Twenty-Nine Hours In London (And Surrounding Environs)
We arrived back in London at around 3pm on Monday and I went straight to Boots to pick up some Strepsils for this irritating cough. In all honesty, they didn't really make much difference and this cold has now progressed to phlegm and sneezing in addition to the irritating ticket cough. After picking up the supplies, we headed to Wembley, where we were staying for the night. Upon alighting at Wembley Park Underground station, we were greeted to the heartbreakingly beautiful sight of the stadium being lit up in the red, white and blue of the French Tricolore, with the words "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite" over the main entrance, which was flanked by two giant French flags. Against the fading autumnal light, it was a fitting and sobering tribute to the terrorist attacks last Friday and I must admit I felt an element of national and European pride through this show of solidarity. The effect became increasingly pronounced as we headed further up Wembley Way, with its desolation merely adding to the effect. Last time I was here, there were 90,000 people going to a match and it was a little surreal seeing the famous walkway bereft of people, with all of the burger concessions closed. It still enabled us to marvel at the architectural delight of the stadium however, and the arch in particular, bedecked as it was in the three colours of the French flag. As we walked alongside the neighbouring Wembley Arena, it too was awash in the colours of the French flag, again tastefully done and a fitting show of solidarity.
We stayed in the hotel a while and grabbed a shower, after which we headed back into central London on a mission - to visit all four of the remaining BrewDog bars we had not yet visited (Dog Eat Dog at Angel, Clapham Junction, Shepherd's Bush and Soho). We didn't have high expectations of visiting all four on Monday evening but we didn't account for the efficiency and extensive nature of the London transport network, which allows you to go from A to B easily without having to traverse through the city centre. Our first stop was Dog Eat Dog at Angel, which we had to walk to from King's Cross on account of severe delays on the Northern Line, but before this, we called in at one of our favourite fetish shops which is in the same area to pick up a few supplies. I also managed to pick up a guide book for my next foreign adventure from a Waterstone's we walked past on our way to the home of gourmet hotdogs. We found Dog Eat Dog - BrewDog's first real foray into restaurant dining - quite easily and we were soon sat down with beers in hand looking at their extensive hot dog menu. I like the concept of a hot dog bar, particularly as they had breakfast dogs too, and they did have a range of exotic combinations on offer. However, I kept it simple with a beef/pork dog with cheddar and onion. Wolfie meanwhile was far more adventurous, with a kimchi snausage, something I had never actually heard of until Monday evening. We decided to pig out and get sweet potato fries, onion rings and two huge mugs of BBQ Beans, which turned out to be my favourite item of everything we ordered. The sweet potato fries were okay and needed more salt, while the hot dog, although perfectly acceptable, was perhaps not as good as I thought it could be. Still, it was decent value and the staff were exceptionally friendly, particularly when we told them we were doing a BrewDog bar crawl across the environs of London to take the total of our BrewDog bars visited to 21. All of the London staff clearly know each other as we were asked to pass on a message to the Clapham Junction team from Nick, the guy working at Angel. We obliged and we headed off to Clapham with a sense of adventure.
We always thought that Clapham would be the most difficult bar to visit but a Northern Line Underground service to Clapham Common and six stops on the number 35 bus, which was remarkably easy to use with clear signs aided by our own GPS, saw us dropped off right outside its front door so we made our way in for another beer. The two lads on the bar, Godfrey and Hamilton I think, are already aware of our quest as Angel had been in touch, so they welcomed us warmly to the cosy if slightly tired looking bar. They had just had a New Zealand Collective Tap Takeover, which is what Shuffledog will be having this Thursday, so se chose our beer wisely. While we were here, we checked the route to Shepherd's Bush and were delighted to discover there was a regular 12 minute service from Clapham Junction. It was at this point that we knew all four bars were possible in one night. We finished our rather swift drink and chatted to Godfrey some more and he wrote me a message to pass on to Virginia, who was working that night in the west London bar. We were getting increasingly lucky with public transport as, as we were crossing the road, we spied a number 35 bus going to Clapham Junction, saving us the walk. Once there, we ran to catch the next train, typically on platform one when we were at the side where platform 16 was, but we just about made it and were soon heading off to Shepherd's Bush and our twentieth BrewDog venture. Once we arrived, the rain had started to pour but fortunately the place was easy to discover and soon we were marvelling the extensive forty tap range on offer. We gave Virginia her message via one of her colleagues, and it turned out to be from her boyfriend, who had written her a special note on the business card I had delivered. This broke the ice with the cracking team there and we had a nice lengthy chat about beer and the like as we drank the beers we had just purchased.
With plenty of time at hand, we decided to head to BrewDog's latest bar, which is just off Oxford Street, on Poland Street in Soho. Sadly the BrewDog Shepherd's Bush staff had no message for us but we bid then adieu, headed out into the rain and were soon on a quick Central Line service into the heart of the city. We got out at Oxford Circus station and walked down Oxford Street, with its twinkling Christmas lights romantically beautiful in the light November drizzle. Oxford Street was a far more civilised affair on a Monday night than it is during the day, giving you time to marvel at the twinkling Christmas displays of many of the shops, many of which were quite individual. The main municipal lights of various coloured baubles were also nice and reminiscent of the crown-theme of Gothenburg's main streets. Both were far better than what Leeds offers, or perhaps can offer. Anyway, a quick jaunt down Oxford Street and into Soho soon saw us at our destination, where we were delighted to discover there was a Magic Rock tap takeover in full swing. Apparently Huddersfield's own Magic Rock isn't well known darn sarf but was being reasonably well appreciated. We grabbed a couple of brews and headed downstairs, but we were told by the nice lady behind the second bar down there that the area was being closed. We told her about our BrewDog bar crawl and that I had heard there was something special downstairs and she directed me to the big red telephone on the far wall, urging me to pick up the receiver. Around the phone there were calling cards of various ladies of the night with a BrewDog theme while the messages over the phone were all sexual but flowered with beer puns such as "can I put my hops in your mouth?" All rather immature but very funny, and fitting in with the "Beer Porn" vibe. We ended up talking to the lady behind the bar for a good twenty minutes, with her telling us about being from York and we extolling the virtues of the city and the nearby Leeds bars. We then headed upstairs, grabbed a cheeky final beer before closing before heading back to our hotel at Wembley in the pouring rain, passing past the stadium bang on midnight when they turned the French tricolore lights off. That was rather eerie, particularly as we were the only people there.
Tuesday was a largely lazy morning, particularly as we inexplicably stayed up for another two hours when we got back to the hotel the night before. Forgetting about my complementary drink, we headed out at around noon with backpacks on our backs, not fancying coming back to Wembley to collect our luggage in the build-up to the match. In the hotel room, I noticed that Porsupah had replied to my message from last week on Sunday concerning meeting up, and fortunately it was not too late as we got into a quick dialogue about plans for the afternoon. With a couple of hours to kill ahead of the meeting, we decided to head over to another of our favourite fetish stores in Shoreditch before moving on to the Two Bit bar underneath BrewDog Shoreditch, which was just under construction when I was there last. Unfortunately the weather somewhat delayed our plans as the heavy rain meant we were stuck in Old Street for some considerable time in an attempt to not get wet. We did manage to grab some brunch though from a place called Scrambled, which specialized in pots of scrambled eggs with a variety of toppings (Wolfie went for ham, I went for salmon and onion). This was a new venture, only open for about a month, but apparently it was doing well. Interestingly, the egg was all liquified and added to the pan via a mixing cup, meaning you could request the ratio of yolk to albumen you wanted. This did seem odd on the menu when I read it but with the liquefied contents, something I've never seen before, it suddenly made sense. Despite the liquid nature, the eggs were tasty and a good start to the day, skylight more salt, pepper and milk may have made them even better. For £10 for two, it was quite expensive too but we were pretty satisfied as we ate in the station concourse waiting for the rain to stop. It eventually abated and soon we were on our way - despite me leading us down the wrong way initially - with us purchasing a few kinky items for our use before heading to Two Bit. Specializing in unique American craft lagers and whiskies, this was something we were looking forward to, but alas it wasn't open until 6pm. The friendly barman did offer to show us around though and it was a remarkable basement bar, separated from the main BrewDog bar upstairs somewhat. We could have come down on the Monday but then the fetish shop would have been closed and this is more the sort of place you spend a good few hours. This is definitely something to come back to London for in future.
Due to the inclement weather, we were hopelessly late for our meeting with Porsupah and the one time when we really needed a direct train (in this case from Shoreditch to Marylebone), we were faced with an hour long journey. Fortunately in a way, Porsupah had got on the wrong train and was heading straight to Marylebone rather than the pre-arranged Beaconsfield in Buckinghamshire. However, Porsupah's commitments had lasted shorter than expected so we needed to head off swiftly to rendez-vous without necessitating a huge wait. We quickly left the bar and headed over to Shoreditch, completing the route to Marylebone in a surprisingly short amount of time. It took us a while to find Porsupah, who we did eventually spot on the track side of the barriers after looking pretty much everywhere else. After a quick discussion, we decided to continue with the original plan of Beaconsfield, for which we had four minutes to grab tickets. Sadly the machine wasn't playing ball, initially sending out just singles and then needing £2.30 invoiced back on my card as the initial amount debited was wrong. In the end, we got tickets with an HM Forces discount instead of a Two Together One, something in our four minute rush we didn't notice until we were actually on the train. Still, we caught it and it was remarkably busy, but at least we did now have the opportunity to visit one of Porsupah's favourite pubs, The Royal Standard of England, which has been frequently been mentioned in correspondence between us for quite some time. This claims to be the oldest free house in England and was situated on the border between a forested area and a small town in days of yore. It survived in the early days catering for local deer hunts and it certainly still retains this olde worlde theme, with wooden tables and fittings along with heraldic carvings and taxidermy on the walls and huge authentic wooden beams in the roof. The beer is served in old style pint jugs with a local crest engraved upon them while the food is the typical fayre you would expect from such an establishment with a few modern twists such as pulled pork and cheeseburgers. I went for the chicken liver pate, which was exquisite, surrounded in sumptuous flecked fat which looked like vanilla ice cream with vanilla pods in it. This was rich and creamy while the venison snausage special with mustard mash and seasonal vegetables was another winner. The ales were all local and incredibly drinkable, and it was clear to see why Porsupah favours this place so much. We had a pleasant few hours catching up as we had not seen Porsupah for a good 18 months, while I felt it was important to meet as California is now calling and this may be the last chance we had for a while to meet. We had a great time, even if the walk to the pub down country lanes was somewhat muddy and the walk back along narrow roads was somewhat dangerous in the dark. Still, it was a nice little jaunt into Tory territory, where every home is probably nearly a million, but the little country pub was a winner, as it had a roaring opening fire and dogs and cats roaming in abundance. It was very much the perfect place.
Sadly with the need to get back to London to catch our train home - a train that arrived late, departed later and got us back even later again due to the high winds - we had to bid Porsupah goodbye too soon but not before stocking up on beer supplies for the journey back from a local Waitrose. With a delayed train back from Beaconsfield which was also due to stop at Wembley Stadium and thus was also full of England supporters, I feared the worst as we only had 75 minutes to get back to Kings Cross from the Buckinghamshire town. However, the late train notwithstanding, I needn't have worried as in the end we were twenty minutes early and happy to reflect on a special end to a special five days.
We stayed in the hotel a while and grabbed a shower, after which we headed back into central London on a mission - to visit all four of the remaining BrewDog bars we had not yet visited (Dog Eat Dog at Angel, Clapham Junction, Shepherd's Bush and Soho). We didn't have high expectations of visiting all four on Monday evening but we didn't account for the efficiency and extensive nature of the London transport network, which allows you to go from A to B easily without having to traverse through the city centre. Our first stop was Dog Eat Dog at Angel, which we had to walk to from King's Cross on account of severe delays on the Northern Line, but before this, we called in at one of our favourite fetish shops which is in the same area to pick up a few supplies. I also managed to pick up a guide book for my next foreign adventure from a Waterstone's we walked past on our way to the home of gourmet hotdogs. We found Dog Eat Dog - BrewDog's first real foray into restaurant dining - quite easily and we were soon sat down with beers in hand looking at their extensive hot dog menu. I like the concept of a hot dog bar, particularly as they had breakfast dogs too, and they did have a range of exotic combinations on offer. However, I kept it simple with a beef/pork dog with cheddar and onion. Wolfie meanwhile was far more adventurous, with a kimchi snausage, something I had never actually heard of until Monday evening. We decided to pig out and get sweet potato fries, onion rings and two huge mugs of BBQ Beans, which turned out to be my favourite item of everything we ordered. The sweet potato fries were okay and needed more salt, while the hot dog, although perfectly acceptable, was perhaps not as good as I thought it could be. Still, it was decent value and the staff were exceptionally friendly, particularly when we told them we were doing a BrewDog bar crawl across the environs of London to take the total of our BrewDog bars visited to 21. All of the London staff clearly know each other as we were asked to pass on a message to the Clapham Junction team from Nick, the guy working at Angel. We obliged and we headed off to Clapham with a sense of adventure.
We always thought that Clapham would be the most difficult bar to visit but a Northern Line Underground service to Clapham Common and six stops on the number 35 bus, which was remarkably easy to use with clear signs aided by our own GPS, saw us dropped off right outside its front door so we made our way in for another beer. The two lads on the bar, Godfrey and Hamilton I think, are already aware of our quest as Angel had been in touch, so they welcomed us warmly to the cosy if slightly tired looking bar. They had just had a New Zealand Collective Tap Takeover, which is what Shuffledog will be having this Thursday, so se chose our beer wisely. While we were here, we checked the route to Shepherd's Bush and were delighted to discover there was a regular 12 minute service from Clapham Junction. It was at this point that we knew all four bars were possible in one night. We finished our rather swift drink and chatted to Godfrey some more and he wrote me a message to pass on to Virginia, who was working that night in the west London bar. We were getting increasingly lucky with public transport as, as we were crossing the road, we spied a number 35 bus going to Clapham Junction, saving us the walk. Once there, we ran to catch the next train, typically on platform one when we were at the side where platform 16 was, but we just about made it and were soon heading off to Shepherd's Bush and our twentieth BrewDog venture. Once we arrived, the rain had started to pour but fortunately the place was easy to discover and soon we were marvelling the extensive forty tap range on offer. We gave Virginia her message via one of her colleagues, and it turned out to be from her boyfriend, who had written her a special note on the business card I had delivered. This broke the ice with the cracking team there and we had a nice lengthy chat about beer and the like as we drank the beers we had just purchased.
With plenty of time at hand, we decided to head to BrewDog's latest bar, which is just off Oxford Street, on Poland Street in Soho. Sadly the BrewDog Shepherd's Bush staff had no message for us but we bid then adieu, headed out into the rain and were soon on a quick Central Line service into the heart of the city. We got out at Oxford Circus station and walked down Oxford Street, with its twinkling Christmas lights romantically beautiful in the light November drizzle. Oxford Street was a far more civilised affair on a Monday night than it is during the day, giving you time to marvel at the twinkling Christmas displays of many of the shops, many of which were quite individual. The main municipal lights of various coloured baubles were also nice and reminiscent of the crown-theme of Gothenburg's main streets. Both were far better than what Leeds offers, or perhaps can offer. Anyway, a quick jaunt down Oxford Street and into Soho soon saw us at our destination, where we were delighted to discover there was a Magic Rock tap takeover in full swing. Apparently Huddersfield's own Magic Rock isn't well known darn sarf but was being reasonably well appreciated. We grabbed a couple of brews and headed downstairs, but we were told by the nice lady behind the second bar down there that the area was being closed. We told her about our BrewDog bar crawl and that I had heard there was something special downstairs and she directed me to the big red telephone on the far wall, urging me to pick up the receiver. Around the phone there were calling cards of various ladies of the night with a BrewDog theme while the messages over the phone were all sexual but flowered with beer puns such as "can I put my hops in your mouth?" All rather immature but very funny, and fitting in with the "Beer Porn" vibe. We ended up talking to the lady behind the bar for a good twenty minutes, with her telling us about being from York and we extolling the virtues of the city and the nearby Leeds bars. We then headed upstairs, grabbed a cheeky final beer before closing before heading back to our hotel at Wembley in the pouring rain, passing past the stadium bang on midnight when they turned the French tricolore lights off. That was rather eerie, particularly as we were the only people there.
Tuesday was a largely lazy morning, particularly as we inexplicably stayed up for another two hours when we got back to the hotel the night before. Forgetting about my complementary drink, we headed out at around noon with backpacks on our backs, not fancying coming back to Wembley to collect our luggage in the build-up to the match. In the hotel room, I noticed that Porsupah had replied to my message from last week on Sunday concerning meeting up, and fortunately it was not too late as we got into a quick dialogue about plans for the afternoon. With a couple of hours to kill ahead of the meeting, we decided to head over to another of our favourite fetish stores in Shoreditch before moving on to the Two Bit bar underneath BrewDog Shoreditch, which was just under construction when I was there last. Unfortunately the weather somewhat delayed our plans as the heavy rain meant we were stuck in Old Street for some considerable time in an attempt to not get wet. We did manage to grab some brunch though from a place called Scrambled, which specialized in pots of scrambled eggs with a variety of toppings (Wolfie went for ham, I went for salmon and onion). This was a new venture, only open for about a month, but apparently it was doing well. Interestingly, the egg was all liquified and added to the pan via a mixing cup, meaning you could request the ratio of yolk to albumen you wanted. This did seem odd on the menu when I read it but with the liquefied contents, something I've never seen before, it suddenly made sense. Despite the liquid nature, the eggs were tasty and a good start to the day, skylight more salt, pepper and milk may have made them even better. For £10 for two, it was quite expensive too but we were pretty satisfied as we ate in the station concourse waiting for the rain to stop. It eventually abated and soon we were on our way - despite me leading us down the wrong way initially - with us purchasing a few kinky items for our use before heading to Two Bit. Specializing in unique American craft lagers and whiskies, this was something we were looking forward to, but alas it wasn't open until 6pm. The friendly barman did offer to show us around though and it was a remarkable basement bar, separated from the main BrewDog bar upstairs somewhat. We could have come down on the Monday but then the fetish shop would have been closed and this is more the sort of place you spend a good few hours. This is definitely something to come back to London for in future.
Due to the inclement weather, we were hopelessly late for our meeting with Porsupah and the one time when we really needed a direct train (in this case from Shoreditch to Marylebone), we were faced with an hour long journey. Fortunately in a way, Porsupah had got on the wrong train and was heading straight to Marylebone rather than the pre-arranged Beaconsfield in Buckinghamshire. However, Porsupah's commitments had lasted shorter than expected so we needed to head off swiftly to rendez-vous without necessitating a huge wait. We quickly left the bar and headed over to Shoreditch, completing the route to Marylebone in a surprisingly short amount of time. It took us a while to find Porsupah, who we did eventually spot on the track side of the barriers after looking pretty much everywhere else. After a quick discussion, we decided to continue with the original plan of Beaconsfield, for which we had four minutes to grab tickets. Sadly the machine wasn't playing ball, initially sending out just singles and then needing £2.30 invoiced back on my card as the initial amount debited was wrong. In the end, we got tickets with an HM Forces discount instead of a Two Together One, something in our four minute rush we didn't notice until we were actually on the train. Still, we caught it and it was remarkably busy, but at least we did now have the opportunity to visit one of Porsupah's favourite pubs, The Royal Standard of England, which has been frequently been mentioned in correspondence between us for quite some time. This claims to be the oldest free house in England and was situated on the border between a forested area and a small town in days of yore. It survived in the early days catering for local deer hunts and it certainly still retains this olde worlde theme, with wooden tables and fittings along with heraldic carvings and taxidermy on the walls and huge authentic wooden beams in the roof. The beer is served in old style pint jugs with a local crest engraved upon them while the food is the typical fayre you would expect from such an establishment with a few modern twists such as pulled pork and cheeseburgers. I went for the chicken liver pate, which was exquisite, surrounded in sumptuous flecked fat which looked like vanilla ice cream with vanilla pods in it. This was rich and creamy while the venison snausage special with mustard mash and seasonal vegetables was another winner. The ales were all local and incredibly drinkable, and it was clear to see why Porsupah favours this place so much. We had a pleasant few hours catching up as we had not seen Porsupah for a good 18 months, while I felt it was important to meet as California is now calling and this may be the last chance we had for a while to meet. We had a great time, even if the walk to the pub down country lanes was somewhat muddy and the walk back along narrow roads was somewhat dangerous in the dark. Still, it was a nice little jaunt into Tory territory, where every home is probably nearly a million, but the little country pub was a winner, as it had a roaring opening fire and dogs and cats roaming in abundance. It was very much the perfect place.
Sadly with the need to get back to London to catch our train home - a train that arrived late, departed later and got us back even later again due to the high winds - we had to bid Porsupah goodbye too soon but not before stocking up on beer supplies for the journey back from a local Waitrose. With a delayed train back from Beaconsfield which was also due to stop at Wembley Stadium and thus was also full of England supporters, I feared the worst as we only had 75 minutes to get back to Kings Cross from the Buckinghamshire town. However, the late train notwithstanding, I needn't have worried as in the end we were twenty minutes early and happy to reflect on a special end to a special five days.