An ale at the Albion Arms 21-08-2003
- 28 May 2013
Mornin all
Hope you all enjoyed getting up nice & early to go to work today.
Here's a nice thought for you.
How would you like to live in a suburb/town called......Spital.
My they have some odd names over here but that one is up there with the best
along with Grimsby & Scunthorpe. Why not phlegm or mucus while they're at
it?
For them of youse that were about in the 70's there is a pub here that would
have loved old Tricky Dickie Nixon. He must have generated an astonishing
amount of free publicity for it. It is called ....
The Watergate Inn.
{mosimage}
Nice to see that finally Australia made the news here yesterday. Some
amazing piece of diplomacy or political history being made? Nope! An
extraordinary medical or scientific breakthrough? Nope! Nobel prize winners?
Nope! Some pommie git sailing in the Whitsundays gets hit by a whale. Yep!!!
It seems, via the media over here, that the only things that are in, or ever
happen in Australia are those that eat you, bite you, sting you, try to
swallow you or generally harm you in one form or another.
There is even an add for Fosters in which some bloke bungee jumping into a
river has his head bitten off by a croc just as he touches the water.
Not a bad add, something about the beer not losing it's head. Still wouldn't
make me drink the crap though.
Not entirely sure that there is too much more to see here in Chester. Walked
the walls, walked just about every cobbled street inside them, rowed up the
river, & back, obviously, eaten in 2 rather average restaurants (better than
Derby though), drunk pints of bitter in a small selection of their pubs (
there are quite a few of these) & FINALLY had a good feed in a little pub
called the Albion Arms.
This is one of those accidents that you really enjoy.
Whilst wandering the walls on Tuesday I, for no particularly good reason
after taking some photos of a garden below the walls, paused & looked out
into the town. The was nothing of any great interest there but my gaze was
drawn towards a blackboard sign outside the door of yet another pub. Most of
the little pubs have these, advertising the same dreary menu of chips &
haddock, chips & gammon, chips & curry, chips & beans, chips & chips. good
beer, family friendly blah, blah, blah.... This one, however was slightly
different. It had in large letters...
REAL FOOD.
NO CHIPS.
NO PLASTIC MUSIC/JUKEBOX.
NO CHILDREN.
FAMILY HOSTILE!!.
"Bugger me", thought I.
After taking a photo of the sign I decided that it was just somewhere that I
had to go.
So I did.
The first patrons I came upon as I sauntered in was an old farmy (is there
such a word?) looking couple having their lunch with their dog ( a spaniel
of some description) curled up under the table.
"Good start" thinks I.
Dom, you would have been overcome with excitement with this place. Woody
city for you.
All over the walls were old advertising boards, photos, paintings etc from
the first world war. There was even a framed version of the Royal Mail
newspaper of the day that Lord Kitchener was killed. There were propaganda
posters & brass plates for fallen family members (mostly, sadly, the same
family). It was like stepping back into a pub in 1918. Except for the food.
It may have been fairly standard pub fair(roast lamb, roast turkey, liver,
haggis, salmon, a few different curries etc) but it was bloody good. AND NO
CHIPS!!! Just properly cooked, tasty, good food with real veggies. Not
overcooked slush but real veggies.
And no squealing brats. Think I may go back today.
{mosimage}
It is quite possible that this is where Michael Palin came to refine some of
his voices that he used in the Monty Python stuff. I overheard (it was not
difficult) an argument going on in the street this morning between two
chaps. Out of about 2 minutes of unbroken abuse there were only 3 words that
I recognized. Dickhead, Fucking & Police. Not necessarily in that order or
even in close proximity to each other but I sort of understood what it was
about. The odd thing was that the guy that was being abused ( & looking very
miserable about it) was a very tough looking little sod who, in my
estimation, could have beaten the tripe out of the skinny, lanky noodle that
was dishing it out.
Very odd.
Ah well, I seem to run out of ideas so I might sod off now.
Off to Nantwich & Oulton Park tomorrow. For those of you that recall
Nantwich is where, last year, I climbed the dirty great hill (twice) to take
some photos of Beeston Castle with a camera that wasn't working. Better be
bloody working this time otherwise the swearing fit in Bath last year will
be eclipsed in the extreme.
Hungarian GP this weekend as well. Good luck to everyone but the kraut
bastard in the red car.
I won't be doing much of anything for the next few days except watching
motor racing so it may be well into next week before I gloat again.
cheerio
F.U.S.B.