After calling off at the College Arms, while my second in command was shopping, we’re now back in the Wortley Almshouses, where our guardian angel watches over us.
My second in command finds him creepy, but I believe him to be our protector.
He’s now looking right at you.
North Street Bar, a bar on North Street, was a favourite of ours. While it didn’t open until late evening, it was a regular last stopping point. It stayed open until the early hours and could be relied on for cool, chilled live music.
Sadly, the bar is no more. Worse still, it’s been replaced by one of those vile places that specialise in desserts.
We’re now in the Draper’s Arms, raising a glass to a dearly missed friend.
We’re in the Ostrich (where my second in command once lost my hat). The place has changed, but only in terms of beer. There’s a much wider choice of real beer. Unfortunately, there’s only one unfined beer (apart from Stella, that is). And it’s called the Hypnotist. At only 6.7%, and an IPA, it’s pretty close to Jakehead. But not quite as nice.
It’s beautiful though.
This is potentially my most favourite bar on the planet. The Wortley Almshouses.
The Gents’ toilets smell a bit of pee this evening, but that does mean this end of the pub is pretty empty.
it’s entirely possible that this end of the pub always smells of pee. Our usual seat, at the other end, is occupied.
We’re now in the Brewery Tap. We’ve not been here in a few years. In fact, as nice as the place is, we’ve not been here since the night our (much loved) bikes were stolen.
I’m not sure why we’ve not been back to this bar since that night – the bikes were actually taken from the bike park in Cowgate, round the corner to the Draper’s Arms. Maybe it was because we’d had a great time here (which we did).
But we’re now. It’s still rather nice.
It’s been quite a while, but we’re now enjoying a beer in Charter’s. A favourite bar of ours, it’s freshly decorated. The interior, that is.
The bar’s still great though. There’s a band playing later. We’re pondering.
With time on my hands, Google has aided my research. While I can’t immediately determine the ultimate fate of the serviceman in 1944, there’s more information about Annie Ratcliffe. And even a poem.
She met her sweetheart, and quite free from alarms,
With him she went in The Sir Walter Scott Arms.
And in a short time, as the facts do appear,
The girl’s throat he severed from ear to ear
That’s her (she was only 16) on the right. And him on the left.
Several years ago, I called into the Old Dog, in Preston. It was a bit of a dump, but I didn’t intend to stay for more than one drink.
I may have written about this at the time, but the landlord (who was still in his 20s) engaged me in conversation. We mostly talked about music, finding that we only had Rufus Wainwright in common. Or was it Devendra Banhart?
Anyway, on learning this, the friendly landlord went upstairs to his flat, returned with a Rufus Wainwright (or was it Devendra Banhart) album, turned the jukebox (which was playing at the time), removed a CD and inserted the Rufus Wainwright (or …). He then played the whole thing and gave me more beer, for which he wouldn’t accept payment.
Fortunately, my sensible head prevented me staying until closing time.
I suspect that the pub has since changed hands a few times. I do have a point though. The Blue Bell, as I learned earlier this evening, had replaced a demolished Old Dog. So, at some point in the late 1800s, a new Old Dog must have been built.
After a bite to eat this evening, I walked in the direction of the hotel. And then turned around And walked in the opposite direction. I had coke with the meal, so thought a walk to the Blue Bell was in order.
I only had a pint of stout, since I need to be coherent at work in the morning, but it would have been wrong not to take the opportunity to visit a Sam Smith’s pub. And I’m quite fond of this particular pub.
While there, I learned more of its history. It opened in the early 1700s, on the site of the Old Dog. There have been two related murders, the first a landlord’s daughter the the mid-1800s, the second more recently in 1944.
The landlord’s daughter wasn’t actually murdered in the pub; the act was committed in a nearby pub, over a glass of lemonade. By her fiance en route to their wedding. He cut her throat with a razor.
It didn’t end too well for the fiance either; he was hanged, with a 9ft drop, in Manchester. The latter murder did occur in the pub though. An American servicemen had made comments about British forces. And a British soldier wasn’t impressed and stabbed him. The latter was court martialled, but his fate wasn’t stated. I may need to carry out further research.
It was an educational pint of stout.
I almost forgot about Mono. I feel pretty bad about that; after all, it’s a fully vegan bar. The food’s great and none of the beer contains fish.
They even have Sam Smith’s stout on draught.
We ate there yesterday and the pizza was gorgeous. They even allow bike parking on the stage.
