's land between Mornington Crescent and Euston. So well done to them for trying. I do remember it being Rowley's - a sports bar I think. Sadly when it was the Seymour Arms was much before my time.

Like one or two other pubs on the manor - The Fitzroy and the Marquess Cornwallis - today was a day when the air-conditioning was welcome. There was no ale, but as I was very hot unusually the "Boddington's Extra Cold" caught my eye, so that is what asked for.
"You mean you want ice in it?" asked the bar-man.
"Pardon?" I replied.
"Extra cold?"
"That's just what it says on the pump..."
"Oh."

It wasn't really that cold when it came.

I sat down, listened to the banter between the two old regulars at the bar and the barmen, concerning how unpleasant prison is and how expensive fans are at moment. Drank my surprisingly palatable keg Boddies. And left.

Fancy a P?

Pub 215, The Prince Arthur. 16th July 2013.

I remember quite a few people sitting here before nipping off to St Aloyuis round the corner, but for some reason I never joined them, just bade them hello and that I would see them later. Perhaps I was put off by the dull pub sign - just a large capital P. I can be put off by such things!

It's alright. The 90s indie kid would approve of the music playing. But unfortunately the Everard's Sunchaser wasn't the nicest - perhaps ironically suffering in the hot weather. But definitely one of the better pubs on Eversholt Street.

Rude hunt

Pub 214, The Huntley. 16th July 2014.

I hadn't seen this pub before, apparently it used to be called the Barley Corn back in the 18th & 19th Centuries. Now it's called the Huntley. Who? No idea.
As I got near the door, the bouncer snapped at me "Students only!!", with all the manners of someone who can only get a job as a bouncer at a student bar. This fellow needs to go and be student at a charm school I think.

Still worth a mention as it used to a pub, and if I could've gone in I would have.

The Fitzroy

Pub 213, The Fitzroy Tavern. 16th July 2013.

Good old Samuel Smiths, you know exactly what you're going to get. And that is what you get at the Fitzroy. And the efficient air-con is very nice on such a sweltering day. And the electrically-pumped Old Brewery Bitter is pleasantly chilled.

The surly barman was quite so pleasant though. The only 2 words he grumped at me were the three numbers signifying the price of my drink. No "What would you like sir?" or "Please" or a "Thank you" required. I think he saddened by how awful his tattoos had turned out.

The downstairs bar would have been welcome if it weren't for the air-con (even so I stood outside to escape the moody barman). I tried reading the lengthy and interesting history of the pub and area, but soon found it unreadable because of someone's odd decision to capitalise each and every word. How peculiar. At least it seems to play down the occasionally-told tale that this pub gave the area its name. Which I don't really think it did. Although I did say here it did. So??

Hope-fully

Pub 212, The Hope. 16th July 2013.

Not just The Hope now, but the Hope Fitzrovia. And the Hope Fitzrovia isn't just a pub, but a premium pub.

What it really is is still the Hope but with a vaguely smart makeover. One room (apart from upstairs), and it's decent enough. Four ales on should be ok for most people. And a special deal on the Pedigree while the Ashes is on (although £3.50 for a special deal is where we're at these days!).

The Golden Hen was the warmest pint of beer I've had for a long time, admittedly it was very hot today but surely cellars should be able to be kept cool? Any passing Americans tempted to try a traditional English ale would have their worst fears confirmed.
And stood outside, a stone's throw from Tottenham Court Road at 5.30pm, I counted just two vehicles that passed by - a taxi and a dust-cart. Not a bad traffic situation for central London.

Russell up a half!

Pub 211, Lord John Russell. 12th July 2013.

I had a tenner and £1.70 in change. I only wanted a half, and didn't want to break in to a tenner - for no real reason. "Half a Brains please", "That's £1.70 please." Bingo! The tenner is unbroken. Odd days these when we're pleased to only have to pay £1.70 for a half a beer. But it's always nice to have some nice friendly silly lame banter with a barman.

Very nice place this, one of the better pubs in the area I'd say - and there's some decent pubs round here. Lots of draft beers, and roomy, cool, quiet and unpretentious. Apparently the eponymous Mr Russell was an old PM rather than one of Russell / Bedfords who are well-remembered all over Camden. It would also be odd these days to have such a fine pub named after a Prime Minister! But he should be flattered that he has this one.

Ich bin ein Irelander

Pub 210, Callaghans. 12th July 2013.

What a curious place. An seemingly Irish bar, with very slow Indian staff, selling itself as a place with strong German credentials tucked underneath a huge tower block of a Holiday Inn.

Ohhhh... I see, it's part of the Holiday Inn. Hence the adjoining doorway, and attempt to sell itself to as many visiting foreigners (ie. Americans) as possible who expect a pub to be either Irish or German. The clientele seem 50/50 estate locals or tourists who can't be bothered to travel any further than their own hotel for a drink.
I got a pint of keg Boddies - as it's a rarity now, and predictably there was no cask, and watched some of the cricket. When they went it at the end of the day I went outside but the beer garden / taxi rank was full.
I wasn't tempted by the 1m Bratwurst either, so I left dodging kids racing round the pub on scooters.

You looking at me??

Pub 209, The Marquis Cornwallis. 12th July 2013.

As I approached, from looking at the pub and the people I was convinced it was going to be a pompous pretentious prick-hole. But once inside it wasn't too bad - perhaps I subconsciously charmed by the air-conditioning. A rare thing in a boozer - and rightly so! But hypocritically appreciated on a day like this!

The barmaid was quietly lovely and as subconsciously charming as the air-con! The Flying Scotsman was nice too. I got my beer and went for a stroll about, upstairs and down. It's a very big pub! I went outside to drink on the pavement, in case the air-con gave me a chill - or even worse I got used to it! I was wondering if the pub was named after the man who surrendered to the Americans or the convict ship. I guess the pub-sign suggests the former, although it's a shame it's a hologram. So far all so good.

Once I'd been outside for a few minutes a young chap came up to me...

"Excuse me, my name is Martin [or something] and I work here..." he said

"Oh sorry" I replied, expecting to have to move back to the designated pavement drinking area, which I did.

"No, no - I work here and a lady has seen you taking photographs and would like to know why"

"Oh - who? The manager?"

"No, just a customer. She wants to know why you were taking photographs."

So some silly old batty paranoid charmless nosey-parker had seen someone taking photographs inside a pub and gone to tell-tales to the staff. You sad old cow.

"It's a lovely pub! Tell her not to flatter herself, I've no idea who it was but I wasn't taking photos of her."

He went back happy enough, but I guess some of the punters of pretty tedious pretentious pricks after all. Well, at least one.

Grand (and old).

Pub 208, The Duke (of York). 12th July 2013.

An art-deco gem! And the old wooden furnishings give it the feel of drinking in the 1920s. Lovely.

An a nice Dickensian touch (intentional or not I don't know...) was the Oldershaw Great Expectations, so I settled for a pint of that. Once I'd got served - although the slow service was the dithering patrons' fault, not the staff.

I strolled through to the lounge to marvel at the dark wood furnishings, and to get out of way - and the sun! - and as I was leaning against the bar, a barman said to me "You alright?", "Yes thanks" I said nodding towards my drink. "You waiting for someone?" he said rather abruptly. "Ummm no..." I said. What an odd thing to ask and feeling I had done something wrong went to drink on the pavement. I think that they might not like people loitering in the "restaurant" bit perhaps... but there's nothing to suggest that the other bar is nothing more than a lounge bar.

Anyways, still a very nice pub. Pray it doesn't ever get "done up"! Although I cannot - and I doubt anyone else could - the parenthesis in the pub's name.

A bit OTT

Pub 207, The Lady Ottoline. 12th July 2013.

I've not been here since they'd done it up / revamped it / given it a make-over / whatever - since it was the King's Arms and given it a silly pretentious name. Presumably after Ottoline Violet Anne Cavendish-Bentinck although there's no mention of it anywhere. She might have even come here once!
Anyways, it's a pretty tedious, dull, drab, faux-chic wannabee-hip make-over. Begone ye soul of the pub!!
But I think it seems to suit and be appreciated by the punters.

The jugs of water explain why so many punters were sitting around just drinking water. I opted for an Adnams Lighthouse - little more than water anyways, some might say. But I like it.

I didn't like trying to get to the bar though. They don't seem to realise that a bar needs space round it - they've put tables rather close to it, so when the young well-to-do clientele are sitting there, the backs of their chairs are against the bums of the people waiting to be served. Meaning that no-one else can get to or from the bar. And of course there's no apologies from anyone for being in the way. Likewise the when operating the till which is on the bar facing outwards, the cashier's back is up against another table they squeezed in.
When I got to the bar and large gangly young, with side-ways baseball capped jumped to try and get served before me. "One of these please!" he wailed camply waving an empty bottle of wine. Not a chance laddie. "Sorry hrmph" he sneered out of the corner of his mouth.

The beer was nice, but the place - and it's customers - are devoid of any character. They'd be better of making it a Dicken's theme pub - or turning it back to the King's Arms. Sorry, Kings Arms.

Court out

Pub no. 206, The Court. 11th July 2013.

Greene King IPA... London Pride... oh - what's this? Wold Top Golden Summer, pint of that please. I gave her the right money but she was in no rush to give me pint. Put the money the in till, wandered off to look at the clothes line of food orders and then strolled back to drip tray where my drink was waiting and popped it on the bar. I guess it must have been 'settling'.

I've not been here before but it looks like it's been recently refitted in the current style. Minimal, bare wood and a hotch-potch of lamp-shades. The young 'uns seem to like it. Perhaps they'll be reminded that there was once a real Tottenham Court that the eponymous road remembers.

Rising star

Pub no. 205. The Rising Sun. 11th July 2013.

What a beautiful pub, outside and in. And what a beautiful bar manager - if I may say so.
Too bad it's just there to serve tourists, office workers going home, people on their way out in West End or Tottenham Court Road pub-crawlers, none of whom are likely to appreciate the fine Victorian detailing on the outside or the lovely ceiling inside. (This is crying out for an enhancing paint job by the way Messrs Taylor and Walker!)

Noticing the cricket on I got myself a pint of Tribute, probably for £3.85 or something - the going rate round here - and settling down (or up???) at a high table to enjoy England 2nd innings fightback. At which point they promptly went in for tea! Hey ho. I can hardly blame the pub for that tho. I can blame them for the intolerably loud house(?) / nightclub(?) / call-it-what-you-will music blaring out. Who really needs to hear this on a Thursday afternoon??

I amused though that the menu (on a blackboard, natch) entitled "the Great British Lunch-time" includes lasagne. I suppose these days it probably does. And also, as any self-respecting pub should do these days, they claim fame for some part of their fayre - probably the fish & chips, I can't quite remember now. A beautiful old building like this should be famous in its own right, after 300 years of boozing here you'd think so anyways.