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Pub 137. The Carpenters, 27th January 2013

Quite distracted by an interesting coal-hole cover that I'd not seen before (what's a coal-hole cover?? See here) I hadn't realised I was outside a pub. I thought for some reason it was a corner shop. As it happens the corner shop is next door, and isn't on a corner. But the pub is, and now we're here let's go inside.

Uh-ho... just two old men watching football. I bet they're rude. A proper old-style landlord. I bet he's grumpy. He comes over... sees me looking at the handpumps... neither are on. I don't like to ask him - I don't want him to think I'm one of those Camra types. Half a John Smith' Smooooooth, £1.65 - and in a fancy glass too. The landlord is very apologetic about having to leave it to settle.
I settle down to watch the football - Oldham are beating Liverpool in the cup. Splendid. Seems to be pleasing the other fellows as well. Banter and chit-chat breaks out. Turns out they're really quite pleasant after all. Me and my stupid foundless preconceptions! The landlord is really quite jolly, joking about "Who's phone is that??" when clearly it's his out-the-back. "Oh it's mine! hehe" as he goes through the chain-mail curtain.

The pub is perfectly nice. And has carpet - I like a pub with carpet. Repro front pages adorn the walls, recalling a Royal marriage here, and a Royal death there. The Titanic. Scott. John Lennon dead. That kinda thing.  Oldham score. We're all happy. More football chit-chat goes on. My tuppence worth is welcomed and considered, none of this "Oi new boy - whose converstion do you think you're joining in with here!?" type stuff here. The sign of a proper boozer.

I can't help wondering what "DR55" is on the khazi door though. I should've asked, I'm sure the affable landlord has an amusing story about it. I'll ask next time I'm back, and I'm sure I will - after all Joanna Lumlet can't be wrong can she?! I'm sure she be straight back too when the ales are back on.

Paken them in.

Pub 136.  The Pakenham Arms, 27th January 2013

It's a Sunday afternoon so I was convinced that this fancy looking place would be full of young metropolitan nice people enjoying a traditional Sunday roast (Yorkshire puddings served with all meats, roast potatoes all year round) which is probably their one trip to a pub per week. I was fully prepared for the canteenesque smell of gravy and general high levels of excitable sociable chit-chat. I had some reading to do!

But I was pleasantly surprised... it was nice and quiet. A quick glance round reveal just six other people, and the barmaid. A very charming barmaid too as it happens. Half a Adnam's Happy New Beer set me back £1.75, and was very nice. No-one was eating. There was no smell of food. No food at all I think... although don't quote me. The only conversation I heard was when a fellow came in asking directions for Farringdon Road, the barmaid flustered looked left & right and was helped out by the chap sat on the other side of the bar. "Oh I'm such a girl with directions!" she giggled afterwards. And a very nice girl at that young lady. The others were nice and quiet, engaging in pleasant and respectful chit-chat.

It all should have been very nice. And very relaxing. Except it should've been. The telly was on, and pointlessly showing a film. Are we in a cinema? The only person watching it was the chap who'd helped out with directions - but surely he hadn't come here solely for the matinee screening?! The main problem with it was that it was Annie. If you've ever seen Annie you'll know it's know for it's large cast and hysterical screeching children. Not what you need in an otherwise quiet pub on an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon.

Bloody tellies in pubs!

I'm not awfully enthusiastic in jokey satire in pubs either, no matter how well meaning. But it's better than a bloody television making it sound like a pub is full of little urchins even when it isn't.

But that aside, not a bad boozer.

Un-white-bearable

Pub 135. The Old White Bear.

I popped back in here a couple of weeks ago to take a pic or two for delight & delectation as I was passing - on my way to Burgh House for a illustrated history lecture - that turned out not to be illustrated... but I digress. But I can't find the photos now. And I am sure as heck not going back to take some more.
For this is the worst pub in Hampstead.

And what makes it worse is that a few years back is that it was probably the best. Lovely old wood paneling, and a good selection of ales. It was comfy and welcoming, quiet and relaxing. Small tables for the lone drinker, big tables for groups of tired Heath walkers wanting to spread out with a Sunday paper or noisy game of Connect-4.

But not now. It was closed for quite some time, presumably it needed to be closed long enough for them to strip out every last vestige of friendliness and charm. I am reliably informed by a local pub aficionado that the interior wasn't as old as it looked, but it doesn't really matter.
Now it's the dullest of smarmy gastro-pubs, and has all the atmosphere of a North Korean morgue. But that's how they like it so it'll be right up your street if you like that too. Me, I'd rather go to an unillustrated history lecture. Or the perhaps try the best pub in Hampstead (at time of writing!) - The Duke of Hamilton - just 2 minutes walk up the road.

Interestingly though, it's one of only two pubs in Camden that has a song written about it. Not as well known as the other one, but here it is for those that can read music.

Oh, I believe it's due to close soon. Sad news, even for a dull pub.

Wheelie bin.

Pub 134. The Wheelbarrow.

 

With it's quirky lettering and REAL wheelbarrow pub sign this is one for the cool kids. The cool tourist kids can come here and marvel in the wonders of cool Camden™ and the cool Camden kids can come here and pretend they're in Williamsburg. Come watch all the latest up & coming cool bands, or come and watch Tom Jones - something for everyone. Unless you want a nice clean relaxing pub, with nice clean relaxing beer. But it's not a pub for us boring old farts, it's for the cool kids. The Cobden is across the road.

We can all remember I'm sure not very long ago when it was Tommy Flynn's. But I wish I could remember when it was the Princess Beatrice. But at least it's keeping a fine old pub as a pub, and for that at least hoorah.

Oi Castle!

Pub 133. The Castle, times various.

I remember walking past here years ago and spyed peering out from one of the upstairs windows a lovely looking boxer dog taking in the Kentish Town airs. What a handsome dog I thought!

The Castle Tavern as it was for hundreds of years as good honest no-nonsense boozer, but the Verge or the Bullet Bar or the Flower Pot or Heroes as it has been recently was a hip & dirty yoof-centered music venue and as result is shut now. Surely the most names in the shortest time for any pub in the borough - a sure sign of desperation. But what is to become of it now... who knows?!

A claim to fame of sorts was that it was the only music venue in Camen whose stage had a drum riser. And I only ever went there to see the odd band. Or perhaps for a late drink when dragged there, not that there's much to drink apart from lager - probably in plastic glasses.
I went along to a gig with a newly-met young lady once who proceeded to tell me what she once got up to in the toilets once. Lucky fellow I thought.

When I looking for somewhere to live once, I went to see one of the rooms upstairs. I would have taken it but was beaten to it by a Swedish friend. Probably a good thing - I would've hated it, despite Monkey - the adorable boxer - slobbering me to bits as I shown round.

Got the boot

Pub 132. The Boot, a while ago.

This would be a super pub... if it had ales on! All keg and lager unfortunately for us more discerning drinkers. Which is a shame because it's really nice, although a bit cavernous. Plenty of tables though, and plenty of uncontrived bric-a-brac, plenty of locals with plenty of banter amongst themselves.

I shall be back the minute they get real ale on! Or perhaps if I'm just passing and fancy it, there's plenty of worse non-ale houses to go to. They might even have bottles in the fridge now, like The Sovereign.

Buck stops here

Pub 131. The Buck's Head, a while ago.

From the last time I went here, which was quite some time ago, all I remember is the toilets. I don't remember the beer, the service, the decor, the people drinking, the music... although I do recall it was very loud. But all I definitely remember is the toilets. Well, not so much the toilets themselves but the people in there. People, men & women - or more accurately boys & girls - were shamelessy and gamely partaking in cocaine with such excitable gay abandon it was as if there were taking turns at a particularly well stocked bran-tub.

I looked on in astonishment, having never seen such unabashed class-A taking before. Or since. No-one turned to me to ask what was I staring at, but as they were making no effort to hide anything why would they? Bunch of idiots.

I'm sure it's all lovely now, but I can't imagine going back any time soon - for the wanton lack of an apostrophe if for nothing else. Actually, peering through the windows taking the photo above it does look quiet pleasant inside but on this occasion I had other business - some other time again though I'm sure.

Marquis de sad

Pub no. 130. The Marquis of Granby, a while ago.

I can only ever recall going here once, a good while ago now. I went with a friend who was meeting some friends there whom I didn't know. When we met them and said hellos we settled around a table - one of those high ones with barstools I think... it occurred to me that I recognised one of them. But couldn't for the life of me think where from. Anyways, the night carried on and very pleasant it was as I recall.

I can't remember now if I mentioned to my friend that I recognised this chap, or remembered myself who is was or even if he or his mate spilled the beans... but it turned out it was curly-top Olympic rower Johnny Searle! What a nice man he was.

But although there is always a slim chance that I'll find myself boozing with Olympians again in the future - "Another 1/2 a mild, Jess?" :-) - it's very unlikely that will be in the Marquis of Granby. Sadly, it seems destined to be another bar / restaurant for the Leicester Square tourists. Another bites the dust as they say.

Eye wide shut

Pub 129. The Camden Eye.

A pub name that's existed for a long long time which is then replaced by a contrived meaningless moniker whose soul purpose is to remind tourists that they're in world famous Camden and therefore they should go in a pub that has Camden in the name is really quite saddening, and very annoying.
The last time I went there a year or two ago there was a sign behind the bar saying NO LIPSTICK! complete with a jolly cartoony drawing of a pair of lips. We asked the very moody & surly barmaid if they were serious and she said yes they were as they found it too hard to clean off the glasses. Perhaps they might've asked any other pub anywhere in the whole world if they had any ideas. Hot water? Detergent? Elbow grease? This isn't the kind of pub that cares, the barmaid in question clearly wanted to be in any other pub in the whole wide world - lipstick or not, I'd say they only care for passing tourists ticking off Camden things to do. Hence the numerous A-boards and neon pizza signs.
And perhaps people meeting up from the Tube might find it useful.

A little while after the lipstick ruling I read in the Camden New Journal that the Camden Eye had been awarded "the best managed pub in Camden" or something like that. The word 'managed' in that title makes a world of difference to its meaning.

Ox oh?

Pub 127. The Oxford Arms.

When I first came to Camden we'd come here drinking a lot. No idea why - it was just easy I suppose. It's pleasant enough. And open late back in the day when this was a rarity - due to the theatre (upstairs) licence I think, not I've ever been upstairs mind. Always seemed to get talking to people in there - usually tourists. Some Spanish friends came to stay and we brought them here especially. I suppose there's worse pubs to go to. They didn't get any fine English ale though - cos there ain't none.

The last time I went was after a quiz, and despite not taking part I was still entitled to the free quizzers' food they were dishing. Sausage, chips and beans on a paper plate with a plastic fork. It wasn't the best pub I've had, but it was free and food served up after pub games nights is a night thing that you don't often see in London.

Not the best pub around, but not the worst by a long shot. Just nothing special - and doesn't have to be with its prime location on the High Street. Still, it's a lot better than it's near namesake on the high street in Kentish Town.

A healthy constitution

Pub 128, The Constitution.

The Conny is one of the pubs that everyone in Camden likes, and rightly so because it's perfectly good no-frills fine old boozer. Decent beers, although not a beer festival but decent enough. Efficient barstaff and the regulars have the right mix of friendliness and surliness, often ready to strike up a conversation but won't suffer fools gladly. Nice to be by the window on a sunny afternoon.

There's often fun downstairs in the cellar bar, Messrs Olins, Watson & Pitchford's The Hideout and Mr Woolley's The Bard, The Beat and The Blues being notable evenings out spent down there. Shame the new flats across the canal have put an end to spilling on to the tow-path for summers' night boozing. Oh well.

A rare claim for this pub is that has one of the few beer gardens that I like, although on a warm Sunday afternoon it can get busy. Another rare claim for it is that the interior seems to have made it on to Google Street View. You'd think they'd have noticed the funny little car with a camera on top. 

I'll be going back here sooner or later.

Broken hearted

Pub 126. The Black Heart, 24th November 2012.

The fun we would have here when it was the Camden Tup, and quite a pleasant pub. Football matches were watched and colleagues were post-work drunk with, girlfriends were encountered... I was even invited up to the crew quarters upstairs once. It was like the league of nations, in a kitchen / living room full of glass fronted pub fridges.

Now its the Black Heart, presumably a response to the numerous White Harts you see dotted around. I suspect the spelling and meaning hasn't even occurred to them.

It's very cool and very trendy, very dark and very loud. Very on the tourist trail. And very busy.

Camra discount on the ales. Which is nice. Not one I rush to though.