As I mentioned recently, I just spent a week back in the old homestead, Blighty, the place of my birth, Britannia, that sceptred isle, and so on, et cetera. Now, as many of you gorgeous readers know, there's one thing us Brits love: Booze. And something we love nearly as much as booze are places in which booze is sold for consumption on the premises. So while I was over in the Kingdom of Unitedness, I thought I'd check out some of our finest (and not so finest) pubs, and relate my findings back to you, my loyal fans, because I love you all, even when you give me that look that you know annoys me.
A really impressive pub is the Cuckolded Arsewipe in the beautiful village of Dripple-on-the-Gabe. This visit was my second, as I had been there several years before. I have to say, the place has really improved in the intervening time, a fact that - I am told - is due to the regular customers removing the previous landlord in a bloody coup and leaving his lifeless body in the beer garden as a warning to all. They have an excellent selection of beer, engaging portraits of the barmaids in various states of undress, and very enjoyable food. The Ploughman's Lunch was particularly delicious, although he wasn't very pleased when he caught me eating it.
The Gratuitous Mention is a very nice pub hidden away in Smothkenyonhampton, the picturesque town in Kooganthomsonborough. It's a great place to find people you know and haven't seen in a rather long time, even if they are a bunch of absolute piss-heads. It does pay to spend a lot of time here, too, because otherwise you won't get any of the the in-jokes, but it really is worth it. Oh, and the weekly quiz is fun, but rigged.
I wasn't a big fan of the Craven Beverley which is situated in a secret location at 34 Christendom Lane, Chatterstoft, because of the terrible curtains. The beer was excellent, the clientelle was fun to be around, the food was delicious and the prices were all top-notch. But why (oh why?) did they decide to make their curtains out of screaming children? It really does put a massive dampener on an otherwise brilliant pub.
The locals in The Fantabulous Fountain of Fancy Footwear and Firkin in Dullard, Kent, are wonderful people. They were amazingly kind to this out-of-towner, and helped me to choose from the many ales and lagers, going as far as to buy me several pints of their favourite drinks. They even helped me to find a nearby hotel when I started feeling a little poorly, and apparently made sure that I made it to my room without incident. Sadly the hotel must have had some kind of security problem, as when I awoke the following morning, my wallet, passport and all my clothing had been taken. Also, I also appear to have a scar on my chest which appeared at some point in that night and may or may not be related to the fact that my pancreas is missing.
Finally, The Dog and Steamroller is a delightful little establishment in the back streets of Cockthrobton, a small village just south of Badford and Goodbury. The Dog (as locals call it) is the only pub in England licensed to serve Saint Godspeed Methadone Ale, a locally-brewed tipple that really hits the spot. In fact, I found it very difficult to only drink one pint of this excellent beer, and still find myself craving the sweet, sweet liquid and oh my God I have to go back for some RIGHT NOW BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW HARD I SCRATCH THE ANTS ARE STILL UNDER MY SKIN CRAWLING CRAWLING CRAWLING PLEASE I NEED THAT BEER RIGHT NOW.
The Imaginary Reviewer is not responsible for any injuries suffered as a result of pinching the buxom barmaid's bottom.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
I would like to visit this place in Chatterstoft.
The Fantabulous Fountain of Fancy Footwear and Firkin sounds like the kind of place that would welcome a guy in a fuchsia shirt like moi, dontcha think? I ain't gay or nothing (not that there's anything wrong with it), I just dig the pink.
That cockthrob thing also appeals to me. Oh yeah.
One of the best things about our land is the (sadly threatened) pubs.
Ever read "the four men" by Belloc where they galavant across Sussex from pub to pub. I would love to follow the journey, one of our local brewery owners did do.
So sorry you didn't make it to the Kid and Vicar in Nether Fondling. The pork scratchings are to die for.
It's good to have you back, with or without your pancreas.
You should just do a review of imaginary British towns, because those names are hilarious.
IR, you owe me some new pants because I pissed myself laughing so much at this post!!!
(THAT'S A JOKE. Ladies don't urinate.)
FMIR: Soon, my love. Soon.
Tony: I've heard about you and the pink. Never apart, from what I've heard.
Mo: Indeed. The rise of the identikit chain pub is a travesty of massive proportions.
Mr LS: Yes, I was quite sad not to make it there, given my love of burnt pig back.
Some Guy: Why thank you! I'm sure it'll turn up at some point.
Beckeye: Just wait!
S&C: I knew that. It's why there are no urinals in ladies' toilets.
Nothing can ruin a day faster than terrible curtains.
Unless you're a band called Terrible Curtains. Then I'm willing to give you a chance.
I really need to move to England.
Post a Comment