Today is the day before start of Advent and I awoke to the news our beloved Shane MacGowan yielded me another 35 points on this year’s Deathpool. Go down to the mud, lad, where the rivers all run dry.
You Cheap Lousy Faggot
Month: November 2023
Monthly Recap November 2023
The totals for the month: only 75 miles running, 6 pubs, no kebabs, fish and chips, or short reviews. I’ve given up on serious running until at least the Christmas break but have made occasional surprise appearances at the gym (at least, I was surprised by them). With one month to bring by stock of pre-written posts up to date, the most recently published pub and fish were actually visited September 21, and kebab was September 20. Here’s the cartoon of the month (not necessarily a monthly feature):
Spotted a cut mark on a gate to this primary school on the walk home from picking up a newspaper early in the month and didn’t have any reason to post at the time so here it is dumped into the Monthly:
Brits have funny prejudices about Americans. Apparently, my former land is full of fat people who don’t get irony and that all of us over here are a burden on the NHS. Still, here is yet another fit and fabulous Brit who took up two seats on the tram. Irony, indeed. Perhaps these people need to get their house in order first (to use a phrase from my adopted dialect, “chill out, it’s just bants“).
There was a training day for macromolecular mass spectrometry this month and I had nothing to do except be on call for instrument breakdown emergencies. None happened, so I spent screwing around first with live equipment not involved in the event then with old parts to use as demo tools for our incoming postgrad researchers. Here’s an old-style HCD cell:
We managed to get over to the Christmas Fete at St Andy’s this year, the Saturday before Thanksgiving. No, we don’t burst into flame inside a church but this was the first time we’d been in this spare yet magnificent hall. The fare was sandwiches, pork pies (mine was delicious) and tea and we got into a raffle for a bunch of booze but seems that we lost. The vicar seemed nice.
A grad student gave me a very kind thank you gift on his penultimate day in the labs. I said kind, not thoughtful (but I didn’t have the heart to tell him what I think about Jack Daniels with a further explanation at the end of this post linked here).
Mother Hubbard’s, Shrewsbury
One couple was hiking uphill past the bench on which I dined and the lady-one said, “oooo, that looks delicious.” My mouth was full but I managed a muffled, “mm-hmm!” before their next step touched the pavement and pointed up and to the right incomprehensibly adding, “Muvvahrubbads,” then pointing to the name on the chip box.
An old, local woman who could well have been a witch stopped and asked if I was sharing and I turned the fork toward her. She laughed and declined but we wound up speaking between mouthfuls for the next five minutes as I stuffed my face.
The Shrewsbury Hotel, Shrewsbury
When you ruck up in a town you’ve never been before and that you have no plans for how to attack, the first thing you should do is find a pub that serves breakfast. There are probably others around if there are more than a couple thousand souls there, but you can always count on a Wetherspoon to serve a pint and some snacks.
So, after a cursory stroll around the city centre in Shrewsbury I entered the first of these I could find, the Shrewsbury Hotel. It looks nice enough, is near the college, and doesn’t smell too bad. £2.59 for a pint of something interesting and some people watching when I looked up from my maps. A fairly neutral experience, overall.
Shrewsbury Day Trip
First time in Shrewsbury and I am blown away by the lovely architecture, starting with the rail station, above. Usually utilitarian and coarse and ugly this one seems a church to the industrial age.
The Market Clock Tower caught my eye on my first loop around the city and I realised later that the vane isn’t just pretty but is a triangulation point (TP11863)…lucky find.
After a breakfast beer at the Shrewsbury Hotel, my next loop involved a narrower circle and a more targeted trigpointing effort. I found the Lion Hotel’s mark (too early for the bar there) but prowled the exterior a bit for pictures, info, and any loose souvenirs (no luck on this last front, alas).
The Blue Plaque, on the other hand, really tempts another trip and perhaps a stay (in Disraeli’s suite if we’re lucky).
I got caught behind a pool of about 30 pensioners trundling up the street opposite as I searched for the Flush Bracket on the old Guild Hall (now a residence). They stopped the walking tour for the docent to give her spiel right in front of the building I thought it was but after inspection I decided to continue on to my next spot. Looking back one more time, I spotted it two doors up from my first guess and ran over to get ahead of their slow blockade:
Then, it was on to St Alkmund’s church but not before marvelling at the houses in the adjacent square. Not for the likes of me unless that Lotto ticket finally works.
St Alkmund has a dubious backstory even questioned by the parishioners of this gothic church, but they were out in force doing some grounds tidying as I prowled about looking for my Cut Mark.
It was on a buttress on the north side but not near a corner nor facing out. These are often the most satisfying finds.
Done with the trigging, I moved on to simple tourism and a bit of lunch before exploring the magnificent library. Here is Darwin, guarding the entrance.
The walls must be 18 inches thick and awe inspiring. Well worth ten minutes visit a couple blocks from the station (I was there two hours).
The King and Castle, Kidderminster
The rain was persistent all day in Kidderminster but during my last quarter mile heading back to the station it rapidly increased to deluge. Fortunately, the King & Castle pub was warm and dry and open for me to kill the half hour until my ride pulled in.
Indecisive, it was good that they offer flights of third pints for four quid. I didn’t know nor care what they were and to be honest I couldn’t really tell much difference.
Ye Olde Seven Stars, Kidderminster
The barmaid (and probably landlady although so young you wonder if her parents know she’s hanging out in a bar) at Ye Olde Seven Stars was behind a very small bar when I arrived with my lunch (they allow you to bring in outside food here). Without a word, she redirected me to the larger bar in the next room with a seemingly boneless twist to her arms.
I wasn’t impressed with the music (the 00’s leave me cold) but the taps were righteous. And, it is tempting to return for a pork pie and/or a scotch egg to see what their kitchen turns out.
Home of Souvlaki, Kidderminster
Whilst planning my day in The Swan, the name “Home of Souvlaki” leaped off my computer monitor. I MUST have a gyros, I decided and the next couple of hours left me anticipating it.
And, it is wonderful fare I have to admit. I took mine around the corner to Ye Olde Seven Stars which welcomes punters to bring in their own eats and got the distinct feeling that I must have done something good to deserve all this bounty.
The Swan, Kidderminster
I had the day free and decided to hit the big town of Kidderminster having never stopped there before (skirted it once on a trip to North Wales from Bicester ages ago). Typical for a day off, the rain was heavy, the wind fierce, and the temperature chilly even for mid-September. I stopped in the first pub that was open, which is also typical.
There were five old farts — older farts, I should say — at a table near the door fawning over these dogs helping their dad decide on his beer (they all agreed on stout several times while I nursed my cider and made notes on my tourism-to-be.
The weather notwithstanding, The Swan made for an auspicious start to the outing.
Kidderminster Rainy Day
The first pedestrian subway I met in Kidderminster surprisingly didn’t smell like a urinal: surprisingly because of the quality of the graffiti and the young couple drinking beer at 8 in the morning.
However, the graffiti improved as the day progressed from the politically eloquent to some sublime Republican sentiments.
It was new TrigPointing territory, as well, and I found my first on Exchange Street as I hiked between the Swan and the library (helpfully highlighted in yellow chalk):
Peckish, I headed toward the Home of Souvlaki for a gyros and stopped by an old Telephone Exchange to bag another Cut Mark. But, I was also treated to a quite special post box (yes, I’m still doing THAT, as well):
The building also had a lovely Blue Plaque for the ‘instigator’ of Penny Post (so I got to triple dip at this tourism site):
The mark itself was somewhat anticlimactic:
Lunch done and the rain chucking it down, I worked my way back to the station withonly a modicum of exercise under my belt. Only one of the four Cut Marks on my list still exists, the one at 31 George St.
Soaked but safely back at the station, I noted an old horse trough (how 19th century of these people).
There is also an old but still operating Bundy clock there. When still used, there was a spool of paper inside and the bus drivers reaching this point would stick in a key unique to them and the time of arrival would be stamped on the paper spool.
Likewise well preserved was this Victoria Regina post box, on the short walk to the King & Castle pub in the Severn Valley Rail (historic steam trains here) portion of Kidderminster Station:
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 