Visited on 6/10/11. To commemorate our century we decided to spend the night in just one pub - we've been holding back a couple of ‘good uns’ for just such auspicious occasions (obviously our final pub will have to be a decent boozer as well – can you guess what it is yet ?*). However, on the way out, we noticed that ‘the Railway Arms’ (No. 72) was open ! Naturally, we had to call in, having failed on three previous occasions – see comments section under that pub’s entry. Anyhow, after battling through some wild weather we finally arrived at ‘the Ship’ just in time to take part in the quiz. The first priority though was to set up a round of Tetley bitter – a traditional ale that can be insipid in the wrong hands, but when handled correctly is magnificent. It was magnificent. It always is here, because this is an old school boozer run by an old school landlord who knows his stuff (take a bow Joe). As you might expect, we assumed we’d win the quiz, but eventually finished third out of ahem, five teams. I don’t think we’ll be worrying the ‘Eggheads’ any time soon ! Shortly after the quiz finished, about twenty members of the ‘funny handshake’ brigade arrived - straight from the lodge and all looking splendid in their black ties. They got the ale in and started playing darts. It was ‘the knights templar of the blue grotto’ versus ‘the fragrant order of imperial wizards’. I asked what the score was at one point. The ‘chief banana hoo-ha-ha’ said he couldn’t tell me – it was a secret (wey-hey !) – and added, “you don’t know who I am !” Fair dos (he was right – I didn’t). I can’t remember there being a last orders bell at any point. I just remember looking at my watch and it was half past midnight ! I had to go, so exited stage left leaving the other CBPers behind. Lord knows what time they got out – I’ve not spoken to them since. Perhaps they’re still there.
*famous people on the toilet #148: Rolf Harris © VIZ
Visited on 29/9/11. Let’s cut to the chase. The gents bogs in here are an absolute friggin’ disgrace. The ceiling is covered in black mould, the cubicle door is covered in graffiti (‘der Lache roolz’ apparently) and the urinals leak. Just to highlight this final point, a litter bin has even been strategically placed under one of the U-bends to catch the drips. As a consequence, there’s a vile stench that permeates the entire pub. It’s verging on the primeval to be honest. If ever there was a place in Chester where you could still contract bubonic plague, this would be it. The tragedy is, this could be a great pub with just a modest sum made available for a refurb. It’s small, atmospheric, largely in it’s original state and is in a great location. It’s easy to imagine looking out over a busy market square in the Victorian era or propping up the bar in the 1960s and chatting to iconic footballer Dixie Dean who ran this place for a while after he retired from the game - for anyone interested, there’s a sort of shrine to the great man in one corner of the pub, but it’s made from reproduction stuff and is a bit cheesy to be honest. A simple blue plaque would be better. Obviously, they don’t do real ale here, so we drank brownkeg. It was practically stagnant. This could be another boozer on the ‘at risk’ list. Hope we haven’t given it the kiss of (black) death.
Visited on 29/9/11. I suppose ‘the Coach and Horses’, which was the name of this place last time I looked, sounds a bit too much like a pub for this erm, pub. Whereas ‘the Coach House’ sounds like it might be a chic metrosexualised contemporary dining and drinking emporium for urban sophisticados. Or summat. Marketing – dontcha just love it !? It’s a pub that smells of food then. Probably does accommodation as well judging by the bewildered foreigners that occasionally meandered through while we were there. An extensive range of Thwaites real ales was present though – and all the ones we tried were in good nick to be fair (Lancaster bomber, Wainwright, - also daft Bass). The service from the uniformed barman was ok as well. It was just, I dunno, boring I suppose. The kind of place your nan might like – which I’m guessing wasn’t their intention when they changed the name.
Visited on 29/9/11. Next to the town hall, right in the beating heart of Chesterville lies this spectacularly uninteresting boozer. At the tables outside, some ‘new age’ traveller types were twiddling with their piercings, scattering ‘rolly’ dog-ends about the place and talking cod philosophical shite in the accepted style. Indoors, things got worse. A group of grown men – yes grown men, were knocking back ‘jaeger bombs’ as if they were plook-faced virgins on the first night of ‘fresher’s week’. Real ale is served here (Bombardier or Spitfire) and was ok. It was a bit flat and a bit warm to be honest, but just about drinkable – beer which could be described as being served in ‘the Wetherspoons’ style perhaps. A number of bands were advertised, but fortunately none were playing during our visit. Barmaid was pleasant.
Visited on 22/9/11. Daub, wattle. Wattle, daub - Wattle, daub. Daub, wattle. A-ha ha ha. Just like that. ‘The Boot’ or ‘Das Boot’ as it’s known in German tourist guides is Sam Smith’s sister pub to ‘the Falcon’ (No. 93) and shares many of it's characteristics - prime location, important architecture, significant history – as well as cheap ale and a clientele consisting principally of loafers, sluggards, jackanapes, putterers and sundry miscreants – and of course students. And it’s a really great pub (apart from the students, obviously). Again, the Sam Smith’s ‘old brewery bitter’ wasn’t quite as repulsive as I remember it being. It was almost palatable to be honest. And the olde handpumps coming straight out of the bar (as opposed to being mounted on wooden blocks) are still in operation. Wonderful stuff. Oh yes. History – it’s the future and we’ve tasted it.
Visited on 22/9/11. Where ? Exactly. I’d never heard of it either – or it’s predecessor, which was a restaurant called ‘Gotwine’ apparently. Maybe there’s a clever marketing strategy behind these daft names. Or maybe they’re just, erm daft. Anyhow, this place is tucked away up Commonhall St. It’s a wine bar/brasserie type affair and it’s most interesting feature is the large patio at the back from which there’s an excellent view of a load of brick buildings. It was deserted when we arrived though, as was the rest of the place. This is another city centre venue that relies heavily on race days – in that respect, the main attraction is that there’s a load of space. There’s nothing much else here of any interest to be honest. Most notably, there’s no real ale. We drank ‘Boddies’ – ah yes, the famously proud and vigorous northern elixir, now transformed into worthless, tasteless shite under a failing global brand. Er, then we left.
Visited on 22/9/11. This is a cavernous nondescript modern bar which is part of a national chain. It was reasonably busy and seemed to be populated mainly by twenty-something ugly women wearing unfeasibly high heels and thirty-something ugly blokes wearing unfeasibly cheap suits. At one point we thought there might even have been a ‘singles’ night on, but dismissed the possibility because none of us were chatted up. Anyhow, unlike many similar establishments, real ale is on offer here - Morland Speckled Hen - and it was half decent to be fair. Not too dear either. Doubt we’ll be back like.
