Fool about my money, don't try to save,
My heart says go go, have a time,
Saturday night and I'm feelin' fine,
Actually it was Monday afternoon but hey, we were on holiday so we didn't really care which day it was. All we cared about was that it was time for another research trip to London. Our first planned stop was the Artillery Arms, but we had an unsuccessful detour to the Telegraph first in a futile attempt to find some London Porter*.
When we got there the Artillery Arms was a far better pub,
and much to my surprise had not only guest beers for sale but also draught 1845. This I couldn't resist.
I'm not much of a fan of it in bottles but I thought it was excellent the one previous time I'd had it on draught at Woking beer festival. Sadly it was a bit flat, which was all the more disappointing as my friends cooed with delight over their pints of Lambeth Walk porter.
We moved on to the Old Fountain, where I bumped into a fellow brewer who was both down on his luck and had been brung low by a woman. On the plus side he was spending the afternoon in a pub drinking beer.
There was a good range of beer, but nothing particularly stood out. I had one in the ever popular "pale and tastes of American hops" style.
Our next stop was the Hat and Tun. I was more taken with the fact they had two dead badgers on the wall than anything else, and in a usual display of beer blogging efficiency can't remember what I had to drink.
Then it was on to a favourite of mine, the Old Mitre. It was a Deuchar's IPA and a pork pie for me here. I went off Deuchar's when I lived in Edinburgh as far too often it was the only thing to drink, but after a suitable break I quite enjoyed it. I've never gone off pork pies.
After food stop our research resumed a the Ship Tavern. The beer range wasn't very exciting and I had something different but dull from Caledonian.
Then it was on to the main even, the Holborn Whippet, and my chance to claim the unofficial title for last beer blogger to get there.
As with every other bleedin' craft beer bar it was a bar not a pub so had uncomfortable stools and you couldn't hear what anyone was saying if you were more than six inches from them. I'm increasing getting the feeling that craft beer bars aren't aimed at me, but enough on that for now.
They had a cracking beer range, and Bristol Beer Factory Milk Stout definitely won the coveted title of Champion Beer of the Piss Up, and when the last drops of the champion beer were poured down our gullets it was time to go home.
* The real stuff obviously, none of this "craft keg" nonsense.