Friday, 6 April 2012

No photos of three pubs in London

This initially had photos and was less fragment (consider revising) but I accidentally deleted it because I'm again feeling too horrific to function. See below. Classic me. Oh well.

I have not eaten out so much in London this time. The first week had the delicious victuals (you try thinking of synonyms for 'this food was good') of the Andrewes household. The second week involved some dinner but also had opportunity to not spend money doing that. Oh yeah, coriander pesto? Surprisingly good. Also salami-cheese-cranberry-pesto-rocket-gherkin sandwiches. I was busy spending my money on red shoes, you see. Which, in my defence, I had spent hours looking for at some point because I needed them for an outfit and couldn't find. ANYWAY, I have been drinking a lot. 'Lass.' I also did some extensive research on pubs in London. And then visited three quite tidy ones. Firstly, the Thatched House in Hammersmith. We were trying to go somewhere else I'd read about but it's not all about sticking to plans (apparently). And this place was cute. I especially liked the juxtaposition of the sofas with the plants outside. And the warm fireside armchairs inside. The gin there was £5.70. But also it was Sipsmith and brewed just around the corner (apparently). I'm doing that thing that the Vice guy did in that article parodying Samantha Brick. That whole media frenzy was weird.

The next day I went to a pub I had researched. TO MY PERIL. We had walked there through a Bangladesh-memory-triggering monsoon (specifically, one time when grandmama and I got soaked in an actual monsoon) so I looked like a drowned rat when I got there. Actually, let's say I looked like an island queen. Who'd been swimming. In her clothes. (The pub was the Island Queen in Angel). Reviews hyped this place too much. I was expecting it to blow my mind from the way people discussed it. Which is a shame because I was disappointed by it when otherwise I would've rather liked it. All dark red (the colour of my room at home) and moody furniture and books. And board games! Including backgammon. Backgammon is so good.

The next day I really didn't want to go to a pub since the night before had ended with egg based liquor. Advocaat: putting a whole new spin to the question 'how do you like your eggs in the morning?' Then I had to rush to H&M before work to buy clothes (a cropped jumper with a heart on it. Except I wanted one with a cat on it. Miaow.) so the office wouldn't think I was a mess who got too drunk to make it home. Classic me. What am I like, eh? Eh? Eh?! Ergh. Anyway. All this meant I was nursing my usual (classic) rock bottom serotonin why am I the way I am I want to curl up under this desk and die hangover so I really didn't want to go to the pub. I almost didn't make it since I was in a daze. It took me half an hour to find the bus stop five minutes away. I was just walking round and round Hyde Park corner. I eventually made it to Finsbury Park. I was doubtful that the Faltering Fallback was going to be as good asit was pitched to me. It was described as the best pub ever. It has the best terrace I have ever seen attached to a pub. And not attached to a pub. It made me feel like I was on a boat (motherfucker).

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