Posts from 20th October 2000

Oct 00

The Blue Posts

Pumpkin PublogPost a comment • 681 views

The Blue Posts: No not that Blue Posts but this Blue Posts. See that’s the problem with yer Blue Posts, there are so damn many of them in what is pretty much a five hundred yard distance. This UK Blogmeet which I have the privilige of being in one photo for (thank Christ) was berthed in the Noxo – or Noho Blue Posts – a Sam Smiths pub which pretty much follows the Sam Smith’s rule book.

The Sam Smith’s rules are as follows. Your pub will only serve Sam Smith’s ales. This used to be a real problem for me, but now – a devotee of the Fat Man (of which more shall be said anon) I really have a soft spot for the cheaply priced brew. Rule number two will be on rooms. A Sam Smith’s pub will always have at least, rather differently decorated rooms. Think the Fitzroy Tavern’s spartan Writer’s and Artists bar, the Chandos’s leather sofa’d Opera Bar. The Blue Posts has a lounge – which admittedly we did not go into. The third Sam Smith’s rule is that beyond these rules, there really aren’t any others. Its a chain without the nastiness, the pubs tend to be rather individual.

So to the Blue Posts. Its actually one of the ropier Sam Smitheries. It may well be due to its Noho (I hate that) or Noxo (North Oxford Street) location but its just a little bit too bright. There is little in the way of seating and there are a number of barriers to an normal gathering. There is much outdoor picnic table seating but in general the pub is really rather lacklustre. It was however a great place to spin tallish tales. All I need to say is Dave Clark’s Five Grills and a smile comes to my face.

I shall be off to one of the other Blue Posts tonight. Maybe see you there….

Last Departing Train

FTPost a comment • 2,011 views

The Clientele – Suburban Light

My favourite record of 2000 sounds like it fell through a hole in 1968, and waits in the here and now shyly and patiently, hoping people will notice it. Actually it crackles with a sensibility from still further back, because of how Alasdair Maclean sounds wide-eyed and polite and like he’s singing through gauze. If the sleeve had told me these sainted tracks were laid down in some manor house library, full of oak and old light, I’d not have been in the least bit surprised.