One of the journeys was a relaxed early evening summertime stroll with a spring in the step and a rakish eye for the ladies. The other one was a shambling mess of a limping waddle, spilling horrible chipped food in my wake.
The view from (one of) The Golden Bridges
And so, just exactly what did happen “in between”?
Well this week’s trip was to the next Commonwealth country alphabetically after Antigua and Barbuda, which all those who know their aardvarks from their abacuses will tell you, is Australia. The Australian High Commission is located right at the point where Strand meets Fleet Street and this area is a veritable hot bed of pubs and a section of the capital city the readers of my previous blogs will know almost as well as I do.
With this very accessible location there was the potential for a heathy turnout and my journey to the start point was, as previously mentioned, a not so pleasant train journey from Wimbledon to Waterloo but then a very pleasant stroll across the Golden Jubilee Bridges (I only went across one of them) and an even pleasanter stroll along Embankment, past Victoria Embankment Gardens, past Cleopatra’s Needle, past Somerset House and onto Temple Station.
The Cabbies Shelter in Temple Place.
Here, I was very glad I could ignore the “attractions” of Walkabout (see other blog for details) and continue my stroll up Temple Place, past the disapproving eye of Isambard Kingdom Brunel (I mean, look at this link. He’s hardly jolly is he?) and into Arundel Street.
IKB. He'd be no fun on the tour.
Arundel Street is a complete mess of road works at the moment and I probably should have gone via Temple proper for much nicer scenery but I still found the rendezvous point of the Temple Bar on Milford Lane without too many problems.
Temple Bar in Milford Street. Look, it says so on the sign.
There, ensconced in a booth in the corner were the faithful crowd of Spiky Haired Ed, Buddy Rob, Gemma and New Guy Mickey. Now, New Guy Mickey was just about to finally shake off the “new guy” tag but he really is “New Guy” Mickey again, as he’s recently left my previous place of employment and, in one of those really strange coincidences, has ended up working alongside Rav…..so two guys with only the BGC’s tour in common have ended up as tour-buddies. I’m like a crapper version of Grinder!
Ensconced in the corner.....
Talking about Grinder, it wasn’t long before Lucie, Nicole, Pissed Up Phil arrived and they were quickly joined by Emma, who is a new flat mate of Nicole and Gemma’s and also the partner of George (this is all getting quite incestuous) who couldn’t attend due to “maths” (?) Finally Mr Clarke arrived closely followed by Mr Cheese and the attendance roster for this evening, with a very healthy 11, was complete.
Bar pumps at the Temple Bar
Gemma tries to distract the bar staff by colouring in the flags.
Rav was quite possibly drinking neat gin as he was obsessed by the display of empty gin bottles in the corner of the room. It took him a while to realise that they were all actually empty so perhaps this was the reason he ending up drinking vodka so early in the proceedings.
Comedy, Temple Bar style.
I produced tonight’s Flag Quiz Colouring Paper to tremulous approval and the group leapt to the task of completing the challenge of the 2 flags that required completing tonight with gusto, some it has to be said with more success than others. Gemma declared herself an instant flag expert whilst Buddy Rob went for the more artistic approach and coloured the flags as per the country’s sports teams.
I was amazed by how many people didn’t need to see tonight’s flags to complete their entries and by the time we left The Temple Bar I had a bulging top pocket full of papers.
The next stop was just around the corner in Essex Street and was a place we’d walked past on previous tours; both Monopoly and Oranges and Lemons. We’d never took the decision to visit it, as in its previous form the venue was known as Bierpalast and in fact Google’s Streetview still shows this earlier persona.
Good to see that the dentists hasn't changed
See, same dentists!
Currently the venue is home of the Essex Street Brewing Company and goes under the name of The Temple Brew House and as one might expect with such a name, brews its own beers on the premises. This fact was confirmed by all noses as we descended into the cellar bar and were assaulted by the pungent whiff of malt. Several folk commented that it smelt like a pet shop and I think it was Phil who likened it to urine soaked hamster bedding.
Temple Brown Ale
We took delivery of pints of Temple Brown Ale, served in chunky handled mugs and decided to sup outside. Hopefully this was because it was still such a pleasant evening and not because of the stench of pissy rodents.
Temple Brown Ale in action.
Rav, taking it easy.
The view from the street also gave us opportunity to check out The Edgar Wallace, which we visited on the very first Oranges and Lemon’s tour, whilst munching on the delicious wasabi (wooooosabi) snacks that Gemma produced and Nicole paid for. Apparently they cost nearly as much as her latest footwear and to be honest she’d have done better to have not to have bothered with either.
The gang by the Temple Brew House. Gemma's shoes cannot be seen.
It was that time of the evening to find the smallest room in the building and upon descending the stairs to the bar again I was instantly confused by the four doors, each bearing a different letter and seemingly having no relevance to either “gents” or “ladies” in any language that I know of. Finally having identified the correct door in the corner (it said “gents”) we dispatched Phil to find out what the letters actually stood for. Apparently there was K for kitchen, C for the cleaning cupboard and B for the beer room…..really a whole room for beer.
Pissy rodents.....
It’s probably where the lady brewer lives, and on that cue she appeared for a no doubt well-earned fag outside with us. Clad in wellies and fetching green coveralls the tour were amazed by the size of the spanner in her pocket. Which would have potentially been a good opening line, if it hadn’t been time to move on.
So once again we had to retrace some steps from the very first Oranges and Lemons and cross the road into the little traffic island by St Clement Danes church. This time however, instead of facing the church and listening out for the bells, we looked west and straight into the eyes of Australia House, which as the name sort of gives away, is the High Commission for Australia. And if you really want to impress the koalas you can tell them that it’s the longest continuously occupied diplomatic mission in the United Kingdom. And if you really really want to impress those cute little fellas you can tell them that there are more votes cast at Australia House during election time than any other any polling station in any of the Australian States or Territories. Good job we’ve got enough pubs to keep them all employed isn’t it.
If you look closely you can see Ed doing an impression of the statue at the top of Australia House.
Unfortunately though we’d have to wait a little longer before putting some more work the way of a barman of any nationality because the second and final High Commission of the evening is right next door. So after walking under the dozens of Australian flags (there was really no excuse for getting this one coloured wrongly) we arrived at India House (do you see some sort of pattern forming here) where there was only one flag and that was being hurriedly gathered in by a harassed looking diplomat who wasn’t all that keen to give the flag a quick flap and show the tourists what colour each of the three stripes was.
Stroppy diplomats.
We marched on, taking lives into our own hands and crossing Aldwych not quite knowing from what direction the traffic was coming from, and arrived at another place we’d been to once before, way back in the dim and distance days of the Monopoly Tour. During the very first Chance square we came to The Wellington and we were pleased with the pub itself, we were let down by the lack of mash with the sausage and mash and the lack of Cask Marque certificate with the casks.
There was still plenty of casks around with Rob, Ian and I all going for pints of Tasman Bullet from Harviestoun but still no sign of the certificate, so I had to rely on the Cask Marque app to report the lack of scan, something that wasn’t available when we visited last time. How technology has advanced!
The rest of the gang were now in fully colouring mode and the crayons were being passed around like the never appearing bags of cripps. I think it was at about this point that Rav, he of the flag-challenged mind, decided to colour his Australian flag bright green. Fooled by the fact that all the crayons had a blue wrapper he thought he’d plucked a blue one from the tub but oh so obviously hadn’t. Not even the sight of his flag slowly turning the same shade as a fresh lime stopped him and the attempt to colour over the top with the correct blue just made it a rather attractive shade of teal.
Yes, that's right, there is pink in the Indian Flag.
The “final” calling port of the evening was right next door in the shape of the Lyceum Tavern, a Sam Smith’s pub (hence the fact there’s no website) which we would have missed last time due to the fact they are never Cask Marque accredited. It’s a bit of a strange place because on the one hand it’s very traditional with lots of wood and a row of little snugs along one side of the pub, but on the other hand it’s so obviously a modern refit and it’s also very small whereas other favourite Sam Smith’s pubs of mine are much much bigger.
The Lyceum Tavern.
The drink of choice was Sam Smith’s Organic Wheat Beer and we finally got some cripps (Sam Smith’s of course) and then it was down to business in choosing the winner of the colouring competition. Having quick dismissed the non-runners from the riders, i.e. Rav’s turquoise version of Australia, Phil’s lame half-hearted minimalistic effort, and Rob’s rather obscene x-rated submission we were left with 4 options.
Lazy Phil, Colour Challenged Rav and Rude Rob.
Ian and Nicole had both done very admiral efforts but (IMHO) were let down by the two-tone blue on Ian’s Australian flag and the yellow stars on Nicole’s. Emma’s entry was certainly the neatest and her added boast that she could also write with both hands at the same time just maybe a party piece we need to see at a later date. Gemma’s paper though was my favourite for the prize because she’s completed it in the first pub so perhaps she was the flag master that she said she was.
Judging the winning entries.
Still every the diplomat I put the choice of the winner to the pick of the four Spanish ladies sat in the booth next to us. Perhaps they just wanted to get rid of me but the top paper was picked which turned out to be Gemma’s! So all’s well that ends well…….unless you’re Rav who then subjected me to half an hour’s worth of steward’s enquiry as to why he hadn’t won.
Top Left, Ian's Flags - Top Right, Emma's Flags and the boast of dual handed writing
Bottom Left, Nicole's Flags - Bottom Right, Gemma's Flags and a very optimistic age assessment
And what was the prize this time? Well Gemma is now the owner of a brand spanking new ball point pen and if you’re asking me why the pen was of relevance, well did you know there are more people working as secretaries and scribes in India as there are total people living in Australia…….and no I haven’t just made that up. Or did I? OK, yes I did? Well what were you expecting, Mastermind?
The group congratulate Gemma, especially Phil.
And that just left Ian, Rob, Rav and I to take one final pint in The Coal Hole and then start our shambling walk, firstly to Aussie Pete’s favourite Maccers and then across Waterloo Bridge (where the shambling and waddling and scattering of chips happened) to Rob and mine’s final resting place, the Union Jack Club and our 21st floor penthouse suite.
The Coal Hole.
Good night all. See you next time.
So the next episode will take place in Bangladesh…..or it would be if I could get my alphabet right…so it won’t be. It’ll be somewhere else.
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