Dear reader,
Sincere apologies for the long period of non-blogging but I have been elsewhere, exploring the fantastic country of Jordan (a place that is filled with many wondrous things though a nice pub is, understandably, lacking).
Our next trip into the finest pubs in the UK takes us to The Prince of Wales in Cleaver Square. The square, tucked away out of site near Kennington Tube Station, is ringed with delightful houses and has Sunday fairs and boules in its bepebbled centre. Almost hidden in the far corner of this quiet and idyllic world is this haven for good food and better beer, perfect for refreshing yourself after a tiring game in the square.
Owned by Shepherd Neame, The Prince of Wales has an impressive array of beers including a Japanese lager and its walls are strewn with cricketing prints and photographs, testament to its proximity to the legendary Kennington Oval.
The pub itself is not big but it's fits a surprising number of folk inside and out on its porch. On one balmy evening I found myself on this very porch, sipping a pint as I prepared myself for some shenanigans with friends later on.
A delightful old gentleman was outside puffing away on a pipe and, spotting my hat, engaged me in conversation about cricket. We nattered about this and that for a few more rounds before we were joined by two others from inside, both severely south of sober.
The woman was charmingly inebriated and insisted on telling me about a small music festival in Dorset that she was organising for the third year in a row. The glorious picture she painted of this down scaled, civilised Glastonbury fills me with remorse that I never got her to write the festival's damn name down. However, this delightful evening was about to turn.
The other newcomer was a man who proved to be less charming and more willing to stay away from his wife who was waiting for him in Maida Vale, dinner on the table. When he heard that I was headed to a party night at another bar he was insistent that he came. When I learned the news that none of my friends were coming and imparted this knowledge to him, his fervour remained unbowed.
Together we went to this bizarre bar, the South Island Pacific, for an evening of jungling frivolity. With my friends it would have been a fun and memorable evening. With this man, who insisted in chatting up every woman in the place, who badmouthed his wife almost continuously and who thankfully left after the staff wearied of his antics, the evening took on a far more embarrassing turn.
My warning is thus. Whilst talking to folk in the pub, you will meet charming folk. But never let slip of your plans for the rest of the evening, lest someone prove less than enchanting. If they know of your plans you'll be hard pressed to shake them off.
The Prince of Wales can be found at 48 Cleaver Square, SE11 4EA.
