No. 93 The Falcon

Visited on 22/9/11. After the small fortune spent on it’s restoration in the 1980s, you’d think this grade 1 listed building of medieval origin would be one of the most upmarket hostelries in Chester. However, under the management of Tadcaster brewer Samuel Smiths, the philosophy has very much focused on keeping the ‘riff-raff’ in rather than out – which is absolutely fine by us. And with ale at £1.89 a pint, tramps, alkies, piss-artists, drunks and sundry ne’er-do-wells abound. It’s a proper old school pub in fact. When we arrived, we went into the left hand side – the side overlooking Bridge St. but immediately had to move into the other half of the pub because there was a fella in there who absolutely stank. I think he might have shat himself to be honest. We walked into the other bar just in time to witness the first fight of the year – well, nearly. It began with a slightly raised voice, then a clearly audible “Yer pr**k !”, followed by “You’re the pr**k !”, then “Don’t you call me a f**kin’ pr**k, YER F**KIN’ PR**K !!” Just as it was about to kick off though, the barmaid stepped in and lashed one of the ‘would be’ combatants out onto the street. Then as he was walking off he threatened to “…smash her face in !”. A right hard man and no mistake. Anyhow, the ale was alright – I’ve never really liked Sam Smiths but it was better than I remember it being - perhaps they've changed it ? Cheap ale, lively atmosphere, historic surroundings and free entertainment – what more could you want from a boozer ? Possibly air freshener, come to think of it. 

No. 92 The Chester Bells

Visited on 22/9/11. From ‘the Golden Eagle’ it’s just a short walk up Bunce St. to this place – a former ‘bikers’ hang-out, now functioning as a pub/B&B. I love the attached review excerpt from ‘Trip Advisor’ written by a disgruntled customer:

“…the worst thing about this whole stay was the fact we went to leave at 8am the following day to find two people having sex in the hotel reception…”

Check it out if you don’t believe me. Needless to say, nothing quite so exciting occurred during our visit. It was nearly empty when we arrived and for some reason, the previous night’s footy was being played on the telly. It was too loud an’ all. We ordered up a round of Bombardier – the national beer that’s just about average, even at it’s best. It was average. A croonist then set up and began performing to his backing tapes. To be honest I could have sung better, and I can’t sing. Some members of his little entourage glared at us when we didn’t applaud. I like this place though – particularly the location and the quirky shape. It must have been ace before all the dividing walls were knocked down. The barman seemed friendly enough as well, although I couldn’t help wondering whether or not he was the phantom shagger. Maybe we should’ve asked.

No. 91 The Golden Eagle

Visited on 22/9/11. We started the evening at ‘the Golden Eagle’, but arrived to find the lights were out and a big ‘For Sale’ sign was attached to the wall. Although it holds happy memories for many of us, including a prominent CBPer who had his first pint there, aged eleven, it wasn’t a great pub. In recent memory at least, it never served cask and has been closed for extended periods on a number of occasions over the last few years. Who knows what the future holds now. Is it the end ? Beautiful friend.

No. 90 The Wheatsheaf

Visited on 15/9/11. From Saughall, we found our way through the lanes back to the main road and this place – an old roadhouse pub with it’s own bowling green (long gone sadly), which has now become a carvery. “Give the kids a treat (and diabetes) with our ‘all you can eat’ ‘five for the price of one’ ‘real meal deal’ and put a family photo on the wall of death”. "Then win a cuddly toy. * " Everything was sticky and there was more than a whiff of urine in the air – kid’s wee probably (hopefully !). In ‘pub grub’ terms, this is about as low as you can go. It probably does a roaring trade early evening, but when we arrived it was empty apart from a few staff looking at their watches. No cask obviously and the John Smith’s brownkeg was rank. It was a long ride back to town an’ all.

* this bit is true.

No. 89 The Greyhound

Visited on 15/9/11. Heading into the centre of Saughall village we soon reached ‘the Greyhound’, a pub with a depressingly familiar recent history – landlord builds a healthy business and is rewarded by the PubCo ‘upping the rent’ to a ridiculous level – landlord then packs it in. The new proprietors clearly have a different business model in mind. An ace old pub has in effect become a restaurant. From can o’ peas to canapés. Drinkers are ‘allowed in’, but the sight of place settings and twee little tea lights on every single table doesn’t exactly create the right kind of environment if you’re just after a few bevies and a bit of craic with the lads. Quite frankly, I found it a little bit weird. Almost ‘Lynchian’ * in fact. In addition, when we arrived there appeared to be a 'tena lady' convention going on - about 15 middle class shrews all drinking chardonnay from over-sized glasses and cackling uproariously. I’m fairly certain there’s nothing sufficiently funny in existence that would justify the volume of such laughter. On the plus side though, the ale was absolutely spot on – Weetwood Cheshire Cat, Fuller’s London Pride, Timmy Taylor’s Landlord – all in perfect condition. Quite splendido.

*surrealist film maker David, not z-cars desk sergeant Bert.

No. 88 The Egerton Arms (Saughall)

Visited on 15/9/11. Fate up against your will. Through the thick and thin, he will wait until you give yourself to him. Ah yes, the killing moon illuminated the footbridge from Saltney, over the black glass river and beyond. Through the Greyhound park, then Blacon, then nothing. We were in the middle of God knows where. Fortunately, for a pub in such a remote location, the ‘Egerton’ has managed to resist the march of gastro-isation and remains a decent boozer. It was busy when we arrived and there was a pool match on. They were playing, erm, the ‘Egerton’ (No. 28), their namesake pub from Brook Street. Spooky or what ? What are the chances of that ? Two pubs with the same name playing each other at pool – on the very night we decide to visit ? Fate up against your will. Anyhow, we enjoyed a really nice pint of Brain’s SA in here and could easily have necked another following what was after all, a massive 10 minute long bike ride ! However, you all know the score by now. We had to move on...

No. 87 The Saltney Ferry

Visited on 15/9/11. Last time we were in Saltney this place was closed, so when we heard it had opened up again, we just couldn’t wait to get back there. No really. We’d even heard they’d started doing real ale, so were shocked, mystified, perplexed and nonplussed to discover this wasn’t the case. Four handpumps were present on the newly refurbished bar, but all of them had their pump-clips turned around. Brownkeg it was then – and it was hideous. Of the handful of people in there, it was impossible to tell who were staff and who were customers. All were gawping at the telly and none of them said a word. The carpet was curiously spongy. Er, that was it. Not even a whiff of menace to liven the place up.