Tour 8 - From Cameroon to Sri Lanka

I’m not sure if I’ve ever explained the exact process that goes into selecting the High Commissions and the pubs for each of these world renowned tours. You might have thought that I borrow several dozen chimpanzees and several dozen typewriters and just hope that between them a suitable route gets created, but alas it’s nothing as intelligent or exciting as that. But don’t think that I’m going to completely open my bag of cats because just like Colonel Sanders I can’t reveal the precise inner working of the secret recipe, but the basic working principle goes something like this;

Take the next High Commission alphabetically. So for this tour, Tour 8, that means we’ve finally left the “B’s” behind and started with our first “C”, which as every studious schoolchild knows, is Cameroon.

So, once we’ve got the “first” High Commission sorted, the next step is to see which other High Commissions are located nearby. And it was here where we hit a challenge with this particular outing.


Cameroon’s High Commission is located in Holland Park, all on its own and quite a distance away from any other fellow High Commissioners. An ever widening internet search later revealed that there were two other High Commissions in the not too far distance, but these were both not in exactly spitting distance and also, they were both standing alone in the same fashion as Cameroon.

The good news was that all three together formed a pretty straightish line, running across the top of Hyde Park, standing over the deep rumblings of the Central Underground Line. Therefore the simplest solution would be to take these three as the candidates for Tour 8 and link them together with some short tube journeys between the locations.

Holland Park Tube Station.

So, with this plan in mind, I set the tourists their starting point of The Castle, on Holland Park Avenue, just a couple of metres away from the entrance to Holland Park tube station itself. It’s certainly an attractive pub, with the outside covered in green and cream aged tiles, some of them spelling out the name of Charrington’s, the original brewers who owned and ran the pub.

The Castle.

I was first to arrive and the pub was already bustling with a fair crowd of people, meaning I had to turn on the full BGC charm to get the Latin barmaid to serve me on the other side of the bar, away from the crowds of student-types who were milling around like they didn’t really know what they were meant to do. I plumped for a pint of Amarillo Amber from Meantime Brewery, which although it was proudly served in the branded stemmed glass, was much much too cold for my liking and meant the taste was dulled until it could have been any old fizzy golden beer.

Cold and fizzy. I'm sure this isn't what Meantime were planning.

Talking about the bar, the other thing I noticed was the Cask Marque certificate stuck securely and unobtainabley behind the bar, meaning I’d be one more scan up for the night, but only thanks to the “certificate not accessible” option on the app.

Certificate not accessible.

I managed to secure a table of sorts in the back room and wondered if I would have to sacrifice the low sofa that came with the table to any one of the other groups who were prowling around looking for places to sit. Luckily it wasn’t too long until Rav arrived and although it was lovely to see him again as he has missed a few tours recently, it was mainly a feeling of relief because he could now take one of the seats and mean that I was no longer a Billy No-Mates and wouldn’t have to deploy the next phase of my seat reserving plot which would have been to start laying towels on the spare seats.

We didn’t have to wait that long until the next attendees appeared, in the shape of Sam, who once again was on some sort of “day off”. He was spending this particular “day off” doing his bit for the community by escorting Richard, a CAMRA friend from Berkshire (the current chairman no less) who currently divides his time between homes in Newbury and Notting Hill, meaning this tour was almost on one of his two doorsteps.

From left to right: Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich...etc etc

Richard and Sam took their places on the low sofa, giving us all concern that we’d have to get Thora Hird along to help Richard back out again, but we saved the situation by acquiring some more spare chairs, which was good because they were soon put to use by the arrival of Mr Clarke, again not seen for a couple of tours and Mr Cheese who was running late as usual. The final tourist of the evening was Paul, a newcomer to the tour but another who lives not too far away. The other reason that Paul was here was to ensure his dad didn’t take a nasty fall and have to press his emergency call button.

By the time everyone had arrived and had got themselves settled it was time for a second pint and the drink of choice, certainly for Paul and I anyway was Maverick, a ginger and chilli flavoured cider from Orchard Pig. I’ve had this before and it really doesn’t taste as foul as it sounds.

Being a Maverick.

With a complicated public transport related tour in the offing tonight, it was time to set off and complete the first High Commission of the night, which was the afore mentioned Cameroon, whose place of residence is just over the road in the afore mentioned Holland Park. The flag was still out but the autumnal nights are now our worst enemy meaning the green, red and yellow of the flag could be any of a millions shades of grey to the naked eye. Still, we managed to get in the usual gurning snapshot of my visage posing against the brass plaque.

Gurning.

My original plan was to now descend the depths of Holland Park tube station and take the Central Line one stop along to Notting Hill Gate but the combined thoughts of the two father and son duo had put two alternative suggestions on the table. Richard was all for getting the bus to the next pub, probably because he gets free bus travel compared to having to lay out some coppers for the tube, but Paul countered that the walk wasn’t long anyway, and by the time we’d descended to the depths of the tube anyway we’d be more than half way along to the next stop. And anyway, there was no way we’d ever get Richard’s bath chair onto a bus in the first place!

What Paul also mentioned in passing was that my next suggested pub, The Old Swan, wasn’t perhaps the best of venues and instead would we like to sample the delights of the Uxbridge Arms in the aptly named Uxbridge Street?

Uxbridge Arms.

The walk was, as promised, not that long at all and before we knew it we were entering the very cosy surroundings of the Uxbridge Arms, which as everyone kept commenting, could have been any little local in any little town up and down the country.

The beer offering wasn’t that dynamic but the pints were in excellent form and my pint of St Austell’s Tribute was certainly much more drinkable than the frosty Meantime I’d had previously. The only obvious downside to the Uxbridge Arms was that space was at a premium and we were spread over two tables either side of the toasty real fire whilst Sam propped up the bar like an extra in the Woolpack.

Amos.

It’s very hard to make out in the photograph but the little red lettered sign just behind Sam’s left shoulder, bears the legend of “No Pissy Attitudes”, which I guess is just about as sage as anyone should become in the pub.

More like pissy pants.......is his bag full again?

The next pub on my original agenda was The Champion and this pub got the rubber stamp of Paul’s approval so it was another medium length jaunt along Notting Hill Gate itself before crossing the road opposite the imposing Russian Embassy and stopping at the second High Commission of the night.

The front door of Guyana’s High Commission is hidden behind some leafy trees but even after we’d peered behind these it was disappointingly obvious that the flag had been taken in for the night, leaving us with a bare flagpole and only another gurning photo to keep us company.

More gurning.

The afore mentioned Champion is on the next street corner and is a large Tardis like pub, teeming with the young, hipster and bearded, meaning the beer range was quite good but the chances of getting the necessary space for our gang was quite poor.

Get the beers in Rob...Champion.

My beer of choice was Autumn Red from Caledonian and the table of Hobson’s Choice was a cramped affair from which we had no chance to see if there was a Cask Marque certificate or not and therefore no chance to redeploy the “certificate not available” option again.

Appropriate given the time of year.

The original plan here, once done in the pub, was to jump back on the tube at Queensway and take it one stop further again to Lancaster Gate, but seeing as we all seemed to be fairly good shape at this point, we decided a little late evening exercise wouldn’t be too arduous and we set off in good spirits.
We would have reached our destination sooner had we not fallen foul of Google Map’s detour into Lancaster Gate  itself and we then had to ignore the bright lights and temptation of The Swan, another Fuller’s pub that we met on the way. The Fuller’s pub we had planned was The Victoria but that most welcome of drinks would have to wait just a tat longer, just as soon as we’d finalised our final High Commission business.

Camp gurning.

Alas, although the building that the good citizens of Sri Lanka call home is a fine appointed mansion with a very nice porchway, they also had taken in the flag for the night meaning the tourists would be flying blind when it came to the colouring.

The world's crappest boy band reunion tribute act.

The colouring was to take place in the afore mentioned Victoria, a pub I have known the delights of before as it’s a lovely pub full of interesting décor and also full of drinkers, who tonight anyway were in the form of quiz players. As we entered the chap with the microphone was just about to announce the answer to “What was the name of the song that Jim Diamond took to number 1 in December 1984?”

Look! It's Jim Diamond at the bar!

If, like me, you got the answer right, treat yourself to a pint of ale and give yourself the next weekend off. If, unlike me, you either don’t know or don’t care, the answer is at the foot of the page.

Due to the fullness of the bar, we took our drinks, a fine pint of Adnam’s Ghostship for me, upstairs to the theatre bar which was deserted which at least meant that the boys could get down to the business of their colouring.

Hard at work.

I have to give them some latitude of course, due to the fact we’d only actually seen one of the three flags tonight, and even then that one was in the gloom of the evening, but maybe I shouldn’t have been that surprised at the combinations of gaudy colours that adored this tour’s versions of the flags. And of course there were the usual comments of badly drawn penises and even one “arse-wipe”.

Paul's winning entry on the left. Richard's French influenced attempt on the right,

The scanned picture here doesn’t do the colouring justice but I awarded first and only prize to Paul for his very neat effort and one can only imagine the delight he must have been feeling as he was presented with his prize of a child’s atlas which features the three flags we should have been seeing tonight. Hopefully it will make up for the lack of real flags anyway.

The Pride of Photography.

For the final stop of the evening it was a short sprint to Praed Street, the home of not only Paddington Station, but the Pride of Paddington pub and the Pride of Paddington beer and a barmaid who needed 47 attempts to understand Ian’s request for some port scratchings.

The Pride of Pints.

So as the tour slowly disintegrated into their own merry ways to various merry homes, it was left to Sam, Rob and I to find some meagre food sustenance on the forecourt of Paddington Station.

The McNasty Brothers. Angus, Wee Jimmy and Morag.

At least for this tour there wasn’t the normal, mad dash to get the final train of the night and there was even time to see the results of Great Western Railways rebranding in the shape of their new décor for the on-board toilets. I was so impressed, I didn’t buy the company, but I did drop my phone down the pan.

Thanks GWR, the feeling is mutual.

So you really didn’t know the answer to the quiz question? You really should have done better.

Arse Wipe.

Tour 6 - From Botswana to Tanzania

For those who are reading this blog with the fervour of a kneeling, rocking student in a Madrasa, you’ll remember that the last episode began with Sam and I having to struggle our way through the tumultuous hoards milling around Oxford Street. And this week’s episode began no differently, with me having to struggle my handsome way through the tumultuous hoards on Oxford Street. And for those most diligent of BGC blog students, who like to know the area where we were touring, we’ve moved steadily east from Bloomsbury to Marylebone.

This meant that my tube journey on this particular night was carried out on the Jubilee line, a line that I don’t get to go on all that often. So this could have meant a nice, interesting start but instead meant a fight to get on and off a heavily crowded train and eventually emerge into the watery sunlight at Bond Street.

Get out of my way! I'm the BGC don't you know?

On the bright side, at least the walk to the first pub wasn’t far at all, once I’d dodged between the taxis and buses crawling up Oxford Street, and I just had to turn up into James Street and take the quick 5 minute stroll up to the Lamb and Flag.

Note the sign.....

The pub, which again is from the Taylor Walker organisation, occupies a corner by Barret Street and this is a little pedestrianised area in which lots of diners and drinkers were blocking my ability to actually get into the pub. When I finally did so, the inside of the pub was actually rather empty with only a smattering of people on the few tables in the place. The beer range was rather disappointing with nothing too interesting available to take my attention, so I went for the very interesting looking Apple and Pears, a cider from the Millwhites Cider press.

Awful name for a cider. Great taste though.

The very friendly and flirty barman asked me if I wanted a taster first, which I was only too happy to take advantage of. I think from his point of view he just wanted to make sure I’d be prepared for the sour taste of real cider compared to the sickly sweetness of today’s popular bottled ciders, but from my point of view it meant that I got a bit extra for my money as the pint cost me a fiver!
I retired outside and staked my claim on a spare spot of pavement by a little pillar with a dangerously sloping surface onto which I gingerly place my pint.

Inside the Lamb and Flag.

Judging by the people going past this was a real mixing pot of people and places with a mix of hundreds of office workers returning home (or to the pub) and shopping bag laden tourists dithering hither and thither. Also from my view point I could see the scruffy loading bay of Selfridges which is a lot less impressive than the front entrance. What was also less impressive was the low-slung white Lamborghini which roared into view at a lightning 5 mph and promptly parked on the double yellow lines outside the loading bay. I guess the Saudi driver was just popping in for some vital supplies.
It was about this point that our first tourist of the night appeared in the shape of Buddy Rob who unfortunately was only aboard for a quickie (or two) as he had to return to work. This meant that his familiar bottle of Bud was changed tonight for a pint of Foster’s shandy, which he also gently placed on the precipitous pillar.

Selfridge's back door.

Rob was soon followed by Gemma who has just started another new job in Old Street and had also endured a sweltering tube experience which meant an over-exaggerated flapping of her neck line whilst she also delicately balanced her pint of ice-cold Crabbie’s Ginger Beer on top the makeshift table cum pillar.

It wasn’t long until the other two confirmatory attendees appeared in the delectable shapes of Emma and Nicole, which also meant that the whole of the ladies’ household was in attendance.
The first job of the night was to present the not-present George with her prize for winning the session we did around High Street Kensington a couple of weeks ago. If you haven’t the memory of an elephant then you won’t remember that when we ended this tour just outside the doors of Whole Foods and my idea then was to grab a bottle of beer from any old Commonwealth country and make this the prize. And this would have been a damn good plan until George dropped the bombshell that she doesn’t really like beer.

And the prize for drunkest lush goes to......

The solution was a bottle of South African Redd’s, which according to the label is a Crisp Alcoholic Blend. I had a bottle, for research purposes only of course, and can confirm that it tastes like apple flavoured beer……and isn’t totally unpleasant. Anyway with George being “unavailable” and also not being on the live video link, Gemma was very happy to accept the prize on her behalf.

It was time for a quick foray to the toilets and it was then that I discovered the Cask Marque certificate pinned to a wall on the stairs down to the loos. Unfortunately by this point I’d already used the Cask Finder app to report that the certificate wasn’t available so I hope the flirty barman doesn’t get into trouble.

Excellent Loos.....they even have a certificate.

Drinks finished and with notification from Mr Cheese that he was running ever more late, we moved on through the crowded mess of tables of the cafes desperately trying to recreate a continental flavour and made the struggle back down to Oxford Street where luckily we only had to dodge up the next left turning into Stratford Place and the first two High Commissions on the night.

It's a name that's been used before, but at least Tanzania has named their High commission

I’m not sure how close Botswana and Tanzania are politically, I mean they’re not exactly near to each other geographically, but they are very close High Commissionally as they share two buildings next to each other on Stratford Place. Currently Botswana is having the best of the deal as the Tanzania building was covered in scaffolding spreading out from what I presume is more Cross Rail work happening on Oxford Street. But you can at least still get your visas.

Nice bag.

Rob did the photo duties and before you could say “carrier bag full of jacket” we forged onwards. Onwards in this case meant back down to Oxford Street again and another immediate left turn into Marylebone Lane and along this curving back street to Wigmore Street where we could see the Cock & Lion directly ahead.

Outside and inside the Cock and Lion

The building is a most attractive one with a decorative balcony on the top floor and a sign above the pub which made me think that this was another from the Taylor Walker stable but in fact it turns out to be an independent. There were a few people outside drinking at the couple of tables, but like any of the streets off Oxford Street, it was eerily quiet compared to the raucous hub-bub of the West End.
Inside it was even quieter with an empty bar and a row of empty tables along one wall. I treated Rob to his 2nd pint of shandy, Carling this time, and treated myself to a pint of Yakima Red from Meantime.

The rows of empty tables were too good an opportunity not to start on the colouring competition and with Buddy Rob about to leave and Cheesy Rob about to arrive, this meant that we had a tour of only previous winners….apart from Nicole. She seemed to take this as a sure sign that she would be a dead cert to win tonight’s competition. I told her in no uncertain terms, that whilst this might well be true, she’d still have to complete a colouring sheet as there were to be no free lunches on my watch.

As the ladies were busily colouring away I took a closer look around the pub and saw the second notification of the Simonds Brewery of the night. At the Lamb & Flag I’d noticed the name of this now defunct Reading based brewery on the pub sign and here in the Cock & Lion there was an old advert, framed on the wall advertising various products from the brewery. All very interesting I’m sure you’ll agree………anyway, back to the tour.

Mr Simonds makes his second appearance.

With Mr Cheese confirming that he would be delayed even more, we took the decision to continue the expedition and made our combined ways out of the pub and turn an immediate right up the furthering curve of Marylebone Lane until we reached the junction of Hinde Street and The Coach Makers. I was quite taken about by what was another very striking building and the Hinde Street Methodist Church just to the pub’s right. Whilst Emma and I were admiring these buildings Gemma and Nicole were taken aback from the range of jams and marmalades in the window of Paul Rothe & Son. Each unto his own I guess.

Prising the noses of the two conserve maniacs away from the window, we made our way past the group of young poshos and the suspect Big Issue salesman, who no doubt was doing his best “it’s my last one” pitch, we found ourselves in a very pleasant and very not crowded pub. There was a beer brewed specially (or renamed specially) for the pub on, so we all settled down with pints of Lubricant which I understand is brewed by Sharp’s. But whoever it is brewed by, the Untappd checking in of this beer meant I obtained the “Brewnettes Have More Fun” badge, bearing a uncanny resemblance to the brunettes I was out with tonight. Well, brunette/mousey….it’s all the same yes?

From left to right: Nicole, Gemma, Emma. Mr Cheese is out of the frame.

As I say, The Coach Makers is a smart looking place, with its old church seating, crystal chandeliers, bare brick walls and notices for a gin palace in the upstairs bar. It also has a Speak Easy in the basement, but the doors were locked so who knows what exactly goes on behind them when it is open.

Much to my relief Mr Cheese eventually turned up and I could hand over the reins of the flagging conversation to him and his drugs stories. I’d also spotted the Cask Marque certificate on the wall and whilst I was nowhere near enough to scan it from the position it had been nailed to the wall behind the bar, I did manage to get a photo to prove our visit.

Thoughts were turning to food, sadly not the Coach Maker’s special ploughman’s lunch (at only 19 quid a plate) but to the crips that Mr Cheese had purchased and the range of oysters that Emma admitted she’d never tried.

mmmm...salty snot

Needless to say, this was far too good an opportunity to miss, so Nicole was dutifully dispatched to the bar to purchase a single solitary oyster at the princely sum of £2.50. I will say it was delightfully presented on a plate with lemon, Tabasco and shallot vinegar and after much cajoling and checking to make sure the thing was disconnected from the shell, Emma manfully swallowed it in one. “Salty snot” was the verdict…..which pretty much summed up what the rest of us were predicting.

Swift one for the road.....

A second pint was taken, in the form of Truman’s Swift but it was soon time to leave and make the longest trek of the evening, down the length of Hinde Street, over Harley Street (no doctors were seen) and along the length of Queen Anne Street until we reached the point where this road bends round into Chandos Street.

Nice bag....again.

Here, right on the corner is the location of the Namibian High Commission and with Rob number two taking over the BGC photographing duties from Rob number one, we were soon back on our way up to Weymouth Mews and The Dover Castle, the final pub of the night.

Night draws in by the Dover Castle

What I didn’t realise was that this pub was a Sam Smith’s and as it was tucked away from the touristic throngs it had a very quiet, homely, local pub feel to it. By the time I’d finished taking Rob’s photo next to the very English sportscar outside the pub, the girls were already settling down with a bottle each of Sam’s fruit beers, one strawberry, one cherry and one apricot…….I think they were still thinking about jam.

Car

Fruity

Rob and I had pints of Sam’s organic wheat beer and then it was down to work as the girls finished off their colouring for the evening and made what I have to say are the three neatest entries in the competition so far. There was no way I could split them on the standard of the colouring but luckily tonight’s prize lent itself to a handy way to decide who had won.

Stop bloody grinning girls and get to work!

That's more like it!

I’d managed to pick up from the legendary Thatcham Car Boot sale a job lot of those little desktop flags you sometimes see at the UN or other international conferences. As luck would have it, amongst the 8 or so flags in the bundle, there was a Namibian flag which meant the winner would be whoever’s colouring matched the flag the closest.

Hard to pick a winner....

Much to Nicole’s disgust, but nevertheless indisputably, Gemma’s colouring was the closest match to the real flag and she was declared the winner and our first winner to obtain a second stint on the top of the podium. Nicole will just have to wait a little longer.

For some strange reason though, Gemma didn’t want all the flags so they were dutifully shared around meaning everyone got at least one to display proudly between their staplers and telephones.
And so with a sprint up to Regents Park tub station for me and Rob, another tour draws its eyes to a close.

The stapler and phone are out of the frame.

And boy, we will need some sleep…..the next tour has 7 High Commissions to cover!

Get some sleep oldies!