The Route -
Personnel
(part or in full) - Lunchbox, Gazza, Public Enemy (PE), Scoop, Trolly
Dolly, Wolfie, HBK, Waynetta Slob, Clem, Massive, Coach Bob,
Sweatmonster
Well, we kicked off at The Ostrich(1).
The tone was set: halves of beer for the boys, ciders for Public
Eneny, Vodka and Slimline tonics for Scoop. The shadow had just
reached the yardarm so we were off! First drink of the day. Monk and
Brains SA for the boys Scrumpy Jack for PE. Rather expensive.
The
plan (which we stuck to exactly, within +/- 2mins!) was to move on
every 30 mins. Pub + walk = 30mins.
Via
The Golden Guinea (2),
(Potholer & The Physics for the
boys and Addlestones Cider for PE) we arrived at the cheapest pub of
the day,
Wetherspoon's V-Shed(3)
where Wolfie proudly announced that he was going to be the first to
take a piss. In actual fact I beat him to it, due to the fact that I
found a less-sticky-carpet route to the bog than him. Ruddles Best
was 70p/half. This is where HBK caught up with the group. Having
missed the first two pubs/halves, he quickly made up for them (by
taking pints) and even went one half ahead, for good measure!
Show-off!
It was great that Wolfie made it. He being one of the Hotwells
Twenty founders all those years ago. Today was the 21
st
anniversary of the very first Hotwells Twenty!
At The
Three Tuns(4) the beer was Arbor
Ales 'Mitterfruh'. Unusual name: boring taste. Move!
Sweatmonster
was flying out to Borneo the next day. This was his prelube.
On On
then to my favourite pub -
The Bag 'O
Nails(5) where I partook of a
lovely Pinnacle (Naylor's). PE took Thatchers Gold.
The
Hope and Anchor(6)
saw lunch. Most, like me, elected for booze-soaking-stodge (burger
and chips). Not though Le Gourmet HBK! “Tell me Landlord – What
fishy morsels maketh up your bouillabaisse?” [Bouillabaisse is a
traditional Provençal fish stew originating from the port
city of Marseille].
With squid tentacles still dangling from HBK's
replenished lips, we moved on up to enjoy a nice Spa (Bath Ales) in
The Eldon House(7). This was the last pub we visited
before beginning the long sunny descent into 'Hotwells Proper'!
This was also the only pub where Gazza forgot to photograph us
outside. [Not the only one - I'm already missing The Bag O' Nails! - Ed.]
In the delightful patio
behind The Lion(8) we discussed the formula for blood
alcohol levels on such a venture. Decided it was something to do with
BMI x ABV/ Kg body weight x GI (Glycemic index). HBK informed the
group that by around pub 14 we should all have reached the steady
state known as 'beerquelibrium'. He seemed to know what he was
talking about. The Golden Hare was good!
The sun was getting very
hot by now. Gazza was getting red.
Disaster! The Adam and
Eve was closed! Stunned, but moving slowly on, we found some comfy
sofas in
The Rose of Denmark(9) and spent some time
working out how to get out of this mess over some fine
Bass-from-the-wood (PE was now on the Thatcher's Trad). The
solution was to reshuffle the middle bit of the 'Twenty and
substitute in The Spring Garden (which was previously closed when I
reccied it).
All agreed, we supped up and moved on round to The
Bear at Hotwells(10). (I had planned to leave this
dive out, but Fur-Lined begged me to put it in as it was his local.
He didn't even turn up!). We then sat in the garden
discussing what the hell the word 'up' really meant in the
English Language.
['Up' is opposite to
'down'. Simples! But don't we 'open-up' a shop? And
'close-up' later! We 'heat-up' our food, then
wash 'up' then (maybe) throw 'up'. If we're
too fast we slow up. So why do we also speed 'up'???
What the fucks up? We decided that someone had cocked up our
language so we drank up, paid up, then upped and
left!]
The Merchants
Arms(11) was excellent. Chatted with the locals over some
Summer Hare and Bounders. “You'll never do 9 more pubs!” they
chided as we left.
In the Nova Scotia(12) we recruited
a couple of new hashers (“It's just what we've been looking for
all our lives!”) and even met someone (Christina?) who knew Wet
Wipe, as Wet Wipe!
The Hotwells Twenty was
now getting seriously into its stride!
Gazza was switching
effortlessly between beer and Gin. Until his stomach gave out.
Crossing back over the
bridge we arrived in the Pump House(13) where I was
harangued about something by a toothless old fogey at the bar who
appeared to have had one too many. Sidestepping him we took our
Doombar (and whatever fermented apple juice PE was deglazing her
insides with now) over to a table just as Waynetta Slob turned up
with a Tupperware filled with custard tarts! “Food guys!” she
quipped.
Welcoming WS and turning down her sloppy tarts we left the
pub and scrabbled off towards The Spring Garden(14).
But en route she wore us down and we paused, beside the water, to
gobble up as much of her tarts as we could. We had to later admit
that the carb-hit helped us to the end. Thanks Waynetta!
The rank boredom of
getting through some Courage Best at the 'Spring' was worsened by
Trolly Dolly's karaoke on a loud PA system. The locals (both of
them) actually seemed to appreciate the toneless Irish dirge he was
delivering.
The Mardyke(15)
was next. Prosaic at best. Not too many bikers today though.
The Grain Barge(16)
followed shortly. On deck the evening sun was gently washing over us
as we supped some Cold Spice Ginger and some No.7. PE was still
grimly putting away scrumpy and Scoop was still trying to keep up her
V&Ts. But hey! Two of Scoop's Vodka-Tonics were only Tonics!!
She confided. Alco-Slippage!
Trolly found some warm
rosé wine that had been left on the table and proceeded to lick it
off his finger.
Coach Bob arrived. Like
Sweaty, he was flying out to Interhash the next day. Bloody
pre-lubers!
The Myrtle Tree(17)
only sells Bass, so it should be good. Wrong! It was sour and the guy
serving it (tattooed, toothless brute) wasn't the sort you'd
complain to. Tossing the bulk of my half into the road in disgust I
wandered back inside to top up on Guinness. The others dutifully
completed the vinegarised offering.
At this point we lost
three drinkers – PE, Gazza [Hence no more photos - Ed.] & Trolley. They just wandered off.
Never to be seen again.
Latecommers, Massive and
Clem, were now drinking pints as quickly as possible, buoyed up by
the news that they could get a lift home with my wife.
On On to The
Shakespear(18) where Tom Woods and Bumber County ales were
the tipple of the moment. Chatted amicably to some out-of-townies who
were lauding our drinking feat. Feel like I'm sobering up! Maybe
HBK was right with his theory.
At The Hole In The
Wall(19), I informed the now Trolly-less Scoop that I'd
just bought her a double (she was on singles) and that if she only
had one more double in the next pub she'd have made up for the two
naked tonics she'd had earlier! Feeling “not too bad”, she said
she was well up for it.
Sat outside the 'Hole'
I spoke to HBK who was in his beer-induced and somewhat dour
philosophical mood. “Why Lunchbox, why with billions and billions
of planets in this Universe, did I got to get stuck on this one?”.
“Drink up lad”, I said, “only two pubs to go”. “But I'm
hungry man!” he wailed. “I want more food!”
At last! The Naval
Volunteer(20)! The final pub! Feeling 'not too bad' and
somewhat elated by our achievement, those of us left dispensed with
halves and ordered pints! My 'Landlord' was probably the
best pint of the day. There was a real karaoke going on. Now where
was Trolly now that he had a real stage??
Completed! The survivors
were elated! “Anyone fancy a beer to celebrate?” said Coach Bob.
“You bet!” came the reply. So the chums went off for a pint
at another pub (21 – forget its name!). A lovely pint
of Gem.
My wife, Jenny, arrived
to take me home. Massive and Clem climbed into the back along with
Scoop (“I'm alright to walk home” she insisted!).
Jenny was pleased when
Massive and Clem discovered two vuluzellas on the parcel shelf. Not!!
What a nice day!
We'll be back next
year. Join us!
Lunchbox.
