Pub Nostalgia Thread

[Lisa Jesusandmarychain]

Now all the pubs are shut, and are likely to be shut for a very long time, I think now is the time for another thread about pubs.
CaB is generally quite good for this sort of thing, and seeing as today marks the sixth week since I ( and probably quite a few of the boys and girls of CaB)  set foot in a pub ( or imbibed any alcohol , for that matter), I'd really relish a good pub thread.
The remit for this thread can be quite wide- you could write about the grimmest,  diveiest, most potentially ( or indeed, actually) violent pub you've been in, the best pub you've ever been in, the brest/ worst pub crawl you've been on, the earliest time in the day you've had a pint in a pub, which historical pub you'd go in were you to have H.G Wells' famous time machine,  etc.
Just think of all the grand old tales that could be told in this thread( actually, forget that time machine thing, that's probably not a good idea)!
A pub- tales thread for these publesstimes- a jolly good idea, and a potentially jolly good thread, I like to think.

[Al Tha Funkee Homosapien]

Once ate 4 packs of Scampi Fries and thought my kidneys were going to fail there and then.

Used to go to a shit pub when I was 15-16 that did a student night every Thursday. They sold pints of Carling, pints of cider, and shots of Aftershock (both flavours) for £1 each. Could get proper fucked up on a tenner. Good times.

[Pijlstaart]

We had a nice historic pub on the green. They've painted it white now, and put up accent lights and topiaries, but it was a pub. Step-father worked in that pub as a barhand and we'd all troop in to wave at him. We wouldn't go in most weeknights because that's where the teachers would go to drink and mother hated them. One evening there was a fire at an adjacent house and we all came out onto the green to watch, a bonfire for all to see, billowing flames. If only we'd had some marchmelows!

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

At .com/2018/02/11/klub-invalida-kotor/] Klub Invalida, Kotor, Montenegro.

Kotor is fast becoming another day tripper venue.
It isn't Dubrovnik's size so when the tourists descend it can get pretty choked in the old town. The town is perched underneath a ring of mountains which surround the bay of Kotor and there are a lot of highly localised thunderstorms as a result.

One of the few authentic Caffe bars left in town is Klub Invalida, a retired sportsman's club which is essentially for old farts to knock about in. Cigs, beers, natter. Even they realise they hold a prime location so have made a perfunctory effort to set up a few tables and chairs outside. They'll even serve you if you're polite.

Entertainment in the venue comes via a battered old 90s TV set and as it was Easter, they had kindly provided us with an ashtray filled with two dyed purple hard boiled eggs. We ordered a few Niksicko pivos, the only real Montenegrin beer you can get.

By the end of the first round of beers the weather turned from baking hot and sunny, albeit windy, to alarming violent thunderstorm. The stone streets don't offer much drainage and so it only took about 15 minutes until we were effectively flooded-in.

But then we got a tap on the shoulder from the 'bartender'. Zvolite (?) 2 more beers arrive without us asking. Then another round, and another. Here were are trapped in a Montenegrin working men's club with no mutually intelligible language to communicate. Only stern Balkan formalities, boiled eggs and gruff acts of kindness from smelly old cig trolls. We end up watching Serbian football which intermittently cuts out due to the clear electrical interference issues. Every now and again we peek out of front to see if we can walk home without being in 10 inches of water, we can't. Not until the early hours, having been plied with rakija as a fucking off present. One that stays with you, that.

[phes]

The last visit to my Sheffield local before leaving the city at the end of February was lit up (following a discussion with the barman about Trailer Park Boys) when a begrudgingly loved local mounted a spirited but slightly wonky argument that plate tectonics was directly responsible for the separation of one tribe of folk into Scots and Canadians and thus this explains why the Trailer Park Boys say aboot. I do miss stuff like this, this local in particular who was a fountain of wonderfully unreliable bollocks and would earnestly argue with an expert of any standing about the most esoteric of subjects, somehow without ever being a twat about it

[Buelligan]

South London.  Big wide pub with dirty tiles all over.  On a junction, pavement full.  Very trick motorcycles.  Engines ticking out heat under yellow street lights.  Hot smoky night.  Inside a long bar, dim light not many in.  Colours flying.  Carpet peels off your sole with every step.  Everyone looks, just walk through, calm as you like, to the music.  Double doors, hollow flakey smoky purple hall.  Mirror ball.  Teds flipping.  Fat Pat pissing in the ladies with the door open.  Til I waltz again with you.  LOVE HATE.  Fuck me.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Sheffield, The Cobden View, June 2017.

Watching the election results come in as Theresa May loses her majority and I get to watch the fallout in one of the remaining cradles of left wing politics in England. The pub itself, a very workaday neighbourhood pub with a modest selection of beers but relatively cosy traditional bench seating, set on a row of terraces and boasting an immaculate pool table and genuinely wonderful beer garden.

As we arrived it appeared some officials had been using the side room as a polling station during the day and were just cleaning things away. There was a sense of excitement as the exit poll had only just come in. I had finished a game of five-a-side down Northumberland Road's pitches.

The evening started off slowly, as the most meaningful results tend to come in after midnight, but by then the whole pub had been working itself up into a stupor. Each Labour hold cheered to the rafters, each Labour gain practically celebrated like the winning goal in a pub final, likewise every Tory loss.

I am not sure how things dragged on for so long, but the pub basically didn't shut. The owner Bodsworth planned to stay open (lock ins were not entirely unusual when I used to live a few doors down from his pub) and there didn't seem to be any threat of being silenced. True colours were revealed and everyone felt the warm glow of companionship and inebriation.

It wasn't a final victory of course, politically, but it was the most validation any left winger has had that their politics can and should occupy part of the mainstream. I felt even at the time that was equally as important.

We finally went to bed at 5.50 and I had to be up at 6.45 to catch a 7.40 train back to Leeds for work. I was hanging like a motherfucker but the adrenalin was still pumping. Boy it was still pumping. One of the best nights in a pub ever.

[peanutbutter]

Going into the cubicles of an empty bathroom after 4 drinks and abrupt but intense stomach pain to have one absolutely gigantic relieving fart

Meeting up with a friend you haven't seen in a while and have kinda forgotten if you ever got along, then gradually remembering how to communicate with each other as you both get drunker

[honeychile]

Went into the Somerset House in Bristol about 15 years ago and saw they had on tap some batshit local (or home) brew. Got served a half in a fucking filthy glass. Tasted like boiled piss. Walked out after a couple of sips. Went under new management not long after, i think.

Around the same time as the above, the Rose of Denmark was being run by an awesome couple with a cute little dog. Small but brilliantly kept selection of ales and spirits, but best of all their games collection included 3D Connect 4 which was awesome fun and a flirt hotspot. It went with the landlords. Miss that fucking game.

[Buelligan]

[idunnosomename]

building still there but god knows what they're doing with it

https://www.google.com/maps/@51.3803248,-0.0866947,3a,75y,163.78h,96.66t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m5!1spHyJzMfDzF1JvXRvYhICog!2e0!5s20190601T000000!7i16384!8i8192

(grade II listed)

[Buelligan]

I was just browsing around looking at pictures of old pubs, prompted by this thread and I saw that and it made me so happy.  Thinking about someone spending time, concentrating, working out rude anagrams.  Climbing up and rearranging those lucky letters.  Getting down again and looking up, filled with pride.  This makes me laugh like a fucking owl.

[phes]

2014 World Cup in the packed Leeds student Union. Robin Van Persies header met with an eruption of unadulterated joy at foot headball.

Walking home past the Brudenell, hearing Orange Juice blaring out, popping in for a pint to find it was actually Collins himself practicing and slipping in to watch the rehearsal. What a fantastic place to live just yards from

[gib]

I was just browsing around looking at pictures of old pubs, prompted by this thread and I saw that and it made me so happy.  Thinking about someone spending time, concentrating, working out rude anagrams.  Climbing up and rearranging those lucky letters.  Getting down again and looking up, filled with pride.  This makes me laugh like a fucking owl.

pretty much perfect isn't it. The only thing i can fault is that the ramp is set too steep for the little blue van.

[Buelligan]

Heheh.  Yes.  Wonderful.

[Tony Tony Tony]

Years ago worked as an engineer installing back up power systems for corona virus inducing mobile phone inducing masts. Always worked as part of a pair so lunchtimes would invariably be spent in the pub where we would stock up on the hearty fare to see us through the afternoon. Once whilst in a grim estate flat roofed pub in a place, in South Wales, called Tredegar a huge cowboy type melee broke out. I picked up my lunch just as the table we were eating at was hurled across the room... very much like in the movies. Once it had quietened down I spoke to the bar tender to ask if it was always like that, his response was that it was unusual for such a fight to break out on a Tuesday lunch but it was a regular event at the weekend. He opined that as the local pit and associated heavy industries had closed anyone with any get up and go had got up and gone to the bright lights of Cardiff. All that really remained were the knuckle draggers who couldn't be arsed so would spend their dole money on all day in the pub and take their frustrations out on the furniture.

That job was also notable in that one of the other engineers I was paired up with occasionally was a notorious imbiber, demonstrated by the fact that on trips to the bar he would have two pints and a short to my one pint. As we worked away for a week at a time we would often share a room in some grotty B&B saving on the expense allowance to leave more money for evening boozing. After one particularly heavy session I awoke to find my colleague standing beside the wardrobe pissing into his open suitcase full of clothes intended for the rest of the week.... happy days.           

[Jockice]

I've been to some pubs in my time, me.

[Buelligan]

Years ago worked as an engineer installing back up power systems for corona virus inducing mobile phone inducing masts. Always worked as part of a pair so lunchtimes would invariably be spent in the pub where we would stock up on the hearty fare to see us through the afternoon. Once whilst in a grim estate flat roofed pub in a place, in South Wales, called Tredegar a huge cowboy type melee broke out. I picked up my lunch just as the table we were eating at was hurled across the room... very much like in the movies. Once it had quietened down I spoke to the bar tender to ask if it was always like that, his response was that it was unusual for such a fight to break out on a Tuesday lunch but it was a regular event at the weekend. He opined that as the local pit and associated heavy industries had closed anyone with any get up and go had got up and gone to the bright lights of Cardiff. All that really remained were the knuckle draggers who couldn't be arsed so would spend their dole money on all day in the pub and take their frustrations out on the furniture.

That job was also notable in that one of the other engineers I was paired up with occasionally was a notorious imbiber, demonstrated by the fact that on trips to the bar he would have two pints and a short to my one pint. As we worked away for a week at a time we would often share a room in some grotty B&B saving on the expense allowance to leave more money for evening boozing. After one particularly heavy session I awoke to find my colleague standing beside the wardrobe pissing into his open suitcase full of clothes intended for the rest of the week.... happy days.         

At least you two and the bartender were better people than those stuck in Tredegar without work or hope.  Sorry if this sounds a bit antsy but I have some loyalty to these exploited and destroyed communities.  There are humans with dreams living in them, just the same as everywhere.

[Dex Sawash]

Need help with un-anagrmming Shit Arse pub plz.

[Buelligan]

I think it was originally called T' Ass Hire.  Traditional in Yorkshire I understand.

[Lisa Jesusandmarychain]

Need help with un-anagrmming Shit Arse pub plz.

Arse Shit.

[Buelligan]

Very good for the roses.

[Captain Crunch]

We were always very curious about the pub in Catford with the little chalk sign outside saying 'visit our pub farm'.  We eventually got the nerve to go in and ask and were granted access.  It was a shabby courtyard out the back containing a rusty jag, two sad chickens and a giant turkey.  Then we had to leave because one of the regulars (dressed in dyed chef's whites) started hassling my busty mate. 

The was also the Black Horse & Harrow which was a nice pub but so BIG.  You don't need a pub even half that big, it was too much.  Always felt dead even with loads of people in there.  Now it's a, whatever this is. 

For more repurposed pubs, there was the Horse & Groom on Woolwich Road which became the Cherubim & Seraphim Movement Church (Nutjob Parkondoubleyellowit'sfinereally Division):



The Red Lion on Plumstead High Street which became a noodle bar:



And the Victoria, which became a bonfire:

[GoblinAhFuckScary]

Me local's a funfair. How I miss it so

[Small Man Big Horse]

When I walked past my local pub the other evening, The Lord Palmerston*, I noticed someone had left the fruit machine on and it made me incredibly nostalgic for the place, with it looking like it was still desperately trying to somehow stay alive yet all but failing too.

Can't say I'm a big pub fan these days if only because all of my favourites have been renovated and turned in to modern bars and gastropubs, which makes me sound like a very old man indeed, but I do miss a few dives that still remain.








*Pitt The Elder.

[Tony Tony Tony]

Need help with un-anagrmming Shit Arse pub plz.

Apparently it was originally called The Leslie Arms from which a hop, skip and a toss away of some letters makes Shit Arse. (Could also have been Hearties Smell or Serial Helmets though Shit Arse seems infinitely better)

I took a peek on Google streetmaps and using the back in time feature can see it has been left to decay for some time. It is a real shame as my local is suffering the same fate. No doubt the owner of the property (in both cases) is waiting for it to fall into a such state of disrepair that the only option is to tear it down to be replaced by exclusive residences/cheap flats.   

[Ferris]

Sheffield, The Cobden View, June 2017.

Watching the election results come in as Theresa May loses her majority and I get to watch the fallout in one of the remaining cradles of left wing politics in England. The pub itself, a very workaday neighbourhood pub with a modest selection of beers but relatively cosy traditional bench seating, set on a row of terraces and boasting an immaculate pool table and genuinely wonderful beer garden.

As we arrived it appeared some officials had been using the side room as a polling station during the day and were just cleaning things away. There was a sense of excitement as the exit poll had only just come in. I had finished a game of five-a-side down Northumberland Road's pitches.

The evening started off slowly, as the most meaningful results tend to come in after midnight, but by then the whole pub had been working itself up into a stupor. Each Labour hold cheered to the rafters, each Labour gain practically celebrated like the winning goal in a pub final, likewise every Tory loss.

I am not sure how things dragged on for so long, but the pub basically didn't shut. The owner Bodsworth planned to stay open (lock ins were not entirely unusual when I used to live a few doors down from his pub) and there didn't seem to be any threat of being silenced. True colours were revealed and everyone felt the warm glow of companionship and inebriation.

It wasn't a final victory of course, politically, but it was the most validation any left winger has had that their politics can and should occupy part of the mainstream. I felt even at the time that was equally as important.

We finally went to bed at 5.50 and I had to be up at 6.45 to catch a 7.40 train back to Leeds for work. I was hanging like a motherfucker but the adrenalin was still pumping. Boy it was still pumping. One of the best nights in a pub ever.

Think I've talked about it already (I've banged on about everything else) but I lived on School Road for a year and the Cobden View was our local. I miss it and the Closed Shop down the road dearly.

You're a jammy bastard being able to go in, that's all I'll say.

[Emma Raducanu]

Called into the three shires Inn along the Cumbrian way. After 9 hours walking, a pint there was much appreciated as were all the other pubs along the way. Three shires is set in what God's own garden would look like. Gggrrrr pubs.

[Lisa Jesusandmarychain]

^ Why are you expressing anger at pubs? Most of that post sounded like you quite liked them.

[Hand Solo]