261. Wed 13/12/17: The Brewery Tap, Luton

Beer: Hardy & Hansons Rocking Rudolph 4.2%

Toss a coin in the gym changing room. Its heads – so I ditch fitness and go down pub.

Since reading the blog, up there on the internet, I have changed the way I’ve written – and the pubs I’ve visited. My decision to go to The Tap was based on not having written it up thus far, and that I’ve gone and thunk up “an angle”.

This visit, nay this whole enterprise, is informed by Orwell’s 1946 essay The Moon Under Water, about the perfect pub. The boozer of this Orwellian utopia - TMUW (spoiler alert) doesn’t exist.

The brewery to which this pub recalls was demolished in 1977 – so both Orwell's essay, and Luton’s Brewery Tap pub recall things that are lost to time.

Who, one wonders, was the last whimsical toper who sat in this pub fondly recalling foaming pints of JWGreen’s Dragon’s Blood? Who can tell? Maybe he/she is in here now… they’ll be getting on mind.

Green’s was bought out by Whitbread – who lost interest in brewing years ago (not before everyone lost interest in their lousy beer). Hardy and Hansons were bought up and closed down by Greene King a decade ago – but Rocking Rudolph is, though possibly not what it was, perfectly decent.

432a. Fri 22/6/18: The Smithfield, Luton Airport

Beer: Fullers London Pride (bottled) 4.7%

Waiting for a plane to Edinburgh. Long weekend with old friends coming up. As is de rigeur for airport waits, pint is partaken AM. Attendant at front of house helpfully informed us that if we just wanted a drink we could either take a table or stand at the bar. Very grateful for that advice as I'd be lost otherwise. Only handpump on was some Greene King ale so plumped for bottle of LP. I'm flying with James, a long standing friend from VI form days. Some excitement at the bar as a can of beer spontaneously ejected beer onto everyone from a high shelf.

401. Sat 28/4/18: The Bricklayers Arms. 16-18 High Town Road, Luton

Beer: Cotleigh Barn Owl 4.5%

LUTON TOWN 3 FOREST GREEN ROVERS 1

Hoorah! The Town are going up!

We knew this, of course, last week – so the atmosphere at the ground is celebratory and good humoured, but not ecstatic.

The celebrations at the end went on a bit. The pitch invasion at the final whistle caused rancour amongst supporters who respected the request to stay put for the time being. Of course fans should keep off the pitch until given permission (so the players and their families could complete their lap of honour) and maybe they deserved the abuse from the stands, but it’s not a great thing to see or hear. Once the pitch was cleared the whole extended awarding of the runners up trophy was way too long and contrived.

I like a good pitch invasion, me… possibly not as much as I did when I was a kid; and these things are best done with joyous spontaneity – not held back until all the players (and all their children) have completed their lap of honour.

We finally got on the pitch, when they said that we could, and applauded the lads up in the Directors’ Box… but it was nice to get out of the ground and back down the pub.

We managed to get a table at the Brickies – possibly because most of the other fans were still at the ground, probably listening to the speech by the kit washer’s apprentice. We sit, rather drained and befuddled, and contemplate possible away trips next season. Sunderland and Bradford maybe?

 

406. Fri 4/5/18: The Crown, Luton

Beer: Greene King Band of Brothers 4.1%

Aged Market Hill boozer, currently under bored (though not negligent) GK stewardship. Aesthetically it's fine, although the early evening clientele seem a little lairy… but that’s probably any town centre pub that one’s reasonably unfamiliar with.

It’s a big pub. I sit at a table near the entrance. It’s sticky.

The beer is a passable GK stab at a pale’n’hoppy IPA. It’s OK… I’m ill-convinced (of the style, and the brewer).

Two mature fellows enter the pub. I catch a solitary line of conversation “it’s a f*ckin’ waste of time innit?” He may have a point. I don’t fancy another pint of BOB. I’m considering The Castle or The Red Lion – but going home seems more appealing.

A sandwich board outside advertises the fact that the pub will shortly be screening the Royal Wedding and the FA Cup Final on the same day (Saturday 19/518). Past that, on the seating under the Rotary Club clock, what looks like a homeless old boy (and/or a p*ssed old b*stard) is getting hassled by a couple of coppers. It’s grim street theatre; folk from the pub congregate around the doorway to get a better look while they have a fag. I take pictures through the window of the scene juxtaposed against the Royal Wedding ad.

Market Hill evenings have something of a quietly sinister edge. It’s like Hogarth’s Gin Lane in Luton sometimes… it’s probably not quite that bad at the moment (though it certainly isn’t Beer Street convivial).

164. Tue 12/9/17: The Gardeners Call, Luton

Beer: Marstons EPA 3.6%

Sneaky pre-match pint in the newly refurbished GC. It’s alright in here – they’ve got ale in again (just the one, such as it is) – which is a good start for a latterly run down local, but one which has had relatively recent cause to trouble The Good Beer Guide. The refurbishment seems to have run to a good few pots of paint – particularly outside where GK green has turned blue; there’s lots of orange in the doorway too – are they looking to tempt the LT crowd? Not sure, they’ll have to improve the beer selection.

They’ve also made a stage area in the fireplace (there’s a PA set up), and are advertising weekend entertainment – I think we’ll have to wait for the Robbie Williams tribute; beforehand it’s Harmonica Lewinsky, “fun cockney act”… and all on my doorstep. They’re also looking to start a ladies dart team. It’s heartening. Having lived over the road for a couple of decades, I can remember this place as a thriving community local and it’ll be nice if it can be that again.

The Tuesday evening clientele is small but noisy. I feel disinclined to whip out the DSLR and start taking some surreptitious snaps on my phone instead: although, when the couple on the nearby table move on I get the camera out. On the way out I’m recognised by a local (possibly a neighbour) “do you still drink down the Bricklayers?”

“Yes, just on my way down there now”. He goes on to name a few regulars, most of whom I recognise/remember, and I can mostly confirm whether they still frequent the boozer. The chat moves on to the match tonight and the debacle at the weekend, and involves the barlady who is wearing a Luton Town sweatshirt.
It’s too far away to suggest as a pre/post match pint pub and, as suggested, the beer selection isn’t special… but The Gardeners does seem to be looking up.

480d. Thu 20/9/18: Augustiner Brauhaus, Charlottenstrasse, Berlin

Beer: Augustiner Helles Lager 5.2%

Another staple of the German drinking venue is the Brauhaus, which draw tourists and locals who yearn for the juxtaposition of seriously good draft beer and appalling, stodgy food. The Brauhauses (Bräuhausen???) are not really pubs but eating establishments in the main, which I usually tend to avoid, but I make an exception today as;

i) it is lunchtime,

ii) Augustiner is one of my favourite beers, and

iii) I am hot and thirsty.

My Spätzle is gooey and the onions atop it, inedible. Vast lumps of meat are put away by everyone else. Feels like a school canteen. (Albeit, a school canteen in an impossibly scenic location.)

472. Friday 7/9/18: The Wigmore Arms, Luton

Beer: Wychwood Hobgoblin 4.5%

At 06:25pm the place is packed. The clientele is 90% male, in a 20-50 age group, local and loud (although there are a few from the offices next door, with their TUI lanyards – lads and lasses, early twenties… loud). It must seem boisterously convivial to the folk assembled, but I don’t recognise any of ‘em. I used to be borderline regular in this place… maybe the Friday night crowd differs from that of the comparatively laid back weekend afternoon locals. Anyway, it’s very early – and some folk in here are well into their cups.

Good luck to ‘em.

The one relatively quiet spot is in the dining area, where no one is dining. Instead, on a table at the back, a nuclear family are sat. As I make my way to a nearby vacant table, the bloke starts berating his missus.

Back at the bar, the barstaff all seem very young and very tattooed. The lad who served me can’t be twenty yet. His arms are covered in individual little tatts – the selection appears somewhat arbitrary, the fecklessly bored choices of a child.

What Steph and I call “the top table” in the pub is higher than the others, and routinely reserved for regulars. Again, I recognise nobody. Someone spills a pint of San Miguel all over it. Everyone cheers.

My Hobgoblin is alright, over chilled maybe. The ale selection this evening is pretty uninspiring. It’s this or the ubiquitous GKIPA.

Autumn is coming on, low evening sunlight streams into the pub; blinding some, and affording my glass an attractive light – which my dubious photography skills largely fail to capture.