No. 59 The Anchor

Visited on 9/6/11. Right, it was time for a spot of international travel now as we mounted our steeds and headed westwards and under the bridge, leaving Albion behind. Or so we thought. It turns out that the border isn’t where it’s marked on the street but in actual fact runs right through the middle of this pub. The lounge is in one country and the bar is in another. Also, with the toilets being in the centre, it’s possible to stand in England and piss into Wales – and vice versa. Didn’t try it. Honest guv. Anyhow, this is a nice tidy pub – even had flowers on the tables. Unfortunately it didn’t have any customers, apart from one bloke. He was friendly enough – as were the staff. I think they do all their trade at the weekends when they’ve got a quiz on and the place also becomes a bit of a biker hangout. Unfortunately, despite there being some handpumps on the bar, they weren’t connected and we had to drink Bass smoothflow. If they’re serious about getting some punters in during the week, they need to get those handpumps operational I reckon. Maybe they could do English ales in the lounge and Welsh ales in the bar. As it stands, it’s a bit like having a can in someone’s front room.

No. 58 The City Arms

Visited on 9/6/11. After leaving ‘the Brewery’ it was just a few strides down the road to the next venue of the night – no need even to move the velocipedes. From the outside, ‘the City’ looks like it was built in the same era as ‘the Brewery’, but on the inside it has a different feel. Rather than racing being on the telly, there was a big plasma screen TV tuned in to MTV and the clientele were all a lot younger. No ‘doms’ team here then. It’s quite a big pub and even has enough room for an indoor bicycle storage area – an odd feature which nevertheless, I’m all in favour of. There were also a few unusual artefacts scattered around the place including a signed photograph of Cassius Clay and a saddle on a plinth. Could it be that the great man had passed through this way prior to his conversion to Islam ? On a horse ? Sadly not. I’m unsure as to the significance of the saddle but the landlord had bought the picture in a job lot a few years ago and didn’t even know if it was genuine. Yet again, no real ale was available, so we drank keg Tetley’s. It tasted like, well, keg Tetley’s. Other important features of this pub include a bagatelle table, which was covered, and Chester’s most minimalist beer garden – a single table surrounded by four concrete walls. Zen and the art of drinking keg.

No. 57 The Brewery Arms

Visited on 9/6/11. And so to Saltney and first up, this place – surely Chester’s most prosaically named boozer - maybe ‘the Beer Arms’ is the only pub name that might surpass it. Actually, I quite like that. I wonder if there’s a ‘Beer Arms’ anywhere ? [checks Google] Nope. Welcome to ‘the Brewery Arms’ then, BRITAIN’s most prosaically named hostelry. This is a quintessential community pub – the kind that’s been closing in droves over the last 10 years or so – a building steeped in social history – a beautiful place. Ahem. Ok, it’s looking a bit ‘shot at’ these days and could probably do with a lick of paint, but it’s got that ace old pub atmosphere. There were quite a few folk in when we arrived, including a sleeping alky and some old lads playing ‘doms’. The racing results were coming through on the telly and beams of sunlight, filtered through the grimy windows were dancing off a baldy’s pate. Old school. No real ale (surprise surprise), so we drank Theakston’s Dark Smoothflow – a beverage almost completely devoid of taste, but drinkably inoffensive. After a while we were asked to have a go on the scratch card, so we each put a pound in for a couple of squares. “What’s it for mate ?”, we asked. “The doms team”, came the reply as our ‘hard earned’ was carried away in a pint glass. While we were still pondering the conundrum as to why the members of a ‘doms’ team need money for anything other than their own ale, a voice called out from the back of the pub. “Who the frig is Tarquel ?!?” Ha ha – we’d won ! They rather shrewdly managed to knobble us for another card before we left, but we were still up on the deal. Result.

No. 56 The Marlborough Arms

Visited on 2/6/11. And so to the final pub of the night – and at last, some decent ale. Local(ish) microbrewery Stonehouse supplies the cask for this place and the bitter was on reasonable form. Only good to average in absolute terms but infinitely better than any of the swill served at the previous three establishments. This is a small pub – one of the smallest in Chester, so it’s a bit odd that it puts on live music as the gear always takes up so much space. It seems to be popular though. There was a solo act appearing on this occasion, who seemed to be cocooned by his own fan club. They prevented the sound from reaching the back of the pub – which was nice of them, so that’s where we headed. I sort of admire what the owners have tried to do with what was quite frankly a tired old pub – emphasis on quality cask ale, supplemented by a big selection of Belgian bottled beers, aimed at a wide age range of drinkers (there's no way that all 60 odd beers from the menu were packed into those fridges though - bit of show I reckon). Sounds perfect, but the place is a bit, erm, scruffy ! Bit of a ‘back-packer’ vibe going on maybe – they should get rid of the foreign bank note collection from behind the bar and other such nonsense. Reckon we could quite happily spend an evening in here though. And it was good to see the Chester chapter of the motorcycle outlaws (over 50s section) in there, all enjoying their milk stouts. 

No. 55 The Pitcher & Piano

Visited on 2/6/11. This is another big city centre bar pitch(er)ed !? at a much wider age demographic than ‘Off the Wall’. And, lo and behold, it does real ale – Marston’s Pedigree to be precise. We ordered up a round straight away, but it was quickly returned, as it was absolutely rancid - must have been sitting in the lines for months. No dispute with the bar manager either – she sampled it with a straw and nearly gagged. Ho ho. Once again therefore, we were forced to drink Guinness. This place has no character whatsoever and was nearly empty - a great shame and a waste, as it’s housed in the old city telephone exchange – a building with a distinguished past. It would be nice if there was some link to it’s history and heritage – maybe some displays, maybe even some themes. This sort of thing can work well – good examples being ‘the Dispensary’ in Liverpool and ‘the Fire Station’ in Waterloo, London. ‘The Exchange’ would be a better name for this place. They exchanged the ale at any rate.

No. 54 Off the Wall

Visited on 2/6/11. Oh Lordy, what a friggin’ din ! As you walk from the door to the bar in this ‘yoof orientated’ city centre pub, you pass through a series of standing bass waves which create the impression that your chest cavity is about to collapse. Conversation is impossible, even with the bar staff, but after a while, a combination of grunting, grimacing and pointing resulted in us ordering up a round of luke cold ‘brownkeg’. Obviously, there’s no real ale, but at £1.50 a pint, you might think that at least this isn’t too big a sacrifice in order to tick the pub off the list. You’d be wrong. It was undrinkable. And it was in a plastic glass. Should’ve gone with the flow and ordered ‘Blue Wicked over Redbull’ or summat. Anyhow, looking around the place, I think we were the only punters present older than nineteen and also the only punters present not on a stag or hen night. We watched for a bit as pimply steroid munchers in ludicrously tight t-shirts attempted to cavort with barely dressed and barely conscious poppets to the beat of the hippety-hop. It wasn’t all that entertaining though and we left after about ten minutes. I guess this is a great pub if you’re a late teen/twentysomething after a shag. If you aren’t and you’re not, it’s rubbish. Be careful as you’re heading towards the exit an’ all - the carpet in here is as sticky as a ‘hen nighter’s’ drawers.

No. 53 The Boathouse

Visited on 2/6/11. It’s summertime and the livin’ is easy. Fish are certainly jumpin’, but thus far cotton cultivation on Chester’s water meadows hasn’t really taken off. Ahem, anyhow…the Boathouse is practically on the river – if you sit by the window, it feels as if you’re afloat. The views are stunning and the location is one of the best in town. Does this mean then that it’s one of Chester’s best pubs ? Well it certainly should be, but based on our experience, the answer to that question is a resounding NO !  Upon arrival I was pleasantly surprised to see three hand pumps on the bar – all had the labels turned around though. I asked the barman if there was any real ale on and he simply responded with a gormless expression. “That”, I said, pointing at a pump. “Oh !” he replied before attempting to pull a pint of fresh air. I ordered a pint of Guinness. The landlady then appeared and turned all the real ale labels round the right way. “Is there any real ale on”, I asked (again). “No”, she replied and walked off ! This was comedy central. The landlord then appeared with a bucket and began pulling a new cask of ale through one of the hand pumps. The landlady re-appeared and as she stood next to the landlord pulling the ale through, again I asked if there was any real ale on and again she said no. In the meantime three quarters of a pint of Guinness arrived, which I sent back to be topped up. The rest of the CBP crew then appeared. “Why are you drinking that shite ?” they politely enquired, before ordering up a round of Lees bitter, which was then promptly dispensed from the hand pump – by the landlady ! Jesuz wept. The bogs stank an’ all. And whatever happened to ‘the Ale-taster’ – the Boathouse annex which functioned as a half decent pub in it’s own right ? Closed down and moth-balled by the look of it. A bad start to the evening, but at least things couldn’t get any worse. Could they ?