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The catch went down on the door a few minutes ago. I've locked the pub, and won't be re-opening until Monday 5th January. I've decided to give the blog a rest too. No doubt I'll pick it up again in the New Year, but in the meantime I'd like to say thanks to each of you who have enjoyed, contributed to and supported this website over the last two years. Have a great Christmas, whatever you're drinking.
At long last, I can reveal the UK winner of our global beer photo contest. It's by James Sakal of Colchester, Essex, and is entitled "The Last Drag". It was taken in The Hand in Hand in Brighton days before the ban on smoking in enclosed public spaces took effect in England. Many people think the ban has had a disastrous effect on pubs. I'm still in favour of it, but it's difficult not to feel nostalgic when you seen an image like this.
James wins a case of winter ales from this site's sponsor, Beer-Ritz.
 Even I - a non-smoker - lit up on Saturday, 30th June 2007. It seemed rude not to. As actor Patrick Stewart looked on, myself a few pals toked on clay pipes in a lovely country pub. You can read about that night here.
The second-placed UK entry in our Christmas photo contest came from Philip Walsh of Streatham, London. It was taken in the tasting room at the end of a brewery tour at Hook Norton in Oxfordshire. I hope the old boy who was serving asked for some IDs - his prospective customers look a little wet behind the ears. Philip wins a mixed case of beers from Brew Dog.  In Autumn we sold lots of Old Hooky here in the pub. It's a great beer when served in top condition. I've yet to have the pleasure of tasting Hooky Dark, the brewery's mild.
Here's the first of three posts timed to appear at one hour intervals this evening. Finally, I'm announcing the UK winners of the 2008 Christmas photo contest co-hosted by this website and A Good Beer Blog.
In third place is Dave Wilby of Boxford, Suffolk. His photo was taken through the window of a hall where there was a beer festival in progress. Dave wins a mixed case of beers from Brew Dog.
I spilled some Thornbridge Bracia on my tie at the British Guild of Beer Writers dinner a couple of weeks ago. I was upset. The strip of woven silk in question is one of two I've worn while performing best man duties. Well, I have some some good news (for me, at least). I've used a stain remover and the offensive remnants of that night are now gone. Might I recommend Dr Beckman Stain Devil to those in a similar predicament? The odd mishap happens to the best of us, especially when pished.
This is practical advice for the modern metropolitan pisshead. If you don't appreciate it, you're clearly a pleb.
It's been a week since we closed the Christmas photo contest. I still haven't announced any winners. Well, it's about time I did. Those of you who read my co-host Alan's blog will already know if you've won anything. He's more organised than me, and he's going to list all the winners.
At some point today, I'll announce the names of the top UK prize-winners (but remember, this is international). There are two cases of Brew Dog beer and one case from Beer-Ritz up for grabs.
Sorry it's taken a while to sort this out. This is the busiest time of the year for publicans. It's the busiest time of year for finance lawyers too, so my life hasn't changed too much.
Are seasonal beers ever consistent, year on year? It doesn't seem so. Last night I had my first pints of the 2008 version of Shepherd Neame Original Porter. It was a bit disappointing last year. This time around it's immense and stouty and gorgeous. Drink lots of it while you can.
Original Porter is on sale at the Betsey Trotwood (56 Farringdon Rd, EC1R 3BL, website).
Thank you to Batemans. When their London rep Bryan - he's a regular - turned up in the pub today he added something to the seasonal mix. Santa hats are always welcome.
  
Batemans is Lincolnshire's brewer. The people there have been real supporters of ours as we turn this place into a proper real ale pub. Jackie Bateman and crew visited recently for a business meeting followed by a boozing session. We've been selling their superlative XXXB and Christmas beer Rosey Nosey.
A month of Sundays would be horrible. You'd get really bored of Hollyoaks. When you're in the pub trade, a week of Fridays is a good thing. And that's what this one's like. In all honesty, it's not too bad. Yes, you have to deal with the office dickhead every time you get a work Christmas party, but the food and drink flies out. Encouragingly, the handpumps are working faster than the thumbs of a kid playing a 1980s sports simulation game. People really do shift to ale in winter. I've got a cellar full of lager, but no-one's drinking it.
Yes, I started a sentence with "And". That's the world we live in today. Deal with it.
One of the few consolations of a shit pub is a good quiz machine. If for some horrible reason you've found yourself in, say, a Wetherspoons (perhaps there's some wanky beer festival that you just can't bear to miss out on), make a beeline for the touch-screen machine. You can guarantee that the resident pond life will have failed to get a pay out even when presented with the easiest of questions. That leaves a cash box full to bursting point, ready to pour into your pocket.
Don't bother with the Nuts magazine game. It's actually really hard. Hangman's Haunted House offers lots of play time but little chance of reward. Millionaire's just too annoying. Pub Quiz is no fun but a really quick and easy way to win a tenner.
 Our Christmas photo contest is now closed. Over the last 30 days we've had hundreds (yes, hundreds) of entries, boosted by a massive, inbox-busting wave of last minute emails to myself and co-host Alan. You can view the first three galleries using the links below, and there'll be more to come once we upload the most recent entries.
It's going to take us a while to sort through all those photos and choose the winners. Feel free to pitch in with your suggestions, but don't expect us to be influenced by the voice of the mob. We're both lawyers, you see, and as such we're all about due process (that, and thinking we know best). If you need a reminder about the prizes on offer, take a look at Alan's updated list at the bottom of this post. Of course, if you didn't enter in time you'll just be taunting yourself with what you can't have. The photo that illustrates this post was chosen at random from one of the galleries.
I've just had my first ever bottle of Timothy Taylor Landlord at a Christmas house party. This is a beer I sell from the cask every day. Of course, it isn't as good as the proper version. You don't quite the same juicy malt or and the rush of hoppy goodness that a perfectly conditioned draught pint offers. On the other hand, it really is a decent substitute. It certainly looks just like the real thing, even if the flavour's slightly muted.
Entries for our Christmas photo contest must be received by 9pm tonight. We'll be announcing the winners tomorrow.
We're off to St Albans for a few beers today. It's only twenty minutes on the train from Central London, so even I'm up for the journey. Long time readers will remember our massive pub crawl in the city nearly two years ago.
The British Guild of Beer Writers bash last night was very good for conversation, but less so for beer. Sadly nothing draught was available this year - all the beer came from bottles. Sorry, but that doesn't really work for me. Or maybe I'm just being shitty because I spilled something on my second-favourite tie. The beer of the night was undoubtedly Thornbridge Bracia: dark, strong and brewed with chestnuts and honey. It's the result of a collaboration with the head brewer of Birrificio Italiano (I've raved about his pils before). The biggest shocker was a sickly fruit beer from Badger that tasted of cheap boiled sweets. No-one on our table even tried to finish their glass.
Congratulations to Zak Avery, who was named Beer Writer of the Year at the awards ceremony after dinner. Zak works at Beer-Ritz - a sponsor of this blog - and maintains a website here.
After a phoney war in the first week of December, the Christmas boozing period is well and truly upon us. Realistically, I might not have time for many updates over the next couple of weeks.
My fellow beer writer Ron Pattinson is sleeping upstairs at the pub tonight. I'd best disconnect the beer lines before turning in. It would be just like him to be an alcoholic insomniac.
I felt ready to hit the booze again yesterday afternoon. The goodness in the beer seems to have polished off the last traces of sickness, and I'm restored to the full obnoxiousness of health. Thank you, brewers of Europe. The session ended nicely with a couple of halves of St Feuillien Cuvée de Noël in the Dovetail, London's best Belgian bar.
The Dovetail is at 9 Jerusalem Passage in Clerkenwell (EC1V 4JP, map, website).
I've been writing this blog for nearly two years, and in all that time I've failed to give a proper shout out to my favourite kebab shop. Rosebery Kebabs is the best fast food outlet in Clerkenwell.
I first visited back in February 2003. Since then, during both fat and lean periods, I've remained a loyal customer. You can't let healthy eating get in the way of your weekly doner. The kebab meat is amazing. Behind a glass screen, they display tins of stuffed vine leaves with German writing on them (no-one ever buys them, so presumably they're just props). It's permanently overstaffed, with as many as five grown men crammed behind the counter, yet the owner still gets completely stressed out when it's vaguely busy.
What a lovely scene. The gentlemen are hard at work sanitising, while a young couple enjoy a romantic daylight doner.
Bloody hell, what a view. We've now had over 250 entries in our Christmas 2008 beer photography contest. This one just came in from a chap in Portland, Oregon. He took it when out hiking.
How to enter: Email beer-related photographs, taken by your good self, to BOTH stonchblog@gmail.com (me) and beerblog@gmail.com (Alan) before 9pm London time on Sunday 14 December 2008. You can enter more than one photo. You'll need to include you full name and postal address, which we'll disclose only to the relevant prize-giver(s) if you're a winner. A list of prizes can be viewed on the announcement page.
 Ooh, I've been poorly. Even on the meanest hangover I'm tempted by a good beer. Yet here I am, four days into a completely dry spell. Doubtless I'll recover before the Beer Writers' Guild dinner on Thursday. I'll hit it hard then and make up for lost drinking time.
We had a massive delivery this morning. The cellar's full of good beer. In the run up to Christmas, our playlist looks like this: Timothy Taylor Landlord, Theakston's Old Peculier, Bateman's Rosey Nosey, Thwaites Nutty Black, Harviestoun Bitter & Twisted, Oakleaf Hole Hearted, Black Sheep Bitter, Purity Pure Gold and Mordue Wallsend Brown Ale.
The Wallsend Brown Ale's been a real star over the last couple of weeks. Our first few firkins sold too quickly for my liking. One old geezer had more than his fair share. It's a beautiful pint to look at, settling to produce a light brown body and a thick creamy head (and that's without a sparkler). They've used a small amount of Bavarian smoked malt, and it really comes through. It's a malty beer, for sure, but it isn't too sweet and the hops lift the experience up a few notches. By chance the first pint we served - straight from the cask - went to Pete Brown, the beer writer, who comes in from time to time when he's working in the area.
I know this post's a bit random, but I'm not myself. Bear with me.
I've found a function on Statcounter.com that tells me the search terms used by people who've arrived via Google. Here are some from the last few hours: - watneys red barrel pump set up instructions" - Here's news for you chum - they don't make it anymore, so don't waste your time.
- "arrogant bastard ale" - So now you'll know I didn't like it.
- "no one in england is faithful to their partner" -I'm missing out.
- "africans drunk guinness" - You racist bastard.
 I'm stricken with manflu. I was next to useless at lunchtime. I spent the afternoon in bed. When I emerged to help with the after work rush, my haggard appearance disturbed one regular so much she told me to go back upstairs. Well, the customer is always right. Here I am, sitting in the pub's cosy living room, watching a Doctor Who repeat, wrapped in my favourite cardi, a feverish sweat gathering on my brow.
I should have known I was falling ill when I stopped drinking on Tuesday. Time to get back on the wagon. Stumbling around in the cellar for something to cut through the phlegm and stinky illness, my hand fell upon a bottle of Pliny the Elder. It's come all the way from a Californian brewery called Russian River. Jay Brooks, the US beer writer, gifted it to me when he visited the pub recently.
It's 8% abv, it's hopped to buggery, it's full-bodied and clean tasting. It's absolutely lovely. This exotic, sexy (steady on) beer is the best thing that's happened to me all day. How can something that's been bottled, sent across America in a lorry, then stuffed in a suitcase and flown over the Atlantic by a generous journo taste so fresh, so alive?
More details about this fabulous beer can be found on Russian River's website. Jay Brooks, the chap who gave it to me, writes a blog called Brookston Beer Bulletin (among other things).
Recently I wrote a short post entitled "Is gastro finished?". Someone left an excellent comment a few days later. Whoever it was really hit the nail on the head. Here are the key paragraphs:
"The problem with a lot of gastropubs is that they've decided to serve food no better than my local greasy spoon at restaurant prices and then make regular drinkers feel unwelcome by corraling them into a crammed standing-room-only corner of the pub. Meanwhile the rest of the pub contains a load of empty dining tables and some old battleaxe who gives a bollocking to any drinker with sore feet who dares to wander in there for a moment's sit down.
"Eventually the regulars give up and piss off to a pub that serves their needs better, and the beer quality takes a slide because it's just not selling as well. So now you have an overpriced caff with beer that you're not quite sure whether to drink it or sprinkle it over your fish and chips. And the owner then complains about the smoking ban, the recession, the pubcos, the weather, or indeed anything other than the fact that they've ruined a perfectly good business by being too greedy."
This deserves to be read by a wider audience because it sums up how the advent of better pub food has had some unfortunate side effects. The reason people want to eat in a pub rather than a restaurant is to enjoy the informal, convivial atmosphere. Walk-in trade should be welcomed. If all the tables are reserved for diners, that's not possible. Likewise, cutlery laid on empty tables screams "you must eat". It's time to put a stop to such nonsense.
The season of amateur drinkers is about to begin. You know what I mean - people who don't set foot in a proper pub normally, but feel they must in the run up to Christmas. They always order ludicrous drinks, and are shocked to discover that every licensed premises in Britain doesn't offer the same sorry selection. I spent my first weeks and months here running down the stocks of alcoholic abominations I inherited. I'm proud to say we don't sell flavoured vodkas, Malibu or Southern Comfort. I sometimes keep one bottle of Bailey's as a sop to a lone regular, but that's hidden behind the whisky bottles. Should I order all that shite back in again, just for the next three weeks? Is it easier that way?
There isn't a single Christmas decoration up in our gaff yet. I'm sailing close to the wind.
 I read the same terrifying statistics about pub closures that you do, but it never seems real to me. It's so far, so good for pubs in this area. Imagine my surprise, then, to see a Clerkenwell drinking den close down for good.
The entrance is boarded up. The interior has been gutted already. Only the ugly posters pushing drinks promotions, tempting the poor and the desperate to ruin their livers, remain. The "pub" in question is (or rather was) The Printworks on Farringdon Road, a subterranean Wetherspoons that's struggled for some time.
I'll admit it: I'm pleased to see my local Wetherspoons go to the wall. It seems that people round here have too much sense to trade off a pleasant experience for a cheap pint or house double.The government is certainly at fault for driving proper pubs into the ground, but Tim Martin and his abominable Wetherspoons chain must shoulder part of the blame.
I wrote about The Printworks last December. The pub was named after the printing trade that once flourished, and to some extent still does, in Clerkenwell.
Guinness with a shot of Amaretto, depth charged. I took a sip, gingerly. It's interesting. Hopefully I'll wean him off it with Bateman's Rosey Nosey next week. That flashing Santa pumpclip will attract him like a paedophile to a playground.
 Scott is definitely not a paedophile. I really think I should make that clear. He's a loyal customer, and he doesn't fiddle with kids. If he wanted a career working with children, I'd be happy to be a character reference.
Some people hate traffic wardens with a passion that scares me. As a committed non-driver I've never cared one way or the other. After today, I feel differently. One of the villains slapped a ticket on the lorry delivering our soft drinks and spirits at lunchtime. The fellas were actually unloading as he did it. Terry, one of our regulars, went out to argue the toss with him as the pub looked on.
Apparently Terry used to be involved in football. I'm not sure of the details. The traffic warden was unmoved.
In Britain, if you express interest in beer, people often assume you mean real ale. To be fair, until not long ago that wasn't too far from the truth. Now, with quality imported (and domestic) keg beers and bottled delights in most supermarkets, it's become as inaccurate an assumption as it is lazy. Nonetheless, CAMRA remains the focus of beer lover's attention. Beer events not organised by CAMRA simply can't compete with the GBBF and their smaller but still bustling regional festivals.
CAMRA comes in for some stick because it doesn't promote quality brewing generally, refusing to promote even first class beer if it happens to be kegged or bottled. I think that's like attacking the RSPB for failing to look out for baby seals. It simply isn't in their remit, and their silence in the face of rampant clubbing on frigid shores doesn't mean they loathe our bewhiskered, mammalian chums.
"Sorry Jeff, I'll need to leave two hours early today because I've got an audition for Holby City". After several months without any jobbing actresses among my bar staff, it's back to the good old days. To be fair, it is a good excuse.
Thankfully one of the other girls can fill in for her. There's no way I'm standing behind a bar today. I'm not sure I can stand up at all, to be honest. HELP! I've just spilled espresso on my keyboard.
It's official. People don't read anything written on blogs. However short and sweet I try to make my posts, you still don't read them. It's not as if I subject you to the verbose, rambling shite you find elsewhere. I honestly don't know why you all visit every day. It can't be for my dodgy mobile phone photos - they're shit. Let me say this one more time: IF YOU DON'T INCLUDE A REAL NAME AND ADDRESS WITH YOUR ENTRY FOR THE PHOTO CONTEST, YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO WIN A PRIZE.
My Canadian co-host Alan of A Good Beer Blog is much more patient than me. He sends chirpy emails in reply to pseudonymous entrants asking them to provide their details. If it was up to me, we'd be pressing the spam button, consigning your photos to the dustheap of internet history. Instead, you still make it onto the gallery. We can't send you free boxes of beer via email, you dimwitted numpties.
We dished up lunch for over 70 people on Friday. The meals ranged from the earthy beef in ale stew to the more effete breast of duck. Chefs sweated and waitresses scuttled to deliver the fine fodder. At 3pm, when the kitchen was about to close, we received a final order. Four regulars who'd been drinking at the cosy end of the bar put in their belated request: two pork pies, two scotch eggs, two bags of pork scratchings and two bowls of chips. To my knowledge, none of them have dropped dead yet.
The fella by the window is clutching a pint of Mordue Wallsend Brown Ale, a fantastic beer that sold out in eight hours. I've got another cask lined up for tonight.
 Earlier in the year, Karo Grafik of Basel commissioned me to write a series of short pieces for a 2009 desk diary. They've been doing something similar for many years, but this time the theme is London pubs. 18 are featured, from the ancient Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street to the ultra-modern Florence in Herne Hill. Photographs are accompanied by a write-up of each pub. In an unusual display of modesty, I chose to leave my own place out.
It's now been published over in Switzerland. We're having a London launch party at the pub tonight. I've got Titanic Anchor, Mordue Wallsend Brown Ale, Harviestoun Bitter & Twisted and (of course) Timothy Taylor Landlord lined up.
Those of you who are members of my Facebook beer group have already received invites. Otherwise, you can find full details on Karo's website.
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