Pub Watch: The Falkland Arms (Great Tew, Oxfordshire).
Situated in an incredible quaint thatched village in the heart of Oxfordshire, "this pub is a haven for drinkers, with an unspoilt, relaxed atmosphere". I had actually been here three years earlier when Andy & Yasmin brought Anna and I for a couple of pints on a warm summers day. My second visit was after our weekend away at the Lake District. Driving back with Si & Kel and with the prospect of hitting London in the middle of rush hour, I thought of the Falkland Arms again and we decided to make a detour and enjoy the evening with some good beer and food.

The village itself is worth a visit alone, a small collection of thatched cottages in the Oxfordshire countryside, and the pub is also thatched and is a great old building. It is very small, just the one room, while the rest of the building is a small dining room and lodgings. While being very cosy inside (perfect for a cold and dull English summer's evening), there is still room for a selection of six handpumps of cask ale. Definitely worth a mention is that this is also one of the few pubs that I have been to that had no keg taps whatsoever at the bar - the only lager being some Bitburgers in a small fridge behind the bar. This is my type of place!

But not only is the ale good, so is the food. We had a delicious baked camembert with chutney to warm us up, before moving to the dinner room where our meal was equally delicious. It was definitely worth the stop off and the late night return to London, and in my mind is one of the quintessential English pubs.

The Lake District

For the pictures click here.

The Lake District (or LakeS District to some) was one of those places we wanted to get to before leaving, and we just squeezed it in the weekend. But the Lakes weren't the only water we saw during the weekend....

'Events' started on Friday with a typical summer day in England this year. If you haven't seen the news reports - that entailed a monsoon-like storm hitting London and some of the heaviest rain seen hitting parts of the rest of the country. The rain in London itself only lasted around an hour, but it was extremely heavy and caused chaos to our travel plans. Planning to meet Si & Kel at 4pm to pick up the hire car and head off, none of use could get anywhere on the tubes/trains and our plans to beat the rush over traffic were ruined. Interesting, though the rain brought near shut-down to the transport network for the rest of the day, Lords was able to restart the cricket test within an hour of the rain stopping - maybe we need to start giving the maintenance contracts to ground keepers.

But we finally got away, but it was slow going. Our destination was Ludlow in Shropshire, which was a half point to stay the night to break up the drive to the Lake District. We had originally planned to get up there by 8pm for dinner, but we didn't end up getting there until midnight! We did stop off for dinner along the way, but after that the drive became very 'interesting'. Once we reached the edge of Shropshire and got off the motorway, we were now entering the edge of the area that had been the worst hit by the weather. We didn't now it at the time, but just south in Gloucestershire and Worcestershire, people were getting trapped in houses and on the roads (hundreds spent the night in their cars on the M5). But we also had our own 'fun'. On the smaller roads towards Ludlow, we met plenty of dips in the road where the water was getting pretty high. And a couple of times we went through some water we probably shouldn't have - you really shouldn't have the water coming over your lights! And getting on to 11pm, there was quite a bit of dismay when the road into Ludlow was closed. But I'm not a map-nerd for nothing and I managed to find us an alternative route into Ludlow. Though that wasn't the end of it, as all but one of roads into the centre of Ludlow was closed, and we had to drive around the town looking for a way in. Obviously we were somewhat relieved to finally make it to our B&B - it was tiring stuff.

The next day we went for a wander around the attractive town of Ludlow, stocking up on some of the good food the town is renown for - not that we needed it after the big B&B breakfast. Also during our wanderings we also got a feel for how bad the rain had been the day before. Even though it was not even one of the worse areas hit, the river running around the centre of Ludlow had broken it banks and the sight of this put our drive the night before in some context. Si and I also made an interesting trip for a midday pint at The Church Inn in the middle of the town. The young guy behind the bar had not even finished pulling the first pint when, identifying as New Zealanders, gladly told us about his part in the 'Daryl Tuffey incident' back in Christchurch a couple years ago. For those of you not up with the play on this one - article. Our lad must have been Paddy Curtis - hardly something you think you would be telling strangers 1 minute after meeting them. In fact, he looked a bit worried when I started taking notes - though I let him know these were beer notes, and I wasn't from the Press. This was soon to be followed by some old punter accosting us about how lots of houses in NZ use corrugated iron, and he was looking to write a book about it - yes, exciting stuff. Incredibly though, we were saved when another old punter from across the bar shouted "did you say corrugated iron?", and next thing you now they are deep in conversation and the history and facts of this 'exciting' topic. I'm guessing I'm not going to here that shouted across a bar again....

We eventually set off for the Lake District through some more flood waters, but also thankfully towards some better weather. In fact, I think the Lake District must have got the pick of the weather across the country that weekend, so we did quite well. After stopping off at Coniston to bring up the RateBeer 1000, we carried on to Ambleside, where we were staying for the next two nights, and meeting up with Andy and Yasmin who had come down from Scotland. We had a superb dinner out, with prospect of standing on top of England the next day....

Scafell Pike is the highest peak in England and what I was hoping to walk the next day. Not only would it be a cool thing to have done, it would also be good practice for the climbing in store for Anna and I in South America. Fortunately, the weather was playing game, and though it was overcast, rain didn't look like a problem. Half the fun ended up in getting there though, as the drive we took to get to the bottom of the climb took a couple of entertaining narrow passes, with plenty of switchbacks and passing bays. Parking the cars, we set off with trusty A4 sheet map in hand and notes on the route to take. Not that it was really necessary, as there were sufficient other walkers around to know what we were on the right track. The climb was pretty steep and tricky - and required a few breaks. And probably a good thing, it was quite cloudy so we couldn't quite work out how far we had to go. But eventually the four of us made it to the top - Si, Andy, Anna and myself (Kel and Yasmin deciding two-thirds up that the pub at the start of the climb was a better prospect - and who can blame them). Reaching the top, we couldn't see a thing, so we sat down and had a bite to eat. But just as we were about the head back down the clouds started to lift and we were afforded some great views over the whole Lake District (and even a view across to the Isle of Man) - it certainly made the climb worth it. Getting down ended up being a lot trickier than getting up, and by the time we were at the bottom we all had very sore legs and very thirsty mouths. Fortunately, we could satisfy both the need for rest and beer at the brewpub (The Wasdale Head Inn) at the bottom (and in the middle of nowhere really). Driving back, we stopped off for some very good steaks at another brewpub in the middle of nowhere and managed just a couple of pints at a pub back in Ambleside before we all had to hit the sack.
The next morning, we had our last B&B Full English Breakfast (which might be just as well!) and said our farewells to Andy and Yasmin - it was awesome catching up with them before we leave - before taking a scenic walk around a mountain Tarn and then starting the long journey home. However, we decided to make one last stop off along the way for dinner at The Falkland Arms pub near Oxford (see the pub watch entry). Getting home late, we had certainly managed to fit plenty in to the weekend - incidents, food, and beer!

RateBeer 1000
It was only about 3 months ago that I looked at my number of ratings on ratebeer.com and thought that it might be possible to hit 1000 before I left the UK. Back then, I thought it would be a close call. But I ended up getting there with nearly a month to spare!

It came clear that the big moment was going to come on our trip up to the Lake District, so it took some careful management to ensure that it was going to be something special. Driving up there on the Saturday, referencing the CAMRA Good Beer Guide and the road map, I had picked out the Coniston Bluebird Bitter for the big moment - whose credidentials include 1998 CAMRA Champion Beer of Britain, as well as various other national and international awards. And futhermore, I could have it at the brewery itself, in its attached brewpub - The Black Bull Inn in Coniston. The name of the beer "Bluebird" has plenty of meaning as well - named after the boat that Donald Campbell died in attempting to break his own world water speed record on Coniston Water in 1967.

So how was the beer itself. Well it didn't disappoint - see rating. Hopefully the next 1000 will be as enjoyable as the first 1000 (though probably a little less accessible back in NZ).

P.S. To put it in some context, I am still not in the top 300 raters on ratebeer.com and am still well behind the top rater, who is just shy of 9000 at this stage. Though Stu tells me that when I return to NZ, I will be the top rater there.

NZ Ironman

Well, I've done it now. I've just entered myself in the 2008 NZ Ironman, held on March 1st in Taupo. And if you are thinking that is not enough time to train, you might be right, but I'm counting on the 4 months I have when I get back being just enough.

So set aside the weekend around March 1st as I would appreciate as much support as I can get (I will be looking into accomodation).

And for those of you not familiar, this is the task ahead of me:
> Swim 3.8km
> Bike 180km
> Run 42km (marathon)
> and a lot of hours of training!

Pub Watch: Jerusalem Tavern (Farringdon, London)

Making sure I visit all my favourite spots around town before the imminent departure, Thursday night was the turn of one of my favourtie pubs - Jerusalem Tavern. The Good Beer Guide says a "tiny pub with a huge reputation". And there is not doubting that, everytime I go there the place is always pack, and in Thursday's case, spilling out on the road.

Inside is small and bare, lots of wood and candles with a medieval feel - which is fitting as a pub has stood on the site since at least the 14th century. The beers inside are all from the St Peters Brewery, who brew a large variety of unique, if not always brialliant, beers. Though the bottles that the beers come in - large medicine-type - bottles always attract interest, and the taps mounted as barrels in the wall behind the bar are also a little different.

I'll certainly miss going to this place, always has a great atmosphere and just that little bit quirky.

The Ivy

With the weeks ticking by, it was time for one last extravagent night in London - destination The Ivy. Famous not so much for amazing food or a pricey menu - but for the difficulty in which it is to get a table there. We had in fact booked nearly six months ago, which is par for the course for The Ivy. So why so popular? Well, the food is very good, and for the quality, quite reasonably priced. But The Ivy's infamy is mostly connected with its popularity with celebrities.

So how did we go? After a selection process that came down to who bribed us the most, Rich & Titch joined us on our night of glutony and celebrity-spotting. In the spirit of the evening we started with a bottle of champagne at the bar before moving to our table. We made the most of our (strictly alloted) three hours there, getting through a further bottle of Pinot Noir and then a Saint Emilion Reserve. Three courses all round of course, Anna's scallop entree probably looked the best, and the baked alaska Titch and Anna had for dessert the most extravagant (though my seared tuna on puy lentil salsa was delicious). And how did we go with the celebrity spotting? Well we thought having Rick Gervais and Jeremy Piven there wasn't a bad return, but I let you decide that for yourselves....

Tour de Kent

If you didn't know already, the Tour de France came to the UK this year, with the start of the race - the Prologue - being held in the London, and the first stage being a 203km ride from London to Canterbury in Kent. We all decided that it would be a good idea to watch the stage somewhere out in Kent - and for some of us, ride along part of the stage the day before. So avoiding the chaos that would have beset inner-city London with the prologue on the Saturday, six of us (myself, Jabs, Rich, Brad, Si & Tarns) met up early - OK, not that early - on Saturday morning to embark on our way along the route that the 'real' riders would be taking the next day.

Biking out towards Kent, we certainly saw some of the more 'interesting' parts of Eastern London, but the roads were good and the sun was out. In fact, the roads were pretty good on much of the route we took - we assumed they either picked the roads because of this or had smartened them up in the last year or so. And the sun being out was not being taken for granted, considering that the 'summer' in the UK has so far been pretty miserable (I had only on the Tuesday had to ride through a 'lake' that had previously been a road after a freak - but all too common - storm had passed over London). Passing outside the city limits of London, we hit some pretty enjoyable Kent countryside, passing through some nice looking towns and villages. The pick of the bunch was Rochester, where the first Sprint of the tour was staged, with the route going through narrow streets, including a cobble-stoned stretch with the impressive Rochester Castle on the right and the picturesque Rochester Cathedral on the left.

It was from Rochester that we turned south into the heart of Kent and some interesting mix of terrain. After a long stretch through winding lanes in the countryside, we suddenly followed the route onto a very fast two lane highway for a stretch. We were now getting on past midday, and with our pub lunch ahead of us at the 85km mark, we had something to aim for. It was with many tired legs, grumbling stomachs and thirsty lips that we finally rolled into West Peckham and the Swan on the Green brewpub. It was here that near disaster was only just avoided, as we found out that the kitchen was due to close in 15 minutes. Two courses were quickly ordered, along with a round of pints and jugs of water, and we took ourselves outside the pub overlooking the green - where, by chance, the village fete was being held. The food was good (the significant bread portions were most welcome), the beer was OK - with the Swan Cygnet easily being the pick of the bunch - and the chance to relax was welcome by all (both legs and from Rich's moaning about "hills" every time the road inclined by more than two metres).

Three pints later, we inevitably had to get back on the bike - some a little gingerly - and bike the remaining 40km (as it turned out) to meet up with the girls at our camp site. With energy levels restored though, everyone was in much better spirits and we made pretty good work of the remaining distance. And we finally got ourselves one of those "hills" - the first King of the Mountain stage of that year's tour actually (and where we went to watch the race the next day). In fact, it wasn't really that much of a hill, probably just 100 metres over a gradient of only 4% (not really comparable to Col d'Aubisque of 1800 metres and 10% fame that Jabs, Tarns and I did a couple of years back). From there it was a comfortable cruise down to our camp site and the end of a successful day's ride. (Special mention has to be made for Si who completed the whole 125km on his mountain bike. Watching him go up some of those inclines I was feeling the pain for him - Si having to do nearly 3 rotations to my 1 and having to push a bike probably three times as heavy as mine. It really was a great effort.)

Arriving at our camp site it was good to have a hot shower and a change of clothes. But there was something missing - the girls! Word had it that after putting up (some of) the tents and dropping the gear off, they had walked down to a local country pub and set themselves up there. Girls x no sun cream x wine = very drunk and very sunburnt girls. As we found out after a couple of phone calls - well one half was a phone call, the other half wavered between slurring and giggling. Fortunately we had had the foresight to book ourselves in for dinner at another country pub nearby and we agreed to meet them there. Unfortunately, the walk didn't seem to do them any good as they were still a pack of giggling Gertruds' by the time we caught up with them and I don't think we were the most welcome patrons at the pub that night (though this was all in form for the girls, as apparently they had been scaring away the customers from their pub all day). But an enjoyable night we had, and the bikers even found the legs for some late night country lane rambling after dinner.

Waking up in the morning to the scourge of all campers - dew, but also glorious sunshine, we quickly packed everything up and headed out to our point to watch the Tour go past. While the girls manage to get a lift from the crazy owner of our camp site, we bikers put the legs back over the bike and cycled the 20km or to our meeting point - dodging road closures and policeman trying to tell us that we should be pushing our bikes (as if). We all arrived just in time to catch the caravan of sponsors and all the waving back and forth. Though it seemed that the French sponsors weren't so willing to give away as many of the goodies in the UK and the waving proved pretty useless. Some good crowds had turned out to watch the stage - this had been a feature of both days in the UK and apparently organisers are keen for the Tour to return to London soon. The riders finally came through around 1pm, making light work of such a small climb. A bunch of 5 riders had a 5 minute break on the rest of the Peloton and an English rider actually took the King of the Mountain points on the hill (and the jersey at the end of the day). The sight of the 180-strong Peloton cruising past was pretty cool, but as is the case with being a spectator along the Tour - it was all over as quickly as it begun. But there is no substitute for seeing these supreme athletes up close and personal, and for us bike geeks, checking out their gear.

The final chapter (if you've got this far) of our weekend away was the train ride back into London. In the spirit of the Tour, in a way that only a British Train Company could engineer, they had in all their wisdom decided that no bikes could be taking on their trains that day - on a day when plenty of people were riding along the stage and would be wanting to get back to London! However, we were able to call their bluff when the girls - who had jumped on a train rather than wait with us until later that day - rang us up and informed us that their train was nearly empty. Armed with this knowledge and the motivation to find at least one train guard with more common sense than the need for an ego trip, we finally prevailed and comfortably boarded the next train to London. All in all, a good weekend had out in the sun.

Plenty more pics from the weekend away here.

BBBB Tour

Boys, Belgium, Bikes and Beer - you can't ask for better ingredients for a short weekend away.

On Friday night, the boys boarded the Eurostar to Brussels, bikes in tow, for a last boys weekend away before Brad and I leave in August. Joining Brad and I were Rich, Jabs and Si - unfortunately Todd had to give a rain-check (literally, as he was off to play in the mud at Glastonbury). At Brussels it was just a matter of a quick change of trains and up we went to the gothic city of Ghent. Jumping on our bikes at the station (and remembering that we had to ride on the 'right' side of the road), we made the simple ride to our hotel for the night. That is 'simple', as in stop a few times to scratch our heads and wonder where we are and ask four different locals for directions (who surprisingly, didn't seem to know where they were either!). In fact, it was somewhat by chance, when trying to decipher some very confusing Flemish directions from a group of school girls, that we saw that our Eden ('Hotel Eden' that is) was just on the other side of the intersection.
It was getting late, so with no mucking around, we quickly locked up the bikes, drew cards to see who didn't have to listen to Rich's snoring all night and headed out to get a few beery delights. I should add here, that walking through the city, it was very picturesque, with lots of towering Gothic architecture, canals, large squares - and plenty of Belgian bars. First stop was the cool little bar Aba-Jour, which the 'bible' (Tim Webb's 'Belgium Good Beer Guide') recommended for food and, of course, beer. To set the taste buds tingling for the rest of the night I started with a Lambic, ordering the Cantillon Gueuze, Si joining me with the Cantillon Kriek. But the rest of the boys were scared off by warnings from our waiter (they are very sour) and opted for the still very good Chouffe. We ordered Belgian stews all round and had, of course, plenty of chips. With it being a nice night we decided to move on and try to find a bar where we could sit outside and enjoy the evening. (Little did I know how I would regret this. Aba-Jour had the one beer above all others I wanted to try - the Westvleteren 12 - considered the best beer in the world and the highest rated on ratebeer.com. It was on their menu, for the not so small sum of €11, but I thought I would probably see it somewhere again and preferably as an end of the nigh tipple. I never did see it again....)

After a bit of wandering around, we found ourselves at the Waterhuis bar, apparently "a Ghent institution", with a good little spot at a table canal-side. The service was a little slow, which isn't necessary a bad thing when the beers are 9%, and the waitress was a rare find - one that wasn't hard to look at (well, it was a boys trip after all). In fact, with a decent beer list, we ended up staying there until closing time, indulging in the perfect boy's trip treat - late night meaty snacks. Mindful of the fact that we were due to jump on our bikes in a few hours time, we sauntered back through the city to our hotel in the early hours of the morning.

Waking up the next morning there was a clamour to get our heads out the window, partly to get some fresh air, but also to make a nervous assessment of the weather - the forecast had predicted rain for the weekend. At this stage, both were pleasing to the senses. After stocking up on the usual European breakfast and waiting for Brad to do his hair, we slipped into the lycra and headed out on the bikes. Once again, having a whole map of Belgium printed onto an A3 bit of paper proved to be pretty useless when trying to navigate our way around the streets of Ghent, but when we eventually asked for directions, once again we happened to be right where we wanting to be.

Our route from Ghent to Brugge was along the Ghent-Brugge canal, a ride of about 50-odd kms. Those Europeans certainly know how to treat their cyclists, with the canal having 3-metre wide paved bike lanes on both sides pretty much the whole way, even cutting into the countryside from time to time - impressive stuff. Of course, it was only about 5 minutes along the canal when what we had all been dreading finally arrived - the rain. So on went the wet weather gear, but onwards we went. In fact the rain wasn't too bad - though there were a couple of instances when it was a fair deluge and it was a surprise not to see Noah himself cruising down the canal. But when you are soaked through, there is not much you can do - and it actually became enjoyable, man battling the elements.

And for much as there were periods of rain, there were dry periods, sometimes even sunny, and riding along you dry up pretty quickly. During one such dry spell, we happened past a small bar canal-side. Deciding to enjoy the moment, we took up the seats outside and ordered ourselves a round of Palm Specials at the crazy price of €1.20 each. Of course, this was one act of defiance too many for the weather gods, and we were promptly sent packing indoors to the bar - which was pretty much the front room of their house - and a second round of beers (there's a silver lining to every cloud, even one that is raining).

With some horrible attempts at Flemish goodbyes, to the humour of the locals (read "local"), we headed back out into the rain in pursuit of another bar further along that I had picked out for lunch. Once again we found ourselves a little locationally challenged, but sheltering in the bus stop from another Noah-inspiring deluge, we managed to prise out some directions from a fellow rain-avoider in exchange for a couple of Minstrels. With rumbling tummies and wet everything, we parked up outside the 'Seventh Heaven' bar in the small village of Beernem (with a name like that, it was obviously meant to be) and headed in. I'm not sure what the women running the bar thought of us bedraggled lot, especially as the only other people in the bar seemed be Octogenarians in their Sunday bests. Nevertheless, she was friendly enough and we quickly ordered some drinks and food (well, as quick as you can when we had to have her show us that "Brood" ont he menu was bread). This was a great little place, done up really nice with an impressive beer list, and even more impressively, one lady behind the bar who was barwoman, waitress, and chef. And she did a fine job of it all as well, with the grilled beef ribs being the perfect boys weekend lunch.

With 15-odd kms still to go to Brugge, we reluctantly left 'Seventh Heaven', though made all the more easy by the glorious sunshine that had now come out. With 3 more good beers and a great lunch in the belly, off we cycled along the canal again. Of course, as these things tend to go, we didn't get far. Just a couple of kms along we came across another bar, ominously called the 'Half Moon' (there is a pub by the same name on my road in Putney), and a democratic decision was quickly made to have just one more. For once, showing some constraint, we did just have that one, and enjoyed the last 10kms in the sun into Brugge, and not surprisingly after all the beers over the day, with much merriment.

After quickly finding our hotel for the night (true this time), we all spruced ourselves up with a shower and converted our rooms into a Chinese laundry. Having not had a beer for all of an hour, our target was what is quoted by some as the 'best bar in the world' - Brugs Beertje. With a huge beer list and good mix of tourists and locals inside, it lived up to its reputation (for more, see the Pub Watch post). In fact, it was so good we went twice! After our first spell at Brugs Beertje, we went off in search of the one thing that must be part of every boys weekend - steaks! After doing a circuit of Brugge, we ended up going to the restaurant across the street from Brugs Beertje, which served us up some big steaks with peppercorn sauce - perfect. As mentioned, once we finished up dinner, we decided that Brugs Beertje was so good that there was no need to check out any other bars, and back we went across the road. Plenty of brilliant beers later, we reluctantly took our leave of the lock-in, some of us in better shape than others.

Sunday started with a few sore heads and blurry eyes and it was a bit of a slow start by all. There was the odd spot of rain outside and plenty of fluffing about inside. Eventually we agreed to go out for a shortish ride for lunch and get back for our train to Brussels around 3pm. After a cruise around Brugge we headed out along a picturesque tree-lined canal, our minds and bodies better for the fresh air. Only about 10km outside of Brugge we came up to the attractive town of Damme, decided to stop for a drink....and didn't end up going any further. Though, this was entirely our fault as the pizza's we ordered took over an hour and half. They were good, but not that good - I think there must be an inverse relationship between the service you get and the amount of sweaty lycra you are wearing.

With time up, we had to cycle back to the Brugge train station and took the trip back to Brussels to drop our bikes off in time to get on our Eurostar back to London. This gave us just enough time to fit in - you guessed it - one more beer. It was with much regret that we had to leave, as soon as the Eurostar left the platform I wanted to turn around and go back. It may be a while until I get back to Belgium again, but I definitely will be returning.

Epilogue: Arriving back into London, there was just one final leg of the boys weekend left. This was a quick cycle around to Si's where Kellie had recorded the All Black-South Africa game for us from the day before, accompanied by the last thing that would make a boys weekend complete - curry!

Click here for more pics.

Pub Watch: Brugs Beertje (Brugge, Belgium)

Tim Webb's Belgium Good Beer Guide has this to say about Brugs Beertje:


The one and only, the original "Little Bruges Beer". You cannot call yourself a well-travelled beer lover until you have been here. This is the place that made us decide to create the Guide.

And it certainly lived up to such a reputation. So good, I had to go twice.

The inside is what you want from a bar, simple with interesting paraphernalia on the walls, a good noise level that just breaths conversation, and a beer list as long as your arm (well, if your arm has 250+ beers on it). And the service was superb - very friendly and it was hard to believe there was just to two of them as you never had to wait. With such a reputation, it was not surprising to have quite a few tourists there (we were ones ourselves I guess), but there was also a good sprinkling of locals (mostly up at the bar) to suggest it is still a genuine bar and not just a tourist trap.

All the beers were in superb condition, and of course this being Belgium, were served in the appropriate branded glass. On my two visits, I got through some fine beers: La Rulles Brune, De Dolle Extra Export Stout, Het Kapittel Watou Prior, De Ranke Guldenberg & Witkap Pater Singel. The pick for me being the Het Kapittel Watou Prior.

It seems the quintessential Belgian bar to me, and certainly one of the best bars I have ever had the pleasure of drinking in, and one I will have to revisit again.