If you mess up, you'll end up with gordon burns (groan).Originally Posted by Komakino
Steve of N21's review that meandered into a description of the toilets at Small Beer, made me smile; in particular the 'Krypton Factor todger test'
If you mess up, you'll end up with gordon burns (groan).Steve of N21's review that meandered into a description of the toilets at Small Beer, made me smile; in particular the 'Krypton Factor todger test'
The bar has just two hand pumps which had Doom Bore and Woodforde's Wherry. I went for the Wherry (£3.00) which was pretty sour and horrible, far worse than over 99% of Wetherspoon pints. I would have sent it back in a JDW but didn't bother here as I would have ended up with Doom Bore or even worse a mainstream lager.
From our dear departed Aqualung at The Fenman
I wonder if he would have preferred a mainstream lager to Sharp's new Solar Wave. I bit the bullet and went for a half and it tasted faintly like sucking a Fisherman's Friend.
The Albert
Good 1 Strongers
'I only drink on two occasions, when I'm thirsty and when I'm not'
Brendan Behan
Brilliant.
"Breakneck speed we drown ten pints of bitter"
and this one: Seamus O'Donnells - I liked the final comment which sums up the place perfectly.
'Beer is for all day, not just for breakfast'.
Big sigh of relief from Graham here, as the Theakstons Best runs out just in time.
Come On You Hatters!
A long one from the dead side for The Watch House (JD Wetherspoon) which made me smile:
My wife and I are renowned for our love of Indian food, and we have been dining at the Curry Garden in Lee since we began courting in the early 80’s. Neither of us has ever been tempted to indulge in other cuisines, as we feel that the bold flavours, impeccable service and tacit approval of heavy drinking found in Indian restaurants suits us perfectly.
It was watching my dear wife Susan luxuriate in the delights of a prawn puri (an esoteric menu item at the time) that convinced me that she was the woman I would spend the rest of my life with.
Saturday evening became synonymous with Korma, Madras, Sag aloo and Ghee. We even invested in traditional Indian costume so we could look the part when enjoying our meals. My wife managed to pick up a beautifully made sari and powder blue silk suit from a Sue Ryder on the outskirts of Southall.
Come rain or shine we would head towards the infamous Curry Garden after enjoying ITV’s peerless range of prime-time delights (I’m talking Strike it Rich, Gladiators, My Kind of People etc., not the tripe pumped out by Bolton’s Kaye/Considine axis of c***s).
Whilst our Saturday curry had never been easy on the wallet, we felt it was a luxury we could indulge due to the savings we made elsewhere in our day-to-day lives. Susan was a well-known ‘face’ on the jumble sale circuit, and our only son Graham was home-schooled in the loft conversion.
Unfortunately, we were not immune to the economic downturn, and I was made redundant from my job at a well-known telecommunications company. A not unreasonable pay out, supplemented by the state pension, meant that we should have been OK. Unfortunately, Susan embarked on a disastrous business venture that left us (and several other families) destitute.
I am currently working in a ‘snack hut’ based on the A14, selling burgers and Adderall to long-haul lorry drivers. Whilst I am still pulling in enough to feed and clothe my family, me and Susan have had to explore less costly ways of obtaining our weekly curry fix.
After briefly dabbling in the frozen dinner game, we discovered the Thursday Curry Club at the Watch House, a branch of Wetherspoons based on Lewisham High Street. Thank god we did.
I felt at home as soon as entered the Watch House. The walls are adorned with old photos of seemingly random branches of the Wetherspoons chain based elsewhere in the country. I would happily cover my own walls with such pictures, if Susan didn’t rule the décor of our home with such an iron fist.
Now, let’s talk about the grub. It is worth noting that the curry club menu does not contain prawn puri. When making our order my wife refused to acknowledge this shortfall and boldly ordered her puri anyway. At this point I could have intervened, however if 30 years of marriage has taught me anything, it is not to underestimate my wife’s temper. The chap behind the bar initially seemed nonplussed, and responded that they did not have the item on the menu. “Oh boy” I muttered to myself, this guy was in for it.
What happened next surprised me, rather than usual fireworks (my wife once poured a pot of boiling potatoes down my back because I taped over an episode of Kid’s Say the Funniest Things) Susan began to softly weep. Obviously the lack of prawn puri on the menu represented the numerous disappointments surrounding her life: enormous overdrafts, the simpleton son and a husband who simply can’t cut it in the sack.
Wetherspoons’ shift manager that evening could not have been a day over 22, yet he handled the situation with the calm authority of a man twice his age. “What’s the matter love?” he asked “I have nothing!” she responded, “not even a f**king prawn puri!” The shift manager looked at me and said “I’m sure we can sort something out, why don’t you take your seats and your food will be over shortly”.
The manager hand-delivered our order within 10 minutes, and low and behold the kitchen had managed to muster up a prawn puri for my dear Susan. Remarkably, she did not seem to realise that her meal was no more than a small portion of the prawn curry with a couple of breakfast pancakes thrown into the mix.
Before long, a breathless Susan was reclining with a familiar smile stretched across her face. Her plate had been cleared. I leant across the table, took her hands into mine and asked “Did you enjoy your meal love?” Susan remained silent for a moment, and then replied “Thank God for J.D. Wetherspoon”.
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MrRight - 15 Aug 2013 17:58
An odd one - two bog standard reviews in 2008 before a burst of three chunks of florid fiction in 2013. I do wonder what some of these people from BITE are up to now...
Sounds suspiciously like an Ethelred the Unsteady piece.
"Breakneck speed we drown ten pints of bitter"
I'd forgotten about him
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