Ben Welsher | Writings

Pub review They say: "Very nice pint good head chilled meals hot roll on eating inside I'd recommend this pub and it's getting lots of outdoor seating under cover with heating be rally romantic come autumn children's play area safe flooring plenty of parking." --Blackthorn Twigs 5/5 I say: All it took to normalise the hitherto luxurious exoticism of table service in bars and pubs was a worldwide pandemic. It does feel a little off and somehow not proper in a pub but then my fantastical image of the perfect pub is crystallising (or fossilising) in my mind, aided not a little by these reviews. If I should become irresponsibly wealthy one day and escape my life of quiet desperation then I can see myself building such a pub. Touring reclamation yards for great slabs of aged dark wood that would glower over slate floors insulated by faded persian rugs. Unfussy open fireplaces stoked by urchins on uneconomic wages. Armchairs. Pewter mugs on hooks and not a single di

Pub review They say: "This has been my local pub for over 7 years now and I've unfortunately visited a few times because I keep thinking it must have got better. Sadly it never does. It is an abysmal dive of a pub with the most miserable, surly staff I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. My advice would be to go literally anywhere else." --Florence 1/5 I say: A Wetherspoon. In Bridgwater. The only surprise about this is that it is the only one out of the 35 pubs on my list. With the economies of scale the company can bring to bear I would imagine they'd corner a market like Bridgwater. They have a beer on the handpulls for 99p, not far from off I'm sure but you get half cut on that stuff for the price of one beer in London. Hell you could get 3 pints of it for the same price as a carling even in this place. But, as I look around, it seems to not be deal that anyone wants to take. Carling to the left of me, Stella to the right, here I am sipping my stal

A cool, hazy morning sunlight illuminates the landscape as it plunges into valleys and rolls up into ridges. Red-tiled houses with tiny personal vineyards that have been carved into the slopes billow up white smoke here and there from burning piles of prunings. The leaves of the vines are starting to wear their funeral colours but November in the Douro is still verdant in the main. The vineyards soon turn more commercial in size though they too stand quiet, browning at the edges, the work done for the year. The train chugs through them and they ebb and flow on both sides broken by scatterings of buildings. Wispy groups of tall and elegant maritime pines look down benificiently on the shorter trees huddled around their base. The train stops at empty stations in quiet towns about which the tour guide sat behind offers superlatives to his curious guests. "This town has a large hospital" - thrilling stuff. We hurtle through a tunnel, the noise and reverberations of the old carr

Pub review They say: "Den of eniquite.dont go:-(" --kered trams 1/5 I say: The Kronenbourg tastes more popular than the one I had yesterday in the Cross Rifles but then again why am I drinking french lager at the end of October? This place has an actual handpull on, a gift horse's mouth in Bridgwater and no mistake. In terms of dis-entertainment the 'Rifles had ITV, the 'Ball has Absolute Radio, -2 points for the former, -1 for the latter. David Beckham has never publicly acknowledged that this is the second outpost in his pub portfolio after the Walmer Arms in Notting Hill but I can see him as a 'hands off' sort of owner rather than, if you will, 'balls deep'. It's a split level bar with a sort of functional comfort to it. Lived in but not scruffy. Local but not rough, though I can only vouch for this on a Wednesday. It doesn't take great leaps of the imagination to see many of these pubs I've had a quiet, civilised pint in being

Pub review They say: "I have been going to The Cross Rifle's with 3 or 4 friends for about 15 years. We usually go on a Friday evening about once every 4 weeks or so. It is usually quite loud and sometimes it's hard to make conversation. We always have a good night's drinking, and the Carling extra cold particularly good, Although I do wish they would sell Pernod! The clientele are mostly regulars, the most outstanding being a group of very friendly Lesbians, who are often up for a laugh. All in all a great bunch of people and the Bar Staff are great as well. The Reason I only give it 4 stars is Because they Don't Sell Pernod." --Philip Salt 4/5 I say: I must look like a card-carrying member of the metropolitan elite. The bar staff quietly fret that I might not be able to cover my order with cold, hard cash. There's relief when I produce a tenner and my communist queen-hating credentials are in tatters. They comment that I must have been here before as

Pub review They say: "Excellent selection of dead-eyed, red-faced booze gollums. If you like anecdotes about GBH and Cardi B, you're quids in." --Adam 'RedOcelot' Berthiaume 1/5 I say: The streets are a shiny shade of blue, of green, red or whatever is the predominant colour of the lit signs of the takeaways I pass in the rain. Alas my destination is dim, the only upmarket bar in town is google-maps-open but real world closed. Perhaps they've given up on this damp Wednesday night. So I walk, drawn back to the cosy warmth of the hotel but soldiering onwards to the task of these reviews. I don't quite believe myself when I tell people, as I have done lately, that Bridgwater has over 30 pubs and bars within 15 minutes walk of the centre as defined by the church (and my hotel). And yet here they are. 1, 2, 3 within a short stroll of my sad and deserted original choice. 6 within 100 meters or 5 within three quarters of a furlong as the government now requi

Pub review They say: "I really liked Claire Foy as the Queen but got a bit confused when Doctor Who showed up pretending to be Prince Phillip. Good work Netflix, keep it coming." --Craig Savage 4/5 I say: A kill the time pint near the station as the fates of long distance public transport sneer at me again. It's busy for mid afternoon on Thursday. The music is loud and the patron in the corner sings along. It's the standard mix of retirees and tradies done for the day. They seem to know each other well, especially Vinnie who firmly grasps Gazza's testicles by the side of the bar. The beer selection is the worst so far in Bridgwater and I settle on a Stella the better to blend in though I resolve NOT to beat my partner when I get home. The work clothes and wheely suitcase don't give much me much chance at looking like one of the lads alas. To my barely concealed dismay I'm a day late and a pound short for the meat raffle. Deirdre at the bar (for that

Pub review They say: "Pub is absolutely fine, the skittle alley on the other hand is definitely NOT." --Pete Prole 3/5 I say: Words may fail me here. I cast my eyes around furtively and prick my ears and…nothing. No words come to me to describe a pub without, so far, a single remarkable feature. TVs showing sport, fruit machines idly spinning, European lagers and fruity ciders. Teal, cream and laminate floors. The music jars between pop, rock and R&B from the 2000s. The paint is clean and unchipped. Unfaded by sun, unstained by beer. Greene King’s interior designer dragged a dreary, weary brush over the place not long ago. A few locals are in on a Wednesday night though they and I barely occupy the extensive space. One of them breaks off from their argument over the technicalities of motorbike branding to fruitlessly feed £10 notes into the machine next to me. There’s nothing to hate about this place and nothing to like. I’d have happily drunk in here once but at som

Pub review They say: "DO NOT go into this pub if you are not from Bridgwater you're NOT welcome." --Brian Jeffries 1/5 I say: “Have you been here before?” asks the barmaid. I don’t think I was expected. The only other times I hear that question are in London restaurants shortly before they explain the ‘concept’ of their menu. “I’ll introduce you around!” offers a woman sat behind me. She is joking. I am relieved. The intrigued barmaid, other patrons and I make 7 in total so it wouldn’t have taken long for the meet and greet. I am allowed to retreat with my pint to the back of the bar. I sit under a long-stopped grandfather clock. My presence in the bar has, regrettably, caused the barmaid to start up the sound system and turn on the TV in case I want to watch the sport. Neither drowns out the lively debate at the bar which is on the rights or wrongs of racism. One of the locals comes over to catch the end of the cricket on TV. He talks about the Bangalore vs Hyderaba

Pub review They say: "I miss Darren..." --the regulars 1/5 I say: I could die. I am dying. Withering really. Or still living despite Atlas having stopped the earth and carefully placed it down before grabbing my ankle, digging his fingers in under my collarbone and tearing me in half. Twenty years of fetid abuse and viscera explode from a ravenous tear that unzips my belly. The smell is overpowering but still not as bad as the odour from the BBQ sauce on whatever the fuck the guy next to me has ordered from the wipe-clean menu. Darren finds it amusing but then he would wouldn't he. A smiling A3 size picture of him hangs above the fireplace. God knows why. Maybe he's dead. Maybe he was killed. In this bar. The picture was taken the night of his murder, pre-mortem. Ordinarily the regulars could put up with the utterly generic nature of their lives, their loves and their pub but Darren's decision to pair a shirt with a particularly small cuban collar and a tie i

Pub review They say: "I've never actually gone inside, but from the outside on my way to work. It looks very nice. Google has been pestering me for over six months to leave a review so here it is." --Lex Price 3/5 I say: Set in the ground floor of a tasteful brick-built, stone-edged block of flats the Admiral's Landing overlooks an empty marina. The gas cannisters, storage containers and general detritus of living suggest the boats and their owners may return but the water lilies and weeds grow large. Swifts chirp overhead as they return to their summer nests under the stone eaves of the building while west country accents warm the autumn evening. The pub's local claim to fame must surely be the 38oz tomahawk steak on it's chalkboard. At less than £1 an ounce it's some value. A middle aged woman sends her mother home with a stern demand that she call her on arrival. Perhaps Glynnis (as we'll call her) had failed to pace herself once again on the c

Pub review They say: "Not bad. Enjoyable locals with a very bearded landlord and lovely bar staff. If you want a friendly local pub with a real Bridgwater feel, this is the one to visit. Truly a Somerset experience. I highly recommend all visitors to experience this delight and especially get a ticket for some of the excellent bands playing onFriday's in the adjacent function room. Pool table too." -- Richard Strange 5/5 I say: A local cheerily sympathises with my indecisiveness in the face of the wide array of beers on tap. I choose a generic Czech lager for reasons that escape me even before the words escape my lips. The three storey grade II listed building tumbles down through extensions and brick abutments to the patio in the back. Various sizes of cable reel provide generous chairs and tables. Building materials, empty kegs and neglected pot plants gather in the corners and the feel is of someone's slightly unloved garden. My suit is jarring amongst the li

Pub review They say: "Great night will visit again nice staff very friendly 👍" --Geoff Power 1/5 I say: A pub based around what was, you guessed it kiln fans, a lime kiln. The region has a long history of brick and tile production so kilns are still a common, if deprecated, sight here. There is even a brick and tile museum that has one of the only traditional brick kilns to survive in southern England. It was one of six at the former Barham Brothers’ Yard in East Quay, Bridgwater, and was last used in 1965. But, kiln fans, you already knew that. Museum reviews are for another time though, I am here to assess the pub. Alcohol being a critical component of architectural critique and a most essential lubricant in the rating of hospitality I approach the bar. My thick generic Southern accent confuses the barmaid so I repeat the order. I suspect it won't be there first time I fail to blend in around these parts. An attractive main building fronts a higgledy-piggledy beer