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Last night, I got smashed. Myself and Wee Rossie met for a slow, easy pint of Freedom Dark Lager in the civilised surroundings of The Duke of Cambridge in Islington. Perversely, we decided to continue our evening by creeping along a canal towpath under cover of darkness, venturing fearlessly into a scary council estate, before slipping into The Wenlock Arms.
The Wenlock could do with a good clean (I don't think all the sanitation in the world could do anything for the regulars, however). Back in the days when I was a hirsute, chubby chappie, sadly afflicted with beer mania, I professed to love the place (just check out this rather embarrassing write-up - sick bags at the ready). Nowadays, I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm certain it isn't my kind of place at all. But if the continuing success of The Wenlock proves anything, it's that there's room for all sorts. And that's a good job for those who choose to linger there - they're an odd bunch, to say the least. They'd be eyed warily if they took up residence in most other pubs.
We sat at the bar and took in the atmosphere. A stereo that even a luddite like myself could identify as antique blared out, while pint after pint was dispensed by a bearded gent who constantly paced in circles behind the island bar. Getting served was a bit like those sushi restaurants with the conveyor belt: if you waited for him come round to you, beer would soon fill you glass.
There were seven real ales on offer. One of them took my fancy: Pitfield 1824 Mild. I remember having it from a bottle a few years ago, after visiting the (now closed) Pitfield Beer Shop in Hoxton for the first and only time. I'd thought it was out of production, so was rather keen to try it again. So I did. And then I tried it again, in quick succession, four times. It was lovely (if a little flat). But it was 6.0% abv. So that's how I got smashed.
After my second pint, I stopped caring that the toilets were a little grotty, the locale grim and the company frankly weird (I'm not talking about you, Ross). You see, there's room for all sorts of pubs in this city.
 My second ever blog post was about the poor state of brewing in London today when compared to the capital's glorious, beery past. Since then, we've seen brewpubs open and close. The remarkably successful Sambrooks started up in Wandsworth last year, and has already managed to gain access to dozens of pubs. Meantime of Greenwich are going from strength to strength (hopefully, I'll soon be selling their lager here at The Gunmakers).
However, I'm sad to report that the only Central London brewery is no more. Bünker in Covent Garden has closed down. When I passed today, men in reflective jackets were gutting the shop.
This is the first place I've used regularly myself to become a victim of the recession. Whenever I succumbed to a night on the chav in the West End, we usually started at Bünker. On Saturday afternoons, it was a great place to retreat after picking up new trainers on Neal Street. It even had the SuperDry store - a favourite of mine - right next door.
The combination of house brewed lagers, passable cocktails and middle-of-the-road, relaxed tunes seemed to work, so I'm surprised to see it go. The multiple operator that ran Bünker in recent years - Alphabet Bars - appears to have gone bust. Perhaps as a unit the place turned a profit, and instead it was the group taken as a whole that failed. Either way, for me this represents seriously uncool beans.
I was running down the Cally Road last week when I first noticed InBev's latest attempt to prop up the image of Stella Artois. They're trying to sell themselves and the brand as environmentally friendly - something about planting hedgerows for every pack sold. With that in mind, I was amused to spot this little scene at the top of Leather Lane: a few empty tinnies in a phone box, surrounded by prostitute call cards and a big pile of vomit being consumed by mangy pigeons. That's a more accurate display of Stella's status, but I doubt it'll be appearing on a billboard anytime soon.
When I was a nipper I worked in a pub in South Shields called The Steamboat. We sold beers from Vaux. Although Sunderland's major brewery closed in 1999, the city now boasts a micro - The Maxim Brewery - that's reproducing the old beers. I've already tried a cask version of Double Maxim, a brown ale, here at The Gunmakers. Today we're selling Samson, a 4% session bitter that was Vaux's best selling beer.
There's a connection between The Gunmakers and the name of this brewery: Sir Hiram Maxim, an American-Jewish inventor, developed the first machine gun in a workshop just a couple of hundred yards from the pub. (It's long been assumed that the pub was named specifically after his achievement, but I think not - census records reveal that 13 Eyre Street Hill was a rifle maker's workshop in the 1840s). Up in Sunderland, Vaux first brewed Double Maxim after Ernest, a member of the family, headed a machine gun detachment in the Boer War.
Damien Hockney wants to see the smoking ban amended so people can light up in designated rooms. The BBC has the story. His argument that the legislation is "destroying bohemia" is amusing, but I do have a scintilla of sympathy with his view.
Just two years after the ban was put in place, it's already become strange to see people smoking indoors in old TV programmes and films. And look at the photos that won this website's photo competitions in 2007 and in 2008 -both depicted typical pub scenes, complete with wisps of smoke rising from cigarettes. Indeed, on the night before the ban came into place, I toked on a pipe myself in a pub in rural Oxfordshire.
Nostalgia aside, I think the smoking ban's a good thing. If anything, it helps good pubs to attract the right sort of customers. I know lots of people who rarely visited pubs before the ban - my parents, for example - but who now feel more comfortable doing so. Smokers with manners hardly want to inflict their habit on others in a confined space, after all.
The Gunmakers has been included in the latest edition of the Good Beer Guide, which went on sale very recently. It's the first time the pub has featured in CAMRA's bible for many years. Already we've seen some unlikely punters cross out threshold as a result.
On Thursday in the late afternoon I was around in the front bar, getting high on my own supply with a few regulars. It was nice and busy. An elderly couple entered, rudely ignored the bar staff's welcome, and proceeded to inspect the premises from front to back. From snippets of their conversation, it was apparent they were here as a result of CAMRA's recommendation. Sadly, the Gunmakers wasn't their kind of place: as they left without buying a drink, the man was heard muttering darkly that our pub was "full of bloody young people". No, I'm not kidding.
When the last unreconstructed old man's pub closes, it's going to be tough for these people. The rest of us won't really care, of course.
I really appreciated all of your suggestions of good country pubs within easy reach of central London, after I asked for help last week. Thanks to all who left comments - there were some great leads I hope to follow up in future. In the end we were feeling lazy, and opted for a visit to The Bricklayers Arms in Putney (first class) followed by a stroll to Barnes where we saw off a few pints outside The Sun Inn (great location, good beers, and well run for a chain pub). It was a beautiful day.
Keith Floyd was a boozy, foodie legend. It's sad to hear he's done for. He was always on the telly when I was a nipper. Last night I caned the lion's share of a surprisingly good bottle of Shiraz from Marks and Sparks in the old boy's honour.
My flat featured on BBC2's Working Lunch on Monday. You can view it on iPlayer here. Start watching at 24:00. Here's the challenge: spot beer related items in my home. You might also notice my beautiful Smeg fridge. I'm rather proud of that.
To head off the obvious question, here's the skinny: friends of mine work at the Beeb. One of them asked if they could use my flat to interview that spiky haired dude about central heating. That's all.
I've got an achy hand from writing cheques. Paying lots of bills all at once can give one the almighty hump, but I was cheered up no end when chef emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates. Sebastien's come up with a pair of divine specials - one monkfish, one lamb - that I enjoyed sampling at noon. So now I'm very full and very happy.
Although I don't believe the situation's as dire as some would have us believe, there's no doubt that weaker pub businesses are going to the wall. I've had a look around this manor and spotted a few closures.
 There's a mid-twentieth century pub on Bowling Green Lane that's had various names over the years. Successive operators have failed to make it work. It's even been a titty bar. Interestingly, it's been a Brakspear pub for many years (which means the freehold's now owned by Marstons). It's latest incarnation - The Bowler - closed down a few weeks ago. A notice on the window claimed this was due to "staff holidays", and promised a return in September, but it hasn't worked out. I feel sorry for the licensee, who tried hard to make the place work.
- I'm told The Bear on St John Square is no longer trading. This somewhat unappealing bar on the ground floor of an unlovely office block benefited from outside space, but little else. It's no great loss to the area. I think they had a solitary beer engine in there, but I don't think it was in use. The Priory - on the other side of the square - does the same job, only better.
- The Queen Boadicea on St John Street was a pub without real ale (very rare in these parts). The premises previously housed The Bull, a music bar popular with students from City University across the road. It's been closed for a while now and nothing seems to be happening. The building retains ceramic tilework and Watney's livery, while inside their are two drinking areas separated by an original partition wall. Ultimately, however, the location lets it down and it'll never be able to compete with The Peasant just a couple of hundred yards away.
It's interesting that in each case there pub in question has a history of failure. You can't just blame pubcos, the current economic situation or HM Government for that. There are some sites that just don't seem to work for successive licensees. Perhaps if a truly savvy operator took them on it'd be a different story, but why would anyone do so when there are more attractive opportunities elsewhere?
The photo is of The Bowler, one of the closed pubs. It's from Ewan M's Flickr photostream. Ewan writes the excellent Pubology blog.
Summer can be a little unkind to pubs that don't have beer gardens. And if you're running a city boozer, you'll see some business drop off as your regulars take extended holidays. But the leaner period is over: we're busier than ever before. It's been great to see the pub packed to the gills at lunchtime and after work, throughout the week. I'm in a very, very good mood right now. Enjoy your weekend, folks. If you're abroad in London this evening, our beers will be Tim Taylor Landlord, Harvey's Sussex Best, Fox IPA and Theakston's Old Peculier.
Although most of our regulars are back from their hols, the most famous of all is away for a fortnight. Peter Daboike has fled to Spain, leaving his perch in philosophers' corner empty. We miss him already.
If I wanted to go to a country pub in a sweet location that's easily reached by train from Central London, where would I go? Is such a thing possible?
There's something immensely unsatisfying about a half pint. However, we all need to be responsible about our drinking. So here are some photos of Gunmakers men enjoying small beers at lunchtime today. Eddie's got a cheeky snifter of Landlord, in a stemmed Liefmans glass. Rosso, on the other hand, has opted for a Black Cat Mild in a dimpled mug. I think those boys look pretty fresh, and I hope you enjoy the photos. Cheers.
 
Sorry girls and boys, but both Eddie and Rosso are taken. You'll have to try your luck down at the local Wetherspoons, where beer's only a pound a pint and Dean, Kyle, Sharon, Tracey and the local CAMRA crowd would love to meet you.
If they really were to ban alcohol advertising, would promotion at the point of sale be included? I hope not. Bar towels and beer mats are essential pieces of pub kit, and what about chalkboard at the front of the pub? Today, we're pushing Liefmans Fruit Beer, a bottled Belgian beer that's now on sale at The Gunmakers.
If you went to LMH, email me. We're having a reunion at The Gunmakers. It's happening very soon. Thanks.
I appreciate this post is of interest to only a tiny number of people, but I find lots of people I went to uni with have become aware of the blog. So it makes sense, you see.
A few angry commenters have referred to me as "parochial". I'm not sure that makes sense: I think the most natural meaning of the word would refer to those with narrow provincial attitudes, and as I'm writing from a London perspective that can't apply. However, if we take the literal meaning, I suppose the criticism would be that I'm excessively focussed on my own parish.
Well, that's hardly fair. You see, these days Clerkenwell consists of more than one parish - those of St James, St Mark and the Holy Redeemer - and I'm equally fond of them all. Moreover, my pub lies in a Holborn parish - that of St George on the lovely Queen Square - so my geographical reach is actually quite extensive. So next time you want to lay down a cuss, think on.
Next time, we'll look at the term "metrosexual", and ask ourselves whether any of my detractors who use it have ever actually kissed a girl.
There's a random, disused beer engine on the side bar at The Queen Vic. You always see it when people come down from the rooms upstairs. It looks rather lonely. They should put a real cider on that. Bag in box ciders have a fantastic shelf life, you see. Perfect for a random hand pump.
The Vic is a freehouse. Sharon bought the freehold from Luxford & Copley in 1991, when the Beer Orders forced breweries to divest themselves of much of their pub estates. However, as their beer deliveries all seem to come from one place, I think they're currently party to a barrelage contract.
"Doctors want booze marketing ban", says a BBC headline. Those who profess only to enjoy beers produced by old men in sheds with no grasp of marketing should be all in favour of this proposal: it would level the playing field, surely? After all, one should hate anything produced by a company succesful enough to afford an advertising budget, right?
The weather's on the turn, and everybody's sick of golden ales anyway. Having tasted a load of shit ones at the IBC awards yesterday, I think I've developed a certain animus toward the style. Thankfully, ale is seasonal. So we're breaking out some dark ales this week. Theakston's Old Peculier and Moorhouses Black are racked and tapped and will be on sale as soon as our current guest ales are spent.
According to Eddie, who was running the gaff, a very famous barrister who used to present an improvisation comedy show was in The Gunmakers last night. He drank Purity Mad Goose. I might contact Heat magazine. He's a proper celebrity, right?
Today, I'll be drinking beer. I'm part of the panel of judges for the IBC beer awards. This has required me to get up early (am holding weapons grade espresso to chase off Mr Sleeps). Now I've got to travel out of my comfort zone and into the suburban wilds of F'lam, to a little known pub on Parson's Green.
Last night, as I sat indoors munching on crispy duck, I did consider bottling out of this one. But I've run out of excuses (that chick from Sainsbury's was really angry when I bailed on their awards at the last minute), so I'm just going to have to attend and blag it. Hopefully I won't get sat next to some who actually knows about beer. That would be embarrassing (not to mention rather dull).
Ales at The Gunmakers today are Harviestoun Schiehallion, Hop Back Crop Circle and Purity Mad Goose. Tomorrow we'll have Moorhouses Black Cat and a bit of Theakston's Old Peculier for you.
Asahi Black - a dark lager from Japan - is really nice. Am about to have some before embarking on a mission to cook paella with someone who admits to having no idea what to do with the rice.
Unlike the standard, pale Asahi, the dark stuff we get in the UK is imported from Japan, rather than brewed by Shepherd Neame under licence in Kent. I first discovered it in Wagamamas. Waitrose sell it now. So I picked up a couple of bottles and secreted them in the trolley alongside the (expensive) chorizo, (expensive) tiger prawns and (expensive) assorted other shit.
Sorry, but this is lame. The Rake - the offie with a bar in Borough Market - is having a night to promote Tokyo*, Brew Dog's 18.2% abv beer. (I wrote about Tokyo* here).
The Rake bar in Borough Market is demonstrating how people can enjoy drinking responsibly DESPITE the fact that it will be selling BrewDog's controversial Tokyo* beer. The team at the award-winning bar believes high-strength beers have their place in a sensible drinking repertoire and have vowed to demonstrate how to sell this kind of beer responsibly, by only serving Tokyo* in a third of a pint for £6 and restricting it to one per person through a voucher system, which can bbe purchased in advance.
What does that prove, other than that drinking a beer so strong is neither sociable nor fun? The fact they think they have to restrict people from arseholing a huge amount of the stuff by rationing it out in such a structured manner doesn't send out a positive message. Can we move on from this whole thing now? You know, I'm almost annoyed that I played along with this dubious publicity stunt - because that's what Tokyo* appears to have been. Here's the full press release. If you plan on attending the event, you're a loser.
 Martin, our Polish sous chef, returned to his homeland today. That crazy cat's got a tough journey ahead of him: 18 hours on a coach from Victoria. He's been at The Gunmakers since January. He's been living above the pub for the last couple of weeks (since I moved out), and this morning he dragged his case downstairs just as we were opening up for the day.
In front of a couple of bemused customers who'd entered as the latch went up, we all got together and said goodbye to him over a shot of vodka. Martin's been such an important member of our team, and everybody's going to miss him. His t-shirt slogans have given us endless amusement. Here are a few classics:
In case of emergency - break dance. I'm not a gynecologist, but I'll take a look. Luxury yacht club - millionaire members only, cruising around the world. Sex, drugs and sausage roll.
 I used to inwardly grumble whenever I entered a pub and saw that the beer selection was restricted to "usual suspects". I'm a bit more sympathetic now, after learning just how inconsistent some microbrewed beers can be. I've never had a duff firkin of Landlord in the 16 months I've been ordering it. Harvey's has never let me down. But there are some breweries I'll never order from again, because experience suggests I'll have to send the barrel back when it turns out to be cloudy soup, and wait weeks for a refund.
Sadly, I've had some bad experiences with Mordue. But they're Geordies so I feel I shouldn't give up. Having abandoned my home region in contravention of the rules of my people (Alan Robson would issue a fatwa if he found out), I find my heart strings are tugged. Also, Mordue's beers can be bloody brilliant.
Their India Pale Ale - which uses Horizon hops from the USA - might just be the best of the bunch. I tried a half from the barrel last night, and can confirm it's marvelous. I'd write tasting notes, but there's no need: you're coming to The Gunmakers later on to try it for yourself. Eddie connected a fresh barrel up to one our hand pumps this morning, so it's on sale now. Our resident artist has chalked up an advert for it on the front blackboard (pictured). It's 5.1% abv, so gan canny, bonny lad.
On the subject of IPAs, I tried a bottle of Green Flash West Coast IPA indoors the other week. Maybe it was just the mood I was in, but I think it's one of the best bottled beers I've tasted. It came to me from Kevin Keehn in San Diego (aka Wurst) - thanks mate.
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