Ben Welsher | Writings

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