A large sign outside declares the pub’s USP: “The Only London Pub in Two Halves,” the place being housed in two buildings either side of the alleyway. On one side, the larger bar is an L-shaped room with ample tables and a couple of tellies. The tasteful decoration includes big ornamental mirrors, prints of olden-times navy business and a large portrait of Sir Cloudesley Shovell, the 17^th Century Admiral from whom the pub takes its name and who presented a spectacular case for an accurate means of calculating longitude by striking rocks off the Isles of Scilly, wrecking four ships and killing himself and his entire crew. His stern, well-fed face gazes at you from the pub signs and portraits in both bars, unaware of impending doom.

The other side is a much cosier place and, for me, where the pub stands out. Here, the bar is tiny; the ground floor only has room for a small table, a couple of booths and a snug at the back just about big enough for two people. At quiet times, its size, dark wood-panelling and lack of modern fittings make it feel like you’re hanging out in London during the Restoration and Samuel Pepys is about to burst in with some seriously juicy gossip about the King’s latest mistress. Unfortunately, quiet times are rare so it becomes necessary to slip past the crowds and head upstairs to the Crow’s Nest, well known by the pubcrafty as the last part of the pub to fill up at peak times. It’s a quiet, sparsely-decorated room with couple of decent-sized tables for seating bigger groups. It lacks its own bar but – joy of joys – I love a pub with a dumb waiter and here, one is available to perform the essential service of getting large rounds upstairs without having to negotiate the narrow bends and steep staircase.

It’s a Hall & Woodhouse pub so the beer is excellent: Badger Best, IPA and Tanglefoot will satisfy the needs of ale lovers and the big bar has the space to carry a few guest beers. Hofbrau and Peroni are on tap for lager drinkers. Despite often being crowded, the staff are attentive and being served is hardly ever a problem. If I have any complaints about the place at all, it’s that they could probably do with a cat.

The Dictionary of Drink

The failure to list all the ingredients in Um Bongo was forgivable but a much worse crime had been committed on one of the simplest of all cocktails:

Whaaaaa? Had they just not heard of tonic water? Apparently not as the mixer has its own entry. The error left us dumbstruck and wondering if some powerful soda lobby had bribed the publishers.

It’s still an entertaining read, especially if you enjoy boggling at glaring mistakes, but as a reference work you’re better off with Wikipedia.

23rd December ’07

After 3 days fogbound, we found ourselves under clear skies in open sea. The navigator swiftly fixed our position and discovered we had been drifting South the whole time while enshrouded. Knowing of a nearby harbour town, we steered for land.

We made port and immediately sought a suitable hostelry. This was a civilised town and we soon came across an ale-house selling the brews of Messrs. Fuller, Smith and Turner (and incorporating those of Mr. G. Gale). In these comfortable surroundings, we settled with a few welcome pints of HSB to plan our onward journey. It was amid this discussion that the bos’n suddenly leaped to his feet with alarm and pointed across the room. Our eyes followed his trembling finger until alighting on what had turned him so pale.

Behind the bar were several bags of Seabrooks crisps.

We turned to the navigator who assured us without reservation that our latitude was 50°51′04 N. This fellow, his head full of star charts and arithmetic, knew little of the ways of snacks and expressed some bewilderment at our shock. The bos’n and I know our crisps, however and we were keenly aware how rare it is to sight this species so far from the towns and cities of the North.

The bos’n, fearing the sighting was a terrible omen, insisted we remain ashore for the next few days. He’s a superstitious man but the sight of those distinctive white packets where honest bags of Kettle Chips ought to be had shaken my nerves. We’ll set sail again on the 27th.

The BBC’s longest running programme celebrated its 50th birthday last night in typical fashion: a half-hour show broadcast at 11:30 pm. Instead of the usual black studio + starmaps & experts shenanigans, we were treated to Patrick Moore (who has famously only missed one show in 2004 thanks to food poisoning) TRAVELLING THRU TIME to visit a recreation of the original 1957 broadcast and converse with Jon Culshaw as his younger self. There were, of course, sly digs at the Corporation (“Unfortunately, we’ve been given a 10:30pm time slot. I hope we’re not moved any later.”) as well as some insight into the progress of SPACE SCIENCE since 1957 (‘57 PM: “The Moon’s craters may be caused by volcanic activity but I could be wrong about that.” ’07 PM: “I was wrong about that.”) and the news that the under-construction Jodrell Bank radio telescope could cost a whopping £70,000!

The second half of the show presumably nudged the budget into the tens of thousands by showing us The Sky at Night 2057 with PM in disembodied-head Gamesmaster mode (uploaded to the BBC computers in 2015, natch) travelling to Mars to visit cricket-playing astronauts and the wreck of Beagle 2. The highlight, though, was DOCTOR BRIAN MAY in his Martian habitat with old man makeup consisting of a beard and pure white mane of Brian May hair. They talked about exploding Roger Taylor on the Moon and settled a £1 bet made in 2007 (at a million to one of course) that life on Mars would be discovered. Predictably, inflation meant the £million coin was more useful to Brian as a pick for the Red Special.

Despite these anniversary larks, TSaN has barely changed over its half-century and is only ever seen by its core audience of amateur and academic stargazers plus the odd insomniac. Nevertheless, PM’s monocled squint is one of most recognised and impersonated faces on the BBC and his relentless enthusiasm and optimism have kept the show chugging along while it’s been grudgingly jammed into the late night schedules every month. Hard to say whether charter obligations alone will allow it to continue for another 50 unless Patrickbot 1.0 really does make it through beta testing. There’s always Brian, though. Hopefully standing by to record a rock version of At the Castle Gate.

WHAT TO DO WITH THE BISCUIT CRUMBS

Quantities are largely down to guesswork here.

For one pack of digestives, melt one and a half big (250g) bars of plain chocolate with a knob of butter. Once melted, mix with the biscuits and a blob of honey or golden syrup.

Press the mixture into a baking tray and pop in the fridge to cool. While it cools, melt the rest of the chocolate. Remove the cake from the fridge, spread the chocolate on top and shove back in to cool down some more. Once the cake is set, cut into 2 inch squares and enjoy massive sugar rush with friends.

Hopefully, Diamond Health & Safety will be posting the appropriate education regarding use of the synchrotron during thunderstorms.

Aim: To determine which bum-shaped fruit can be thrown the furthest

Apparatus: Throwing mechanism (Alang T.), measuring device (Mark C.), adjudicators (Pete B., Sarah C.), apricots, peaches, nectarines

Method: Each fruit was hurled as hard as possible by the throwing mechanism and the distance travelled was measured by pacing the distance from the throwing mechanism to the crashed fruit, the exact point of impact being determined by the adjudicators. Ties were broken with a second throw.

Results:

LEAGUE TABLE

SCIENCE-A-RIFIC CHART

Conclusion:
Once again, our expectations were confounded by cold hard evidence. The smooth surface of the nectarine was not enough to carry it further than its hairier cousins. The fact that the peach fuzz did not produce the expected drag would have remained a mystery had it not been for the extensive interweb research that turned up this entirely undoctored electron microscope image of a typical peach’s surface:

Food Science has caught fruit in the act of evolving the power of flight. Only time will tell what this means for the historic relationship between man and peach. It’ll probably involve big nets or rifles though.

And there it is. Winter has finally arrived on these shores and here, escaping from the cold weather, is a furry little pub mouse.

And here you can see the tiny fella in its natural habitat at the Ship & Shovell. Probably about to enjoy a tasty pint of Badger – just the ticket after a hard day’s cheese-hoarding.

Well done to Kat and Lord Sükråt for correctly intentifying our friend as some sort of mammal. No doubt Eric will be back with more (and hopefully easier) puzzles in the near future. Bye for now!

What’s this then?

Answer as usual in the comments box and we’ll reveal the solution tomorrow. Goodbye and don’t forget to tidy your borders this weekend.

AIM: To cook a chicken in two types of perry.

APPARATUS: Chicken, bottle of Pink Lady sparkling perry (5.5%), bottle of Waitrose Vintage perry (8%), oil, oven, frying pan, roasting dish, people who know what they’re doing to wrangle chicken and provide cooking tips (thanks Chris & Vicky!).

METHOD: The chicken was jointed and the portions browned in a little oil then placed in the roasting dish. A few slugs of Pink Lady were used to deglaze the pan and the mix poured over the chicken. Roughly equal quantities of the Pink Lady and the Waitrose posh perry were poured into the dish until the chicken was almost covered. The dish was then covered with tinfoil and placed in the oven. After poaching at 180 degrees for about 45 minutes, the chicken was uncovered and poached for a little longer to reduce the liquid.

RESULTS: The poached chicken proved tender and moist throughout and the perry gave the meat a definite but not overpowering sweetness. Add to this the fruity liquor of booze plus meat juices and the result was a very tasty dish indeed.

CONCLUSION: Once again, food and linguistic frivolity prove to be a powerful combination that may yet shake the foundations of culinary thinking. It may even be possible to produce a more complex variation by using a realactual pear to create Peary Perry Chicken. Unfortunately, this wasn’t possible on the day because, as we all know, fruit is for throwing, not cooking.

Dom: Well let’s take a look!

Dick: Urrgh! Is that pickled garlic?

Dom: It is!

Dick: Urrgh! Wouldn’t want to snog any of that lot! Did anyone get it right?

Dom: Yes! Kat did!

Dick: Wasn’t she there when Eric took the picture though?

Dom: I can’t remember. Anyway, I think that makes it a point each to the Longmires and the Stevenses!

Dick: Time for a tie-break then!

Dom: Can’t. We’ve just been axed.

Dave Chapman: HAHA! RUBBISH!

…and there it is indeed a rather delicious looking gratton. No doubt sold in their thousands at Earls Court last weekend. Well done Marianna!

So we move on to the second of our pictures. Once again, answer in the comments if you think you know what we’re looking at here:

Aah, and as the strains of Acka Raga fade, we begin this week with our picture round. What our families are about to see is an everyday object viewed extremely close-up. Their job is simply to tell us what on Earth it can possibly be! And we understand that this weekend Eric took his camera to the Great British Beer Festival – let’s hope his hands were steady enough to take a picture!

So who can tell us what this is?

Mothers, eldest children and people who weren’t there on Friday to buzz in and answer in the comments. Tune in tomorrow when we’ll have another round and Eric will be revealing the solution to today’s.

We were sat in Lou Lou’s, a pleasant continental-style café on one of Portsmouth’s posher thoroughfares with somewhat optimistic outdoor seating, art for sale on the walls and a Waitrose opposite. It was a Sunday morning following a birthday bash and our group required some hardcore lard. While full Englishes and massive omelettes were ordered, I scanned the menu and my eyes settled on the magic words. Easiest decision ever.

My friend chose this point to explain his Grand Unified Theory of Black Pudding, possibly to insert a little drama into our breakfast. After all, we’d never been here before. Would they get it right and remember that the key word is ‘pudding’ or would I just be presented with a miserable blackened lump of coking lard? An entire Sunday was at stake here. However, within a few minutes, our hungover eyes lit up at the arrival of a vast platter piled high with toast. Fears of a charred sausage subsided cos this was a place that clearly knew what it was doing.

Breakfasts duly arrived. In middle of the plate amid the bacon, egg, mushrooms and tomatoes was a lovely generous slice of pud from a really thick sausage. Perfectly soft as I sliced a chunk away, it proved deliciously meaty, sweet and velvety. Hangovers faded and Sunday was saved. The omelettes were gorgeous too but that’s a whole other theory.

WHERE’RE MY BLOODY CHIPS?

A text from Miss M. contained the same tale of woe and absent carbs. Moral: always check your purchase, especially during the busy holiday season. I’ll consider this a one-off oversight for now, Archway Perfect Chicken, but you have been WARNED.

Apparatus: Some booze, a pumpkin, a second floor balcony, a car park.

Method: Under the influence of the booze, the pumpkin was heaved far enough away from the balcony to avoid any inconvenient cars below. A team of observers were on hand to note the results.

Results: All observers agreed the results were hugely disappointing. Rather than a satisfying splatter across the tarmac, the fruit bounced once and rolled to a halt, only losing a small section from the impacts.

Conclusion: Pumpkins are the BabyBels of the fruit world, in that they fail to fufil expectations when misused. It’s possible that our squash was a freakishly tuff example but further experiments could not be performed cos we decided to watch Ghostbusters instead.

I ordered a large lamb doner which came wrapped in a flatbread rather than a pitta. This made for a nicer kebab but presented a new eating challenge: rather than the usual overstuffed pitta balancing act, this version felt slightly too unstable to eat on the move. Instead, we sat down in a civilised manner, unwrapped and attacked them with forks. The meat was excellent, being actual recognisable lamb rather than the mystery substance that constitutes the usual doner. The sauce complemented the filling without being too overpowering and the bread proved a worthy substitute for the pitta, although not quite adequate to soak up the alarming amount of grease.

Lovely stuff then and a welcome change from [insert American state] Fried Chicken. Sadly, consuming the thing in its entirety in the shop robbed me of the Half Eaten Kebab on the Kitchen Worktop in the Morning experience that’s part of the charm of post-pub suppers.

Apparatus: Park. Measuring Device (Interweb journalist Tom E.). Throwing Device (Interweb hardman Mark C.). The following varieties of fruit: apple, apricot, avocado, banana, grape, grapefruit, kiwi, lemon, lime, melon, orange, pear, pineapple, plum, watermelon

Method: Each fruit is pitched as hard as possible by the Throwing Device. After each throw, the Measuring Device is employed to pace the distance from the throw-line to the point of impact and the result recorded accordingly. FT officials ensure consistent throwing and accurate pinpointing of landing sites. Hurling techniques are down to the thrower but largely determined by the shape of the fruit: a simple overarm in most cases but pineapples, being Nature’s hand-grenades, require a more sophisticated swing for maximum distance.

Results: An awful lot of broken fruit. Parts still edible by humans were assembled by SGS into a tasty fruit salad while the remainder was left to Peckham’s wildlife.

THE LEAGUE TABLE:

And, because this is SCIENCE, the same information in an EXCITING GRAPHICAL format:

Conclusions:
* The apricot was the clear winner on the day. This may be down to vast quantities of kinetic energy within the stone or its shape facilitating the flow of air across the surface. Unfortunately no other bum-like fruits were available at the time to perform further tests. Further experiments are required to explore the potential of nectarines as sub-orbital vehicles.

* With much of the expectation being on high-density fruits, the performance of the apple was disappointing. However, the dimpled fruits peformed well enough to justify the ‘golf-ball’ hypothesis I’d made up in the pub earlier.

* Lemons and limes are not only the sharpest but also the hardest fruits, being the only ones to survive the experiment completely undamaged.

* Bananas do not return to the thrower.

* Red grapes can be thrown further than green grapes individually but not in bunches. This may be an early indication of quantum behaviour in the smallest fruits.

* There are few sights more immediately satisfying than the splattering of a watermelon.

* This experiment provided no opportunities to point out that Tim did not have any salt.