The Walnut Tree, Leytonstone

Patrons should proceed across the threshold with caution. Liars, rogues and cutpurses await. But the bar staff alone should not of upmost concern. Legions of ruffians fill out the floors and pour themselves into every recess of this godforsaken Crucible of Desperados. Clint Eastwood's steely countenance in A Few Dollars More would soon crumble when facing down the locals in here.
You'll meet The Joker, whos chilling laugh can be heard the length and breadth of the place. Kleinfeld, Sean Penn's amoral lawyer from Carlito's Way exists in the real-life form of 'Ronnie', clad in 80s casual wear and ready to pounce and club the unsuspecting drinker into submission with cockney trivia and a relentless stream-of- consiousness patter.

Classic Rock Fans - You won't believe your eyes when the old man off the cover of the Led Zeppelin IV album totters past you with a cup of tea. And you'll double take when he pulls out a laptop and starts doing tax returns.
As policeman scoop out their fruit-machine winnings with their helmets, the bar itself remains a service-free zone. There's always ever more inventive excuses found by the staff to be doing anything except serving drinks. I've never seen a set of beer pumps absorb so much Brasso, or a fridge that has been opened more times in order to do a peak-time stock-take. Trying to catch a particular ale or beer that apears to be available proves maddeningly elusive - like a bad dream in a Franz Kafka tale.

Tim Martin, Chairman of the Board, book yourself in to the local hotel for a long stretch if you ever visit here for a spot-check!

30 Apr 2018 18:45

The Railway Bell, South Woodford

Amongst all this post Big Sam turmoil, we’ve watched the falling pound and the fluctuating banana, and the sun has still risen the next day

What we can’t have, though, is Fosters disappearing from our streets. Is it me or are there less FOSTERS taps about? When was the last time you heard two people at each other’s throats, debating the merits or flaws of the amber nectar. Never mind ‘voter shame’. Drinker apathy has taken told of us.

I believe that the BFB should commit to Congress, before this decade is out, to finding the worst pint of Fosters served in London, sending Crow to drink that pint, and then return him safely to South Woodford. We do these things not because they are easy but because they are HARD.

9 Nov 2016 14:39

The King and Castle, Windsor

'Isss bladdy lavvly in there', said the Turkish pilot. 'Isss call King and Castle, opposite Windsor Castle in Eeengland. We flying there now.' I noted his enthusiasm, whilst casually re-engaging the autopilot that he'd mistakenly disabled when his copious beer belly unconsciously pressed against the control panel. 'Now get out of the cockpeet, if the stewardess sees you in here, she'll lash our bare arses'.
With that image burnt on my memory, I took my leave and returned to my seat. Landing at Gatwick, I simply ran from the plane steps to the perimeter fence and scaled it mirthfully. I eschewed immigration and customs and abandoned my luggage. Hampered by Cuban heels, I ran a pain-filled 28 miles as the crow files to the King and Castle across fields, ignoring cat-calls from farmers and wolf whistles of fugitives and holed-up highwaymen.
On arrival, I discovered its unique feature, one the Turkish pilot failed to mention - the pub has no floor. One enters and immediately takes hold of scaffold poles and traverses them 'monkey-bar' style to the bar. Transvestite robots populate the bar and efficiently tell you which 20 ales are unavailable. I was reduced to a gallon of Devil's Backbone. Its rather awkward to drink while you hang from the scaffolds - you have to let go with one hand and swipe your beer from the bar to mouth and back again before you fall into the swamps below. The toilets are another matter entirely - I feel sorry for the poor attendant, balancing and juggling his aftershaves and wares. They really should invest in a floor.

20 Jan 2016 15:50