41 reasons why I’m relegated to the dog-house with a bowl of something enriched with nourishing marrowbone jelly for me tea

It being Bank Holiday week and also ‘cos I’m in the doghouse yet again – a situation I find myself in so regularly these days the RSPCA are starting to take notice – I’ve been doing a bit of a state-of-the-nation tour around the City’s pubs, some of which I haven’t seen the inside of for way too long. Aside from the bleedin’ obvious, a secondary object was also to leave my calling card – or to be more precise, 125 calling cards in the form of ‘Worcester Pubs Then and Now’ beermats, but… well, it seemed churlish not to have availed myself of the fayre on offer when time (and the drink-drive laws) allowed. So, state of play to date (Tuesday am): Albion (new gaffer Wesley is a kick-boxing champ so if there’s any kicking out to be done, strikes me it’ll be painful!); Anchor (Nic in ebullient mood and gearing up for a busy session); Bell (bustling and busy, and a cracking pint of Hobson’s as per usual); Blackpole (lot of out-of-trim lads in sportsgear shouting at the telly); Brewers Arms (a constant delight where I was told my book is a pain the arse. Oh, why? I asked sweet and innocent. ‘Cos I can’t put it down! came the reply). Brunswick Arms (where gaffer Chris was putting out bunting for the holiday cider festival); Cardinal’s Hat (‘you’ll have to call the manager’); Cavalier; Chestnut Tree (garden full to overflowing); Coppertops (where Seb O’Donnell tells me he’s leaving this week after 2 years); Cricketers (where gaffer Adrian said ‘well you can take ‘em back then’ after being told they were 20p each – a jest, of course); Crown (Lloyds No1); Eagle Vaults (heaving, raucous and in fine singing fettle of a Sunday lunchtime, like pubs always used to be); Goodrest (where I sense summat’s up, but don’t know what); Gun (gaffer Jennie radiant and charming); Hand in Glove; Horn and Trumpet (gaffer Adey Birch effusive about the book and helping himself to an extra 125 for The Courtytard which he also runs); Kings Head; Lakes (where new gaffers Garry and Julie said they’re desperate for beermats as not a single one was left in the place when they took over 5 weeks ago: I left them with 250); Maple Leaf (gaffer Heidi in fine form); Marwood (where I was told the old ‘Green Man’ sign is still on the premises somewhere); Mount Pleasant (where gaffer Rob mistook my request for ‘a quick one on the house ‘cos I’m desperate’ as a demand for a free beer rather than a comment on the state of my overflowing bladder at the time: he complied too, bless!); New Chequers (hulking great gaffer Craig always extending a great beefy hand to shake whenever he sees me – which is often!); New Inn (where I saw them neatly laid out yesterday: some folks were even using them as coasters!); Northwick Arms (where I even used one myself as a soft cushion for a fair pint of Worcester Gold); O’Neill’s (where I was informed I’d have to come back ‘cos the manager’s on ‘er ‘olidays); Plumbers Arms (note to Bob: how come you left it so long to re-visit this friendly little boozer?); Portobello (‘leave ‘um wiv me, darlin’!); Postal Order; Prince of Wales (‘them’s good beermats!’); Punch Bowl; Saracens Head (where I was delighted to hear Steve and Shaylene are now staying after all); Slug’n’Lettuce (where the manager visibly shuddered when I told him about the body bricked up in the wall); Star Bar (where somebody big was visiting – huge guys with surreptitious walkie-talkies and I suspect shooters everywhere; Swan (Barbourne – where gaffer Craig completely ignored me: he’s got his arse in his hand over something); both Talbots (Barbourne and Sidbury); Wheatsheaf (where Kelly posted a lovely pic on the FB group page yesterday of the beer mats in situ https://www.facebook.com/groups/worcesterpubsthenandnow; Vine (where I see a facelift is underway and not before time either) and Virgin – showing off its new astro-turf in the sunshine yesterday. That’s 41 pubs, with 47 still to go – an eventuality I’m hoping to complete over the coming days. On reflection, she might just have a point relegating me to the dog-house with a bowl of something enriched with nourishing marrowbone jelly for me tea. Ah well…. at least my nose will be nicely wet and shiny by the time I’ve delivered them all, though I suspect the neighbours will have taken a dim view of a) me gripping them around the leg with me tongue hanging out whenever we meet, and b) my toilet arrangements with one leg cocked up the lamppost. Bowl of Pal, anybody?