Photos and First Impressions
View from across Kinnerton Street. 
Streetside View
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| The Bar |
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| Wide Shot of Front Room |
Chronicling from the Barstool
As I cross the threshold,
I see an older man of at least 70 behind the bar. He’s short and stocky, with a
well-kept white beard and matching hair, which has thinned at the crown. He
greets me with a raspy, “Yes?”
I nod and begin to review
the taps. He quickly alerts me to my options. “Lager? Ale? Stout? Whiskey?”
I settle on a lager and take a seat in the corner. The mismatched seating is a staple of any London pub, but these are a bit different. Some actually do match, but it looks as though several similar sets were cobbled together over the decades. The wood stain on the stool legs has been largely stripped from years of use, and the upholstery of each is weathered more than worn. Mine feels surprisingly comfortable, broken in like a leather shoe.
Records of Tin Pan Alley crooners play lightly in the background. And yes, I do mean records. At first I merely suspect this based on the fidelity, but I hear several skips, and then later see the old barkeep arise from his chair at the edge of the bar to change the vinyl album. The music, though often light in nature, somehow adds a melancholy feel I can’t quite put my finger on. A sense of longing maybe? I don’t know. The vibe is very 1940s noir.
I notice the barkeep winces each time he gets up or sits down. Pain in his knees I surmise. I wonder why he hasn’t simply given up the ghost and retired, but he has the look of a man who prefers death to idleness, and this seems as good a way to pass the time as any. Plus, I notice he’s working on a pint of his own, so I suppose he’s the smarter of the two of us since he’s getting paid to drink there.
A portly, balding man in his 60s slumps through the door. Been a regular for god knows how long based on the greeting from the barkeep. Just a nod and a pour. No need to ask what he’s having. The two sit at the end of the bar and immediately begin shooting the shit. There’s more British slang and crooked smiles than I can keep up with. Just a continuation of a conversation that started decades ago from what I can see.
A young Englishman in his late 20s saunters in and is greeted warmly. He’s not quite a regular, but he’s familiar to some there. The barkeep still has to ask what he’s drinking. As the man answers, he leans in toward the barkeep. “Not many pubs like this left,” he says.
“No, there’s not,” replies the barkeep. “Most of them have been bought out by the big chain pubs or brewers. But, you know, that’s progress.”
No, sir. I don’t believe it is.
Also in the pub’s founding year of 1732…
- George II rules England.
- Bank of England foundations laid.
- London’s Royal Opera House opens.
- Benjamin Franklin publishes first edition of Poor Richard’s Almanac.
- James Oglethorpe granted royal charter for Georgia (Go Dawgs!).
On Draught
I don’t really have much to say on this particular brew. Honestly, just a nice, crisp, solid lager.
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