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!

Tour 5 - From Barbados to Sierra Leone

So after the epic attendance of the last’s episode you would have thought that a trip out on everyone’s preferred party night (Thursday) just after pay day and in a nice “easy to get to” central London location, we would potentially be reaching new heights in terms of the number of tourists aboard the BGC’s Skylark.

Look! Architecture!

But of course, I wasn’t reckoning on Mr Cheese’s “never go out on a Thursday” rule, Mr Clarke’s plans to be sunning himself in Turkey, the payroll girls coming up with some sort of half-baked, half-believable story about having a “leaving do” to attend and the IT blokes just basically saying that they couldn’t be bothered.

Penfold.

Well sod the lot of them. I still had my faithful Penfold in the shape of Slowpoke Sam who was more than up for some mid-week High Commission based pub tomfoolery…so all the more flags for us then.

For those who know how to spell Barbados and know that Ba(r)hamas doesn’t have an extra “r” in it the area we would be exploring tonight is Bloomsbury, which is the area in between Holborn and Mayfair and includes such places as the British Museum & Great Ormond Street Hospital.

No prizes for guessing.

It’s also home to two other High Commissions in additional to Barbados and it was a pretty easy job to intersperse the route in between these with a maximum of 8 pubs. Luckily at least 6 of these pubs where in “pairs” being so closely located to each other that if Sam and I felt the midweek pace was getting a bit too much we could easily miss one or two of these out.

It's on a corner......well it would have to be wouldn't it?

The route proper started in The Jack Horner on Tottenham Court Road, but due to the fact I’d been “working at home” (and yes, I did actually do some work) and Sam works silly navvy shift hours, for us the tour really began on the 5 o clock train to London which set my commuting nerves a jangling as we went in the opposite direction of half the population of Great Britain.

The tube from Paddington to Oxford Circus was as packed as I’ve ever seen it and it was quite a relief to emerge into the watery summer sunlight and walk the rest of the way to The Jack Horner, missing out Tottenham Court Road station as it’s currently under several billion tons of concrete due to the Cross Rail project.

In fact the walk up from Oxford Road was quite interesting because we cut through the various little backstreets of Fitzrovia, where every street corner seemed to have a pub on it, making a mental note in my brain anyway, that we should try to do a tour around this area at some point……you never know, there might be a future High Commission hiding in these backstreets.

Eventually we broke back out onto Tottenham Court Road and quickly entered The Jack Horner which is one of Fuller’s Pie and Ale pubs. This means overpriced pies and free drink vouchers for Sam and me due to Fuller’s ongoing free pint thing on their websites. Sam made full use of his voucher, going for a pint of the normally exorbitantly priced Sierra Nevada while I kept things real with a pint of Wayland Smithy from White Horse Brewery.

We couldn't put the Jack Horner pie-chart to the test due to money reasons.

I’ll say one thing for The Jack Horner, there was certainly no shortage of attentive bar staff with Sam and me being asked throughout the duration of our drinks whether we required any additional services. We did toy with the idea of eating one of the fabled pies, but at those shocking prices we decided that Fuller’s would have to make do with just the price of our vouchers as we made our departure to begin the tour.

Gurning.

The next stop was the first High Commission of the night after a quick left turn into Great Russell Street we found ourselves directly outside the Barbadian High Commission. Alas, this place must have been following the example of its Caribbean sister, Jamaica, as there was no jolly flag to be seen flying outside the door, which is a shame as it’s quite a nice flag at that. So instead, we just had to make do with a photo of my ugly mug and the empty flagpole.

Pole.

The route continued down Great Russell Street, past the Trades Union Congress building where Sam doffed his flat cap and gave a rousing rendition of the Red Flag, before we walked alongside the impressive frontage of the British Museum itself.

The next stop was in the appropriately named Museum Street and appropriately was called The Museum Tavern, which from the outside looks to be a huge corner pub, but in fact, on the inside is quiet a snuck long thin pub.

Long and thin.

This place is another from the Taylor Walker stable and had the usual mix of red-nosed wine drinking regulars and pink baseball cap wearing tourists, meaning that Sam and I fitted well in. We decided to take advantage of the more reasonably priced menu and before you could say “must have been heated up in the microwave” we had bangers and mash and the Big Ben burger in front of us to accompany the pints of N1 from Hammerton Brewery and Curious IPA from Chapel Down.

Like all of the Taylor Walker pubs, this place was Cask Marque accredited but there was no sign of the certificate, unless it was well camouflaged against the book-shelf wallpaper. Just to clarify, this was wallpaper that looks like a load of shelves of books.

Sombrero!

After Sam had admired the tatty souvenir shop opposite and I’d admired the sombrero hung on the wall, we left and took the 50 yard journey to the opposite side of the road and The Plough, another Taylor Walker pub which surely has its deliveries done by the same brewery dray as the Museum Tavern?

But funnily enough the evidence on the inside suggested otherwise as the front bar had a distinct lack of handpumps that had been so in evidence in The Museum Tavern. We both went for a half of Dead Pony Club from Brewdog and settled back in the front bar as our foray into the back bar had revealed neither the Cask Marque certificate or enough room to swing a pair of red heels in. Anyway the company in the front bar was more pleasing to the eye and as Sam would attest by his Taylor Swift rendition, the music was better too.

With half pints finished, the route continued round the corner into Bloomsbury Way and past Bloomsbury Square Gardens and eventually after taking our lives in the hands of the hundreds of busses thundering by we reached the next pub.

Sam's across. I'm waiting for the bus.

The Holborn Whippet occupies a prime location at the top corner of Sicilian Avenue which is a rather odd, but rather beautiful passageway that links Bloomsbury Way and the Kingsway. The architecture is quite splendid and it’s possibly worth a visit whether or not your aim is to partake in either the Holborn Whippet or any of the other restaurants that line its sides.

The pub is obviously doing very well and is taking full advantage of its location as there was a hustling and bustling crowd spilling out into the avenue itself. For all of its fullness though, service was very quick and the main challenge was working out what beers were actually for sale as they were only advertised on little slate blackboards over the number of beer taps poking out of the wall behind the bar.

The beer we went for was the rather jolly sounding Mirthless from Redwillow Brewery and we continued with the ½ pint measure seeing as there was still a number of pubs in front of us. A point totally ignored by the barman who although poured us half pints, tried to charge me for pints. He rectified his mistake quickly enough but did seem almost miffed that I was pointing out such an obvious mistake. I got my money back but am still short an apology.

Sam's Column.

We retired to the hustle and bustle of the crowds outside and found a comfortable position leaning up against one of the Sicilian pillars. We probably should have stayed for a couple more because there was certainly the beer range to warrant an extended stay but somehow the ambiance wasn’t quite our collective cups of tea so we decided it was time to leave.

The route now led us down the full length of the avenue until we emerged out onto Kingsway and we could have had a nice shortcut ahead of us had there not been huge road-cum-building works blocking the road. So instead we had to trudge down to the High Holborn crossroads and then back up Proctor Street until we could bear right into Red Lion Square.

Now there’s a brief story, which is most pertinent to both the tour and Red Lion Square itself that I have to quickly retail.

On the south side of the square are the offices of Mishcon de Reya, a London company of lawyers whose claim to fame is that they represented Diana, Princess of Wales in her divorce from Prince Charles. And if that claim to fame wasn’t enough, they also had the pleasure of interviewing me for a job about a year ago.

As I was killing time before the interview began, having arrived about 3 hours too early in my usual style, I strolled around both the square and the roads leaving off it. It was then that I stumbled across the High Commission of Sierra Leone and it was this occurrence that cemented the idea of the Flying the Flag tour.

Now before we go on to describe the front door of Sierra Leone’s offices I suppose I better clear up that Mishcon de Reya and I came to agree to not agree to work for each other although to be fair to myself I never actually heard back from them so for all I know they’re still waiting for me to turn up one Monday or other. Let’s hope Camilla doesn’t need their services any time soon.

Sierra Leone definitely wins the prize for the most unassuming front door so far. Their High Commission is half way along Eagle Street which is just a row of high brick walls and there in the middle is a very plain wooden door into which presumably the Excellency of Sierra Leone walks in everyday and asks if there are any messages. At least there was a flag though, so points over Jamaica and Barbados!

Red Lion Street.

Leaving behind the palatial openings into Sierra Leone we turned the corner into Red Lion Street and bumped straight into the next two pubs, The Dolphin and The Enterprise, which stand glaringly opposite each other in this very narrow street. The Dolphin was the nearest and although the beer selection was disappointing (halves of Timothy Taylor Landlord) the actual place was ticking many boxes with its patterned carpet, interesting pictures on the walls and piles of knick-knacks littered along each and every surface. Inside we easily obtained some seats by the window but outside there was a sizable crowd of punters milling around in the fading evening sun.

Nice place....shame about the beer range.

I had thought that both pubs were Cask Marque accredited but it turned out that only The Enterprise is, so swiftly finishing off the halves we popped over the road to the much bigger and much darker Enterprise where we were met with a similar disappointing range of beers.

The Dolphin as seen from The Enterprise.

This time we chose Purity’s UBU and tried in vain to locate the Cask Marque certificate before failing once more (that’s three down and no certificates so far) and instead resigning ourselves to some high stools by the door.

The Enterprise as seen from The Dolphin.

When you take a closer look, The Enterprise was actually quite ornate looking, with some lovely raised patterned tiles adorning the walls and it’s a shame that the lights were kept down so low when in my opinion, a brighter ambiance would have suited the place much better.

The halves didn’t take long to finish and before you could notice how many people seemed to come across from The Dolphin, use the toilets in The Enterprise before returning back again, we were on our way to the final High Commission of the night.

Theobolds Road led us to John Street where the more impressive frontage of the High Commission of Malawi is located, complete with flag, allowing us the final gurning snap-shot of the night and another three High Commissions ticked off the seemingly never ending list.

Only another 487 photos like this of the BGC.

Feeling rather sloshingly full and also with an eye on the clock in order to avoid the red-eye last train home, we now had the choice of one of two final watering holes. So taking the easier route, we continued up John Street where The Lady Ottoline occupied a corner of the road spot.

None of your lip here!

As we approached the place, Sam noticed that there was a sizable crowd inside the building and let out an expletive. It was a rather mild expletive, but an expletive nevertheless and no sooner had it left his lips than a wandering glasses collector who was loitering outside the pub told us in no uncertain terms that it was “closed for a private function”.

Now of course, we have no way of proving whether this was indeed the case or not, but it at least made the final watering hole decision easy as we rounded the corner into Gray’s Inn Road and wandered down to The Yorkshire Grey.

From the brief glimpse we had of the Lady Ottoline it looked to be a young, hip and happening place, if you’re into bared walls, menus on clipboards and blokes with beards and to be honest, The Yorkshire Grey looked exactly the same, even if it was less full. No doubt because they weren’t closed for a “private function”.

Hacked off with the Hackney! HAHAHAHAHA!

For all its hipness, there was only one cask ale on draught, Hackney Brewery’s Best Bitter, which I went for whilst Sam went for a can of Electric IPA from Brixton Brewery, which at least wasn’t served on a shovel, or in a cocked hat.

One sip of the Hackney told me enough to know that this beer was off and summoning all my depths of bravery I informed the barman so. He took a sample himself and whilst managing not to speak a word to me directly, produced a range of facial expressions to indicate that he disagreed. Then the manager (all skinny jeans and bushy beard) appeared and went through the same pantomime.

Eventually when this duo had taken their curtain calls, bows and bouquets he offered me an alternative drink of Sierra Nevada, which at least allowed us to finish the pub crawl with a nice sense of circularity. Oh….we found the Cask Marque certificate…….stuck on the highest shelf imaginable. 4 Pubs, 4 non-Scans……………Trevor!

So we managed to actually enter 7 of the 8 planned pubs and all-in-all I reckon if you could have the décor of The Dolphin, the beer range of The Holborn Whippet and the clientele of The Plough, you’d have a pretty good pub. It would just need a bearded bloke on the door in a sombrero telling everyone that it was a “private party”.

From there it was a quick dash across country to Farringdon tube station to make it back to Paddington in time to take part in some unnecessary jostling for the penultimate train back home.

Hard at work.

And if you were wondering whether Sam won the colouring competition…..he did! And I have to say that his colourful efforts, carried out on the train no less, were actually quite good. And anyone who thinks they can draw a better pair of breasts can try to do so on the sheaf of spare sheets I left on the trains.

You’re welcome FGW, you’re welcome.