Friday, June 01, 2007
Local Conundrum
I can hardly complain that my local pub, the Queen’s Head, nestled in its idyllic location by the willow-tree dappled duck pond in Chislehurst High Street, has turned into an underage drinking den, bearing in mind I started visiting there when I was 16. And, of course, being the only one of Chislehurst’s many pubs situated in the High Street it’s obviously the first one to catch your eye as a youth hoping to score your first proper pint.
However, a recent trip by there on a sunny Saturday soon turned into a game of spot the adult. The wooden benches which surround the front of the pub were thronged with boys barely old enough to shave, all wearing pastle-pink-pringle-pullovers and knee-length shorts, most of whom no doubt think getting served a pint of lager top is the closest thing to nirvana they’ll ever experience. And things hardly improved in the beer garden at the back. There it was an even split between groups of bleached-blonde, perma-tanned 15 year old girls in greyhound skirts, Ratner’s bling and pink mobiles, whose fuel of choice seemed to be an endless supply of Ernst & Gallo rosé and Marlboro Lights; and further groups of pre-pubescent identikit boys dribbling openly over said females. Not a pretty sight for those more mature members of the drinking establishment who want to enjoy a couple of pints of bitter and our Saturday newspaper in relative peace….Oh, and what is it with this trend for wearing shorts, sandals with a jumper for fuck’s sake? Surely if it’s warm enough for shorts you don’t need a jumper and if it’s cold enough for a jumper you don’t want to be in fucking shorts. Twats………..but I digress
The obvious youth of the clientele surprises me as this is a pub that has banned baseball caps and has a “21? Prove it” sticker in the window. Plus, of course, the ex-SAS landlord who is so strict about the way things are run. He once actually physically moved my brother to exactly three-feet from the bar because, as he indicated with a flourish of the hand that didn’t have my brother by the scruff of the neck there was a “No smoking at the bar” sign hanging above it. Funny thing was, bruv had only gone up to the bar to put his ciggie out in an ashtray rather than use the floor. This is also now one of those pubs that has bouncers on the door (always a bad sign) so that every time you fancy a jar you get scrutinised by two rather imposing black fellas in shades and leather jackets (both items essential whatever time of day, or indeed night, it is) and this does make me feel most unwelcome. And so my local does not feel like my local anymore……
So here’s the conundrum - where in Chislehurst can I now call MY local…….????
Well, there’s the Gordon Arms – but that has a sign banning anyone under sixty or who still has their own teeth. The sign in the window, rather than banning baseball caps actually insists you wear a flat one……..
Then there’s the Lounge. Has changed its name more times than Elizabeth Taylor. Chav central ( but for the older chav fraternity). As two people have been shot dead there since we moved back four years ago I’ll give this one a miss
However, a recent trip by there on a sunny Saturday soon turned into a game of spot the adult. The wooden benches which surround the front of the pub were thronged with boys barely old enough to shave, all wearing pastle-pink-pringle-pullovers and knee-length shorts, most of whom no doubt think getting served a pint of lager top is the closest thing to nirvana they’ll ever experience. And things hardly improved in the beer garden at the back. There it was an even split between groups of bleached-blonde, perma-tanned 15 year old girls in greyhound skirts, Ratner’s bling and pink mobiles, whose fuel of choice seemed to be an endless supply of Ernst & Gallo rosé and Marlboro Lights; and further groups of pre-pubescent identikit boys dribbling openly over said females. Not a pretty sight for those more mature members of the drinking establishment who want to enjoy a couple of pints of bitter and our Saturday newspaper in relative peace….Oh, and what is it with this trend for wearing shorts, sandals with a jumper for fuck’s sake? Surely if it’s warm enough for shorts you don’t need a jumper and if it’s cold enough for a jumper you don’t want to be in fucking shorts. Twats………..but I digress
The obvious youth of the clientele surprises me as this is a pub that has banned baseball caps and has a “21? Prove it” sticker in the window. Plus, of course, the ex-SAS landlord who is so strict about the way things are run. He once actually physically moved my brother to exactly three-feet from the bar because, as he indicated with a flourish of the hand that didn’t have my brother by the scruff of the neck there was a “No smoking at the bar” sign hanging above it. Funny thing was, bruv had only gone up to the bar to put his ciggie out in an ashtray rather than use the floor. This is also now one of those pubs that has bouncers on the door (always a bad sign) so that every time you fancy a jar you get scrutinised by two rather imposing black fellas in shades and leather jackets (both items essential whatever time of day, or indeed night, it is) and this does make me feel most unwelcome. And so my local does not feel like my local anymore……
So here’s the conundrum - where in Chislehurst can I now call MY local…….????
Well, there’s the Gordon Arms – but that has a sign banning anyone under sixty or who still has their own teeth. The sign in the window, rather than banning baseball caps actually insists you wear a flat one……..
Then there’s the Lounge. Has changed its name more times than Elizabeth Taylor. Chav central ( but for the older chav fraternity). As two people have been shot dead there since we moved back four years ago I’ll give this one a miss
The Bull’s Head – too many beards
The Rambler’s Rest – arse bandit pub – back’s to the wall and all that
The Imperial Arms – or Impey as it’s known locally – smaller than a one-boy-scout sized tent – and half way up a really steep hill – no chance.
The Station Master – Formerly the Bickley Arms, which no doubt left many a pisshead getting off at Chislehurst station in major confusion – absolute barn of a pub with nowt but nitro-keg and alcopops, flashing fruties and too loud muzak, piss flooded toilets and disagreeable patrons – so that’s a no then
The Sydney Arms – absolutely the perfect local for a middle-aged person. Good beer (London Pride, Bombardier etc) excellent food, good garden for when we get the occasional visit from that big orange thing in the sky, but just one small flaw – it’s nowhere near where I live…..
So that leaves……….
So that leaves……….
The Crown – situated in the perfect spot just by the cockpit on Chislehurst common, our throats are soothed by pint of the finest ales Shepherd Neame have ever dreamt up and the bar food is ropey but cheap. I could well do without the plasma and the bloke at the bar in the three piece tweed suit and spats - looks more like toad of toad hall than David Jason – but there’s big comfy sofas and nice booths in the window for easy people watching in the summer. And for now the place remains thankfully free from the jumper and shorts brigade – thank god.
