subsidised drinking
Recently I was meeting a friend who works in the Houses of Parliament.
I asked what pub we should meet at, but instead he told me to meet him at Westminster station. I did that, after accidentally going to Waterloo.
It was the first time I have been to Westminster station, it is quite different to the other stations, a bit like how a german film director would have made a sci-fi version of what the London underground in the 30s.
It is a welcome change, except that in many places it smells like piss.
I was still waiting to be taken to a pub when I was dragged into the house of commons, had to take out off all my bomb related materials, was patted down and had my photo taken.
Eventually I asked just the hell we were drinking, it turns out we were drinking at one of many pubs inside the houses of parliament.
It wasn’t the prettiest pub i’ve ever drunk in, the service was a bit shabby, their weren’t many beers to choose from, but it had one advantage, the beer was cheap.
That is someone’s taxes hard at work.
From memory, and it is a little shady, the price was about 2.10 a pot, which for inner London is robbery.
If you are an actual politician it is less they tell me.
So here i was in inner London, drinking with a view of Westminster Abbey, and drinking beer at 1972 prices on the taxpayers dime.
Seems fair.
I have given so much to the world, not sure the politicians can claim the same.
I wonder if this system stops at drinks though, surely there is a brothel, a shoemaker, and a post office all subsidised in those hallow walls.
Thinking of politicians having to pay full price for something makes me sad.
My new Ashes book.
the old man at the pub
Today i had time to kill in the city, so i had a couple of lagers at a pub.
It was all going well until this old man took up the table next to mine.
After putting his beer down and lighting up his mini cigar type thing he started screaming, from what I could tell at his beer.
He then put his fingers in his ears like some inhuman force was screaming at him.
Then he left.
His beer was still there, as was his bag, but he was nowhere to be found.
Then about 15 minutes later he came back, looked around, picked up his bag and beer, and moved to the next table along.
He took one small sip, then went missing for another ten minutes.
When he came back he took out a scarf, took about 5 minutes making sure it was immaculate, picked up his bag and then walked away.
He must have been in his late 60s, had peroxide blonde hair, a tan three piece suit and the shiniest black shoes I have ever seen.
I kept looking up at that full glass of beer for almost an hour.
He never came back for the beer.
I have a problem
My local bar is a comfortable drunken waddle from my front door.
They have good food (although they changed their menu for summer and took off the steak), play good music, have two screens for sport, and have an outdoor area, is a little scummy without being a shit hole and has comfy couches.
I know it sounds like heaven, and it almost is, all except for one small detail.
The beer.
It is shit.
I have tried almost every beer they have on tap, which is like ten, and you’d think they have one good one, but no.
They have lagers: Staropramen (which i like to call star of penis, go on laugh, i dare ya), carling, becks and stella.
They aren’t the worst four lagers of all time, but I don’t find any of them that drinkable in a long session.
Their bitters are: john smith’s and black sheep, they do have another one, i just can’t remember what the fuck it is called.
Yet again neither are horse piss, but I couldn’t stay on either all day in a session.
Then they have Guiness, strongbow, a couple of others I can’t remember.
These really aren’t my thing.
So here is my conundrum, should i change bars?
There is a bar 10 minutes further walk away, and it has way better beers, but the ambience of a mortuary.
The chairs are not comfy, the main barman is to eager to be part of your life, and the place has an air of pretension that I don’t need.
So I have two choices, I can continue to drink at the pub with the beers i don’t like, or sit in a dentist’s reception room with a good beer.
I could always looks for other pubs within walking distance, but even if I find one with beer i like, and the ambience i desire, it wont be as close as my local.
a racist, but a knowing one
I spent time with an Englishman at a pub recently.
Good bloke.
It was St Patrick’s day, he bought my green beer.
Dick head.
The pub was packed so we had to share a table with a South African, an old military man.
The guy had a lot of stories, and was a delight to talk to.
But it didn’t take long for him to become just a little bit racist.
It all started when my mate asked me how i was going without the word Paki.
For those who don’t know i tried to reclaim the word Paki as in Australia we call Pakistanis Pakis, because we nickname like that.
Not for racist purposes like the English use Paki.
Anyway, this started the Older South African on a rant against PCness.
Which is fine, but it eventually culminated in him telling us a story of how he called an American woman a nigger (the er infliction, not the a infection) in front of coffee coloured children.
He actually said nigger and coffee coloured children in a packed bar, a bar packed with people, in London, a bar in London with people everywhere.
My mate, someone who had earlier called himself a feminist, and whom political correctness is just part of his general politeness, went paler than his general ginger paleness.
For me it just backed up my oft held saying, talk to a white South African long enough, and they will eventually make you think they are a racist.
I hate the theory, but I hate it more that it happens to be true so often.
They aren’t all racists, but it just seems everytime i get into a conversation with one, they just eventually put in a small comment that makes you think they are.
This wasn’t that sort of conversation, the man was using the word nigger, he wasn’t hiding behind semantics.
But later on he said something that gave me hope for South Africa.
He was talking about South Africa’s future, and he said some thing along the lines of (i was a bit pissed by this point), “the future is the young people, I am an old racist, i will always be, but the future is with the young South Africans they are growing up without our crap”.
This was a man who trained people in riot control, wrote papers against the ANC, had used the word nigger in a crowded London bar, and yet had the intelleuct to know he was wrong, and had faith in the young people.
And he never bought me a green beer.
Borough market
The first time I went to Borough Market, I almost wept. 
The smells were overwhelming.
It was how you would expect Jesus to smell.
That was on a saturday though, when people go to eat and shop.
It was almost too much for me to take in on that day.
Now I go there every week, on thursdays, when the people who don’t know what they want, the people who standing the middle of the walkway, or the tourists don’t get in my way.
And it’s still wonderful, even without the cooking jesus smell.
It’s unfair to compare it to Australian markets most notably the Queen Vic Market, for one reason, the Queen Vic smells like fucken fish.
Its more than just the lack of skanky fish smell, the food is awesome.
I like to start off by getting myself some beef and mustard sausages.
Beef, or beef like sausages, are the main sausages in Australia, but in the UK its all about the pork, and I had long ago given up ever getting Beef, or beef like, sausages, the Borough doesn’t only have them, but they are awesomeness.
From there I go to pick up my button and chestnut mushrooms, some granny smith apples (harder to find over here than at home), potatoes (sweet and conventional for my famous jrod orange mash), and bananas.
Then i pop over for some smoked back bacon, the guys there wear dirty bowler hats and have some sort of an old english kitsch thing going on, usually that would be enough to scare me away from the, but the bacon is good i ignore their wankiness.
After that is my favourite part of the whole trip, the BEER stall.
Oh it’s pure magnificent wonderfulness.
I have tried over 30 beers so far, so I won’t take you through them all, but the top 4 are:
Alhambra from Spain have tried about 5 of their beers, and even the crap ones are great, but their premier bottle, “reserva 1925″ is how beer is supposed to be.
Zatec from the Czech Republic is just pure class, it should be way more famous.
Casablanca Lager, which I only got cause of the film, was superb, and I can only imagine gets better on a warm day.
UFO beer, raspberry beer, no really, and it’s good, promise.
Once I have done the beer, I go onto to my field mushroom shop, they have bigger field mushrooms than your face, and i know i haven’t met you, but trust me these are huge.
And then i go home, my arms are sore, but i read the beer bottles on the tube, and everyone looks at me reading beer bottles thinking “what is it with this guy”.
But I am happy, because I have been to the borough, and i know once my beers get chilled i can have one.
I wont drink them warm, I’m not an animal.
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