By
Andy
The
problem with having high standards is that you always live to regret
them.
Our mutual friend Danny refuses to go on a date with a female unless
she is a supermodel, and as a consequence he is destined to die a
lonely, unsatisfied virgin.
I had turned my nose up at The Birley's food due to its unhygienic bathrooms and uninspiring menu, and we now faced a mad dash to the Ridgeway Arms before they stopped serving food.
I had turned my nose up at The Birley's food due to its unhygienic bathrooms and uninspiring menu, and we now faced a mad dash to the Ridgeway Arms before they stopped serving food.
Me
and Rob limbered up for the walk between pubs, a routine we had
become well-accustomed to during our Pubquest tours.
“What
are you doing?” asked our guest Reanna, as I performed a few
warm-up stretches.
Official Pubquest Policy states that we must walk between pubs: it's a well-known fact that a 5-minute walk burns off enough calories to negate the two pints of beer and one bag of pork scratchings that we typically consume. This was politely explained.
Official Pubquest Policy states that we must walk between pubs: it's a well-known fact that a 5-minute walk burns off enough calories to negate the two pints of beer and one bag of pork scratchings that we typically consume. This was politely explained.
“What
the fuck are you talking about?” countered Reanna, as Rob placed a
sweatband over his head.
Me
and Rob exchanged wary glances, while I changed into my lycra.
“This
is only your second Pubquest pub, you can't start dictating all the
rules,” Rob informed his sister curtly, as he stuck tape over his
nipples, lest they chafe.
“Well
I'm getting the bus,” stropped Reanna.
Sensing
a quarrel between the siblings, I tried to intervene. Opening Google
Maps on my phone, I typed in the route and waited for it to load.
“It'll
probably be quicker to walk to be honest, it's only--” The route
loaded. “Fuck. 1.8 miles!”
Undeterred,
me and Rob set off to walk, leaving Reanna behind at the bus stop. We
had gone a full fifty yards before I realised we had made a mistake:
I turned around to see an 18-year-old girl alone at a dark bus stop,
on a cold night, in an area she didn't know. It was clear I needed to
amend the error.
“If
you get there first, order me a steak and chips,” I bellowed back
at her. “Medium-rarrrrrre!”
***
On
the walk, me and Rob foolishly convinced ourselves that we could beat
the bus. Public transport is so unreliable, we said; much better to
just put one foot in front of the other. Not only would Reanna have
to wait for the bus to turn up, but her journey would be punctuated
by stops every 30 seconds.
Our
delusions were shattered when we arrived to see a very bored-looking
Reanna sat in the corner, already halfway through her drink. After
apologising for our late arrival (for the second time that night),
Rob struck a deal with his sister that they wouldn't mention this
little escapade to their mother.
The
walk had certainly increased my appetite, but no matter because it
was about to be quelled. After all, my hunger was the primary reason
we had come to this pub: we had checked online before setting off,
they served food until 10pm. I glanced at my watch: it was 9:40.
I
approached the bar with a smile, knowing the internal agony of my
hunger would soon come to an end. I even had the foresight to check
our table number.
“Steak
and chips please,” I requested. “Medium-rare.”
“Sorry,
we're not serving food anymore, you're too late.”
The
hunger in my stomach suddenly transformed to anger, as I realised I
might end the night without a meal.
“But,
but, it says on your website you serve food until 10!” I
spluttered.
“Yeah
we do, but it's been quiet tonight, the chef's gone home,” the
barmaid replied, oblivious to the impact of her words.
“WELL
BRING HIM BACK THEN!” [I may or may not have actually said this.]
However
I remonstrated, it was no use. The woman in front of me claimed to be
incapable of putting even the most basic of items into a
microwave without the supervision of the chef.
Not
that I'm sulking, but the choice of beers was shit too. We had to
have Strongbow.
I
wanted to give the pub 0/10 for starving me. However, I was
overruled by Rob.
Pub:
Ridgeway Arms (Quarry Hill, S20 5AZ)
Rating:
4.5/10
Pint:
Strongbow
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