Authenticity that Money Can Buy

I walk past this fake blue plaque every morning on the way to work. It is situated outside "The King of Diamonds", a pub that I have previously described as rubbish. Seeing this bold attempt to claim authenticity makes me want to vomit. I regard this pub as being below the scuzziest of all the JDW venues - "The Sir John Oldcastle". Quite frankly, I would rather buy a can of Stella from an off licence and drink in a red phone box than drink in such a shit pub. The phone booth would probably smell nicer (most have been used as a dunny at some stage) and there are lots of ladies to catch your eye - or chat too if you are so inclined. Much better than the sausage 'fest that is any JDW pub.

Blue Plaques are supposed to celebrate great figures of the past and the buildings that they inhabited. They are not to be used in vein by shithouse boozers trying to look authentic.

About Blue Plaques

The jury is still out to as what is London's worst pub. I feel it could be a tie between The King of Diamonds and The London Pub - what do you think?

Rubbish pubs

Last Friday night I went out for a beer with a few colleagues. In terms of pubs, we are spoiled for choice in Clerkenwell but sometimes even a sure thing like finding a decent pub gets royally screwed up. I should have realised as soon as someone said we would be joining members of the Sales team. I say this as they (Sales types) usually frequent a rather unattractive dive near my office called "The King of Diamonds". This place (pictured left) is more of a drinking factory than a pub and ranks well down my list of options. But anyhow, my excitement was renewed when I learned we were going to a different pub, one called The Blue Anchor off Chancery Lane. Upon arrival the place was packed and way too many people for the tiny bar to cope with. I looked around and to my disappointment realised that it was basically the King of Diamonds in a different location - a real let down. I think I understand the situation. The sales team are mainly single girls in their late 20's, and the Chancery Lane area is teeming with young up and coming solicitors fired up after a day in the law courts. These girls are out looking for a rich bloke (preferably one that wears a wig to work) and will drink in shithouse venues to find him. Sad really.

I did manage to get one pint of Pride in before beating a hasty retreat home where I smashed a bottle of Shepherds Neame Christmas Ale and a Leffe Bruin. Then I went for some Thai at the Parr's Head where I had some more London Pride. I felt suitably redeemed after this, but I will not be venturing out drinking with the sales team again.

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In other news, the snow has eased and I am back at work. Here is a snowman that is currently residing on Brook Green. He is strategically positioned between the Brook Green Hotel and The Queens Head. It is a pity he can't walk to either!

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