Alcoholic musings around Hampshire. Ish.

Now that Mr Wilson has returned to what I gather the kids
are now refering to as "the blogosphere", I though now is as good as any time to also return to these pixels with alcoholic musings, and as summer is here, I've taken the chance to get out the Good Pub Guide (27th edition, no less) and check out some of the UK's finest hostelries, before I depart these shores. Eventually. At least at the moment noone's taken the oppotunity to buy the Lorkinmobile (seen right, yesterday), so I can still drive to these places that are, as the Aussie's put it, "way out woop".

Hampshire: Dunbridge, Mill Arms

The Mill Arms really takes some finding. It's in the middle of nowheresville, south of Over Wallop, and then down about 10 miles of country lanes.

Run by a Kiwi couple who've been here for a couple of years, it's obviously had more make overs than Britney, but the building is lovely, with great spreading gardens. The GPG says it has Ringwood Best and HSB, but I went for the Guest Ale - Bath Ale's Gem. I agree with the advert - it's rich in hops with a bitter finish. Fab.

The main point of coming here was food, and the menu advertises everything from lasagne to home-smoked duck and monkfish. Alas the landlord - Mr Bentall - had run out of ham and beef... so lamb it was. I'm not sure it was worth £25 for two... rather stringy, and we had to ask the Polish waitress for mint sauce, but it made us think all was right with the world, with late spring turning into summer, as we sat in the conservatory admiring the greenery.

After this I was pretty stuffed - but the Kiwi popped up with a surprising ammount of energy and asked if we'd like "Sweeties!". Errr... oh, desert? And then went on to chat to our fellow diners about how they'd bought two other pubs last month, the Abbots Mitre and the Greyhound. Business must be good. So were the deserts: Chocolate Torte with a dollop of rasberry icecream.

Only later did I spot it was right opposite the station (well, tiny halt on the line to Cardiff - train every two hours) so I could have had a few more pints of the ale and let the train take the strain. Next time...

Hampshire: Alresford, The Globe on the Lake


I've wanted to pop in to The Globe for quite a while... three decades in fact: the last time I set food in here was when I was ten, and the parents popped in and I was permitted a coke in the garden overlooking the lake while we fed the
ducks.

Alas, I've left it too late... the door was firmly bolted, with a pile of post on the other side of it, and a small notice said that peaceable entry had been obtained, presumably from the bank. Business must be bad.

Hampshire: D'Arry's Cart & Horses, Kings Worthy

You know when good pubs go bad? When the old spit and sawdust place that has been the heart of the village for years, turns into an upmarket gastro pub, and begins offering Monkfish drizzled in something exotic? When pubs say you can come in for a pint if you want to - but the only real place to drink are the three bar stools by the bar, designed for keeping customers waiting while they take the platinum cards off those who are leaving, and escort them to their jag back to "Lunion"... D'Arry's is not that place.

It was with a feeling of doom that I went into this place that's just reopened, changing from the old Cart and Horses to D'Arry's village Dining Emporium. And yet, dare I say it, in context it works. It really does. And it has awards to prove it.

Sure, it got into a lot of trouble with the planners when the pub was gutted (and painted pink: thankfully the planners had their way on that one, and it is now back to grey).

Maybe I'm getting old, but I love the interior where the Aussie Landlords try very hard to be individualists (like everyone else) and have random bits of secondhand furniture, interspaced with lots of mirrors and galvenised steel, plus huge huge glass doors surrounding the original pub door. The food isn't bad either. Maybe I'm just getting old.

Hamshire: The Wheatsheaf, Basingstoke


One I've driven past countless times on my way in for the past decade of overnights.

Called the The Wheatsheaf, it was built in the late 19th Century and is reputed to be a coaching stop where Jane Austen walked to collect her letters. It has a lovely 18th century coaching inn, rammed into a 20th centry Travelodge. The impression is rather like a quaint old horse and cart that has been in collision with brand new fruit van. Look, the pub has fruit growing over the front door and everything.

The interior is pretty quaint, and dare I say it, it looks pretty genuine. Alas the food was so dreadful, with just 2 (two!) tiny mushrooms counting as a starter for over a fiver, and a minute minute steak, I was left with the feeling that it was like one of those phone calls you get on your mobile saying "Welcome to free upgrades" (who are plaguing me at the mo)... and despite the initial ten second thought that you're going to get a good deal, there is that sudden realisation that it really is a waste of time.

Wiltshire: New Inn, Salisbury


This is one of the few pubs in the city with a garden overlooking the Cathedral, so it's really a must visit. The GPG says it has massive beams and timbers, with an inglenook fireplace, and so it proved: a real warren of a place that's hard to find your way through to get to that garden. One side passage led to a hidden gem: more private gentleman's club with deep wooden panneling and squashy leather armchairs. Meanwhile, out in the greenery, stern notices warn that the plants are poisonous, and kids have to be kept on a lead, or some such nonsense...



As you can see from the pics, Badger's Ales have taken to advertising on every space possible, so Badger it had to be. First Gold from just over the border in Dorset. Apparently there should have been some hints of orange and spice too.

Next up, I'm going in search of that brand new icon of 20th Century travelling, the WeatherspoonsLodge. Just like a Travelodge, only above a Weatherspoons. The brilliance of that Tim Martin man knows no bounds.

A new City pub... and some old favourites

Given our travels - well documented on these, er, pixels, it's now rare that I get to go to somewhere I haven't been before in central London - and rarer still that it's only a couple of minutes walk from Liverpool Street. So I was excited to read about Stone Horse and Paper Cow, owned by the same company as the well thought of Balham Bowls Club and also now the Tooting Tramshed. Although the address is Bishopsgate, it's tucked away down a side alley next to the Heron Tower building site - and either it's difficult to find or the credit crunch has hit those City boys REALLY hard, as it was pretty quiet on a Thursday evening. Anyway, there's a shop front, you walk down the stairs, through a net-curtained door, and there's a long bar in front of you, with the usual mis-matched salvaged furniture. What you're not expecting is that down the far end, there's a whole further room, with a couple of pool tables and some nice US-style booths. It's a big ol' place.



There's even a couple of proper ales on tap, including Pure Ubu. However, what let it down for me was the bar staff, who were so busy cleaning the bar when I arrived that I was left standing there until I shouted "hello" at one of them. They were then all called over for a chat with the manager, who gave them the standard "don't be generous with the measures, be careful when you pour a pint" message that bar-staff everywhere will recognise from the day after a stock-take's been done. And then on the second round, the barman wasn't aware of the work of "lager top" and couldn't find the orange juice button on the till. If they can get that sorted though, this will do a good job as a modern-day recreation of the sadly-missed Throgmortons.

Meanwhile, I've been back to Shunt a couple of times, and there's mixed news. I went there once on a Friday night, stayed later than expected, and was worried it had jumped the shark. It seemed to have lost its artistic quirkiness and have become a standard bar full of Shoxton types with asymmetrical haircuts talking about how cool it was to be there. And that's not cool. Couple that with rumours of its demise, and I was ready to take to the blogwaves and pronounce it as "so 2008". Then I went back, earlier on a Thursday evening, and normal service had been restored. There were tasty snacks on the bar, and thirties tunes on the PA, and all was well. I've even had a mailer to say that while there IS a new Shunt space in Bermondsey, the Lounge remains open until at least July, albeit with a slightly smaller space.



And in Chelmsford news, Garders and I decided to go townie and do a crawl of the High Street chains. No, I don't know why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm pleased to confirm that Yates Wine Lodge is every bit as terrible as I expected. The barmaid appeared to have Swine Flu, and I think she even managed to cough in my pint of John Smiths Extra Cold - although the place is clearly set up more towards the Corky's Toffee Vodka Shots market. Edwards was marginally better, but only because the barmaid was fit (as in healthy, of course!) and there was a glitter ball, which made me feel like I was in the studios of Heart. Finally, The Ivory Peg from Wetherspoons is let down by being a nasty square box of a room next to a bus stop, but gets an honorable mention for (a) having a very nice smoked beer on draught as part of its real ale festival, and (b) being cheap.



Other bars are also available. Use them.

Garders & Lorkers do Winchester

Big Garders came for the night for a few beers down Hampshire way. It gave us a chance to talk about all things Australian on his way down to Wells. And a chance to get back into the pubs.

For a sharpener and solids we kicked off in the Jolly Farmer on Andover Road. Very much my local, the evening paper the other day said it's charm was down to the "variety of people who use it". It's all of 2 minutes walk from the house, and has the delight of, as it claims on the blackboard "wholesome English food cooked all day". Although I'm not sure you'd get this in a cook book though: Beef Wrap. Get this: it's slices of beef, curled in a wrap that's made of Yorkshire Pudding mix. With peas, chips, and gravy. Not bad for £9 for two meals - and beer was on a buy two get one free offer too. I had a couple of IPAs, while garders headed for the Becks, as we kicked the evening into touch. Ruddles Best was also on promo for the bargain price fo £1.80. Bargain...

Next up around the corner was the Albion, my second local. Once the campaign headquarters of Screaming Lord Sutch's Monster Raving Loony Party, and so small, it's like drinking in the landlord's front room, but thankfully it has new owners who have put some some decent draft ale on tap.

I was torn between having the landlord or the Adnams Broadside, and eventually plumpted for the heavy Broadside (brewed to celebrate the Battle of Sole Bay in 1672 no less), while Garder's stuck to the San Miguel. The place is now overwealmed by the huge flatscreen tellys at both ends of the bar, so you don't have to miss a minute of this Association Football type thing. This place is commuters heaven - just opposite the station, so you can pop in for a pint on your way home from London - so it should have been heaving at this time on a Friday night. However Easter has got in the way, and most good people were at home with their eggs, leaving us as two of the five customers.


Down the road next was Green's Wine Bar, which I've always had mixed feelings about, but which, now it's operates a strick over 18s only policy, its is just about bearable. Or maybe I'm showing my age, but Garders was keen to inspect it. Green's is celebrating it's 20th year of opening, and is doing a nice line in "Open since 1989" T-shirts, which as the girl serving behind the bar commented meant the bar opened before she was conceived. Eeeek. Greene King's Old Speckled Hen for me, Wife Beater for Ian, and some very confused looks from the bar staff when I took photos of the beer. "Don't worry - it's just he's never seen beer before" quipped Ian.
A long trek next to the bottom of the hill to check out Blondes - on Bridge Street, once the Cricketers, and now the "beer cafe" aka the Student Party Pub, proudly advertising "Disco with Jockey and Live Acts" in the "lavish blend of baroque interior designs mixed with retro funk". Really? Hmmm...

And sure enough, being a student bar, the DJ was stuck firmly in the 1980s, with a firm emphasis on Human League and DuranDuran, along with hypnotic lights where you found yourself just staring in amazement. Or maybe that was just me and Ian. We'd both had enough beer at this point, so moved onto the jugs that the kids were drinking. I vaugely pointed at one of the less mauve or purple creations, and ended up with a concotion of midnight passion juice. Or something. I'm not convinced that the kids behind the bar had put any booze in mind you - it was just fruit juice and went down very quickly.

Flyers on the table advertising Blonde's January Sale (It's April guys...) confirmed the time warp impression, along with a deal or no deal, where you can toss the boss. This totally threw us for a minute where it looked as if it might be a double or nothing type offer - but no, if you guess correctly you get another drink free. So we ended up with four Long Island Ice Teas, and change from a tenner. You don't get that in your Zone 1 pubs I can tell you.

Back up the high street to the new Pitcher and Piano, nee the Guildhall. The polar opposite of both Blondes and it's old incarnation, it does a nice line in cocktails where if you need to ask the price, you can't afford to live in Winchester. In fact it's so recently opened that the barstaff couldn't understanad what a Scotch and Dry was, and we had to resort to pointing at a bottle of Canadian Club. Then around the back of the Cathedral to the Vodka Bar, where the barstaff on the lower floor would only sell beer - and only Stella at that - and the burly bouncer on the stairs wouldn't let us go up to get to the other bar and get shots.

So we left quickly and went Irish - to O'Neils. True, it's about as Irish as I am, but it's an OK Mitchells & Butlers, and at least it had decent IPA on draft. And seeing just how must debt M&B has, along with loosing the odd 200 million quid last year, it seemed like a good chance to go on a fact finding mission and see just how long this chain will last. It too had a live Disco Jockey - a poor chap just out of short trousers, with a couple of home CD players and a mixer from Maplins on a folding table... your true Mobile Disco experience lives in Winchester. What it lacked was enough bar staff - there was a serious danger of dieing of thirst before being served, and that lack meant no one was collecting the crockery. Without proper glasses for G&Ts, I ended up with a silly girly glass, and Ian had to make do with a pint of Scotch and Dry. Trebles all round.