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As you know, The Gunmakers is closed at weekends. Or, at least, that's the theory. In reality, we're booked up most Saturday nights for private parties (click here for details). In the last month alone we've been the venue for two wedding receptions, an engagement party and a 30th birthday.
Tonight, a very nice Scots chap who shares my love of Oor Wullie and the Broons is celebrating his 40th with an absolutely lovely crowd of pals. Chef's knocked them up a first class buffet and Harvey's Sussex Best - the birthday boy's favourite ale - is flowing.
These private parties present the most remarkable opportunity to indulge in a bit of people watching. I've learned that birds of a feather really do flock together. When we're open to the general public, I see a mixed crowd (although thankfully the rougher elements stay away). On a Saturday, you see just how similar groups of friends and family really are. Here's an example: tonight, not a single person's gone out for a cigarette. (I suppose that isn't surprising - these are educated, middle class people in their 30s and 40s.)
One of the busiest Saturdays I've ever had was last year, when half the Greeks in London descended for an engagement party. Despite being packed to the rafters and going through cases of vodka and gin, I didn't sell a single pint of ale. But then there was one party when cask beer accounted for over 80% of takings*.
* Yes, that was your party, Tony.
 I've been told that St Austell Proper Job is a great beer. I say I've been told because I've never tasted it myself. Ever since I first heard it was a winner (I think it was ATJ who raved about it one time I met him), I've been keen to sample a splash, but each time I've seen the pump clip I've been thwarted. Either it's run out, or has poured like cloudy soup in some dodgy boozer. Of course, I could have picked up a bottle from the supermarket, but that'd be pointless - we all know that bottled ales are a poor substitute for the real thing.
Well, my time has come, because there's a firkin conditioning in my cellar now. I've just tapped it, so it should be ready by Monday lunchtime when we open for the week.
St Austell is a regional brewery in Cornwall.
Last night we served Adnams Old for the first time. The cask's tipped already, but there are still a few gallons left. I'm impressed by the sour notes, and suspect the 2009 vintage is better than previous years. It isn't quite as good as Harvey's Old Ale (probably the best example of the style available on draught), but it's nearly there.
 Traditionally, old ales were dark, malty beers consumed in the winter months that had first been matured at the brewery.
Yesterday afternoon I got a bit of a monk on after trailing up and down Regent Street when I wasn't really in the mood for shopping. Taking pity on me, my supremely understanding girlfriend humoured me when I asked if we could stop at a bowling alley for a drink on the way back. But of course Bloomsbury Lanes is more than just a bowling alley, and I had no interest in a game of American-flavoured skittles. As any fule kno, they sell quality beer at the bar. After five pints of Bernard - a superior Czech beer that's rare even in Prague - I felt much, much better.
Although you won't see Bernard on draught in many of Prague's pubs, they do the sell the unfiltered - and consequently slightly cloudy - kvasnicové version in U Kocoura in the Malastrana. I took down a couple of those jars last weekend.
So here's today's menu. You see, it really does change all the time. My vote goes to the lamb cutlets, but that burger (also lamb) is a winner with the crowd today. Even Peter the Bike's ordered it.  The beer delivery was shockingly late today. We had to open hatch with customers in the pub. But it was worth it. In the cellar I've got Tim Taylor Landlord, Harvey's Sussex Best, Wild Hop OPA, Harviestoun Schiehallion, Wychwood Hobgoblin, Adnam's Old, Woodforde's Wherry, St Austell Proper Job and Saltaire Stein Gold.
The whole debate about whether sparklers are good for real ale or not is, on reflection, a very boring one. (If you don't know what a sparkler is, I wrote about them here). Ultimately, it's all down to personal preference, and what we've learned is that professional Northerners tend to prefer sparklers. But then lots of people up North also tend to prefer Nick Griffin, so their views haven't really influenced me to date.
If I started using sparklers for some or all of my ales, my staff and customers would think I was a plonker. So I won't do that. But last night, when Eddie and myself were working a very dry private party, we decided to do the mess around with Tim Taylor Landlord - a Yorkshire ale that's said to taste better if served the Northern way. We poured a pint with and without the attachment and compared them.
What was our verdict? Well, pouring the sparklerised beer was a ball-ache and a half, but I have to admit that the end result was a little better. The aroma's more upfront (astonishingly so), the bitterness comes to the fore, and because the beer has so much condition to start with it isn't rendered flat and lifeless. I'll be breaking out the sparkler next time I pour myself a pint of Timmy.
Here's an order you don't see too often: five pints of mild, please. At lunchtime, most of the drinks orders scribbled down by our waitresses include a splattering of bullshit soft drinks (with tap water for the tight wads). Not so today, when Tony and his pals asked for their pre-prandials. There was no messing around. Every table was full and the orders were flowing thick and fast in my direction, but I still found time to snap this photo on my mobby.
 I spent this afternoon in Vinoteca. I love that place. The tasting notes are fantastic. If, like me, you're a budding wine enthusiast but lack experience, I'd recommend it.
Dark beers don't seem to sell as quickly as lighter ales - even at this time of year - yet some people moan when there aren't any on offer. It's a dilemma for the landlord who wants to please both regular customers and any beer enthusiasts that happen to swing by. Undeterred, I'm going to try and have a dark beer on throughout winter. I'm relying on cats like yourselves to come and drink them. Right now we've got Moorhouses Black Cat on downstairs. Next week I'm taking delivery of a supply of Adnams Old. After that, there'll be a pair of stouts: Caledonian Double Dark and Titanic Chocolate and Vanilla.
The OFT has ruled that the pubco tie system does not harm competition in the sector. The ruling comes in response to an official complaint by CAMRA. The BBC has the story. You'll note that shares in Punch and Enterprise have rallied.
You'd be forgiven for assuming I of all people would be preoccupied with this issue - but to be honest I take a pretty robust view on the subject. Independent pub operators who are subject to a tie (like myself) can quantify the effect the arrangement has on their business by considering (a) the difference between free trade and tied product prices and how that effects their bottom line, (b) whether they think their rent would be higher or lower if they had a another commercial landlord that wasn't a pubco and (c) whether they'd have secured as promising a site if they'd excluded tied pubs from consideration.
Whether the tie actually distorts competition is questionable. I'm not sure it does, and suspect the OFT are right. Pubs leased from Punch and Enterprise are still independently operated small businesses - they aren't part of a chain or subject to any central direction. Any suggestion that an industry of free houses only would scupper the big brewers and allow access to market for smaller producers is utterly naive. The likes of ABInBev and SABMiller (and, for that matter, Fullers and Greene King) would still have access to huge marketing advantages and would use their clout to sign up all the newly freed publicans to tempting barrelage contracts.
We change our menu all the time. That seems to really perplex those more comfortable in chain establishments, but I think the promise of variety brings us a lot of our repeat custom. To date, I've always kept a burger (with cheese, bacon and hand-cut chips) on the menu. Just to mix things up a bit, Chef dropped it last week. Most people haven't commented, but judging from the positively petulant reaction from a certain type of male customer, you'd think we'd broken some golden rule of pub kitchens.
The burger will be back next week, probably. As I said, we change our menu all the time.
I got back from Prague last night after 48 hours on the hoy in some of my favourite pubs. I'd been off the sauce for almost a fornight before I touched down, so my first pint of Pilsner Urquell (the unpasteurised version, served from a tank rather than keg) seemed to be the best beer I've ever tasted.
I had a few hours on my own before the lads arrived at midnight, so I spent Sunday evening crawling up through the Malastrana. Starting at the Malostranská Pivnice, I visited U Hrocha and U Kocoura before ending my solo session at the Klasterni Pivovar in the Strahov Monastery. It was a cold, misty evening, and as I climbed through the narrow, unspoiled streets of the lesser quarter toward the spires of Strahov, it felt like a waking dream.
The spell was broken somewhat when the others arrived and we made for a less salubrious joint off the Wenceslas Square. But at the end of the day I was there for a stag do, not a trip down my own personal memory lane.
In my experience, those who complain too loudly about stag dos and "Brits abroad" tend to be sadsacks with no mates, jealous of other people's fun. Nobody likes to see a group of tatooed plebs vomming in the gutter of a pretty European capital, but a bit of good-natured hoonery with the lads should be part of any man's life.
Today my mate Mike's stag kicked off here at The Gunmakers. Ten of the boys met up for a few pints of Landlord and Star before jumping in cabs to Gatwick, where they'll be flying to Rome for the next leg of the tour. I'll be joining them tomorrow night in Prague (I've got a wedding reception on at the pub tonight). Dr Robbles, as usual, is the centre of attention, upstaging even the groom. He was up 'til seven in the morning ironing slogans onto oversized polo shirts from M&S. Bless him, the bleary-eyed little madman.
 I'm going to be in Prague for six hours on my Jack Jones on Sunday, before the rest of the group fly in from Italy. I plan to crawl around some of my favourite pubs. I used to live in the Czech capital, but haven't been to the city for two years. I'm now on my twelth day without a drop of booze, so that first mug of pivo won't be touching the sides.
I'm on a self-imposed drinking ban at the moment (nine days and counting), so when I needed to unwind this afternoon, a trip to a pub wasn't an option. Instead I visited my favourite coffee shop. The Espresso Room opened for business in a tiny shop space on Great Ormond Street a few months ago. It measures about twelve feet by eight - and that's your lot. Previously, it was Griffin & Partners, which was without doubt London's smallest bookshop. A more knowingly bourgeois venture one could scarcely conceive of - their choice of tea is divided into "builder's" and "posh". The chap that runs it is a real star. He deserves to do well, and by the looks of it he is. If you're in Bloomsbury, it's a perfect (non-alcoholic) pitstop.
Have any of you beery cats heard of the Wild Hop Brewery? It's in County Durham apparently - which, in old money, was my own shire of birth - but I can't find anything online about it. I've ordered a cask of their "O.P.A." because I like the look of the pump clip and want to stock beers from North Eastern micros (there's quite a scene up there nowadays, don't you know).
To all the computer nerds who bitched about my "RSS settings": unfortunately I can't come round each of your houses, give you chinese burns and steal your lunch money. So I've decided to address your concern instead. I think I've fixed it. Let me know if I haven't.
When I was a teenager, we were as likely to drink Newcastle Brown as we were McEwan's Best Scotch. Both of them were most definitely old man's beers, and no self-respecting youngster wants to be tarred with the young fogey brush. So, despite the fact Newkie Broon is the most iconic beer ever brewed in my home region, it's not one I feel any affinity with.
A few years ago production of Newcastle Brown moved across the Tyne to Dunston in Gateshead. That was a break with the past, but at least the beer was still being made in the same region. Now the Gateshead brewery looks likely to close, with Tadcaster in Yorkshire picking up the slack. The BBC (who still owe me money for using my flat for filming) has the story.
So, apart from the picture of the Tyne Bridge on the front label and the embarrassing Geordie dialect on the back, where's the connection with Newcastle now? The fact that Heineken - who bought Scottish & Newcastle Breweries not long ago - would do this brings into the question the importance of beer provenance.
Does it really matter to most consumers? It would seem not. After all, Fosters gets away with claiming to be Australian, when in fact the stuff that mugs drink in British pubs is brewed here by (guess who) S&N. Even the world's original golden lager - Pilsner Urquell - is now produced under license in Poland and Russia.
The next question has to be this: should provenance really matter? After all, brewers have a habit of importing malt and hops from all over the world. If the principal ingredients - other than water - don't need to be local, then does the location of the actual brewery really matter?
In case you're interested, my drinking career began with ciders like Woodpecker, before I moved on to bottled lagers like Labatt's Ice and American Bud. I didn't drink real ale because I was normal, and - let's be honest here - normal teenagers don't go near the stuff.
I don't think the new Eurostar terminal at St Pancras is such an improvement on the old one at Waterloo. Plus, wasn't it rather pleasing that Frenchmen arriving from Gare du Nord were reminded of that famous battle when they stepped off the train? And don't get me started on the beer choice on the train itself: Stella or Kronenbourg. What happened to the Duvel?
There was one thing to cheer me up last week, as we waited for our departure to rain-soaked Lille. In the tiny WH Smiths, on a shelf alongside the travel guides, was Peter Haydon's book - London's Best Pubs. It was recently updated and republished (I should mention that Tim Hampson, not Peter, did the actual updating). The Gunmakers has been included. Click here to buy the book on Amazon.
There's a poltergeist in The Gunmakers. It seems to target the drinks of a particular sort of customer - those who've had a few and are gesticulating wildly while spitting out unfunny, noisy anecdotes to their less-than-rapt compadres. Every time the bar staff hear the smash and tinkle of a broken glass, they rush over with blue roll and dustpan to sort out the mess. They're always told the same story: the drink was sitting there in the middle of the table, when all of a sudden it just flew off.
Putting the lowest form of wit to one side for a moment, there have been tales of ghosts in this pub. Eddie - who locks up when I'm not around - shits bricks everytime he switches the lights out and sets the alarm.
This is what I like to see. 10pm on a school night, and they're three deep at the bar. Anyone who's been to The Gunmakers, and knows how dinky it is, will know what means - peeps are taking it in turns to breathe in and out.
 Shit. The cooler that handles all four of my keg lines has packed up. It happens. It's a good job we've got four draught ales on, then: Landlord, Harvey's, Mad Goose and Doom Bar. Tomorrow night, we're going to be selling Summer Lightning and Mordue IPA as guest ales.
It's said that Lille is the Manchester of France, due to its industrial past. The weather we endured throughout our stay certainly reminded me of that dreary metropolis in the North West of England. Nevertheless, as we dodged the downpours we had all the more time for fantastic food, wine and (surprisingly) artisanal beer.
 The photo was taken at our table in the corner of La Part des Anges, a wine bar in Lille's Old Town. I'll be sure to write a little something about the local beers I tried in the city, but right now I'm in VAT return hell.
Tomorrow I'm off on the Eurostar to Lille in French Flanders for a short break. I don't intend on drinking much beer, and I think my travelling companion would prefer it if we didn't go near the stuff. However, if there's a particular bar (or perhaps a brewpub) in the city that you think is worth a visit, let me know. Cheers.
In a couple of weeks I'm going on another trip - a four day beery journey. We're kicking off with drinks here at The Gunmakers in London, after which we'll fly to Rome for a night on the tiles in the Trastevere. After that, we'll drag ourselves to the airport and fly on to Prague for two more nights of dedicated hoonery. It's my mate Mike's stag do.
A pair of Pauls visited us at lunchtime today: Paul Halsey, MD of Purity Brewing and Paul Walker, Head of National Sales for Adnams. The two breweries have entered into a distribution agreement. We've got Purity's Mad Goose on as a regular ale (I reviewed it here soon after tapping our very first cask). They tucked into the Goose while yamming down our most man-friendly fodder - Sebastien's rump steak in ciabatta with peppercorn mayo, rocket and French fries. It was a pretty happy scene. That's just how we roll here at The Gunmakers, innit.
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