The quality of ibuprofen is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…

And yes, I fear that I may be him that takes this week. In fact, I have been him that takes rather too many. The disappointing thing is that although I’ve either been in the boozer or in the office this week, I’ve been pretty much on the beaten path. This means drinking in the Mitre, currently my favourite pub in town, the (Newman Street) Blue Posts, the Old Cheshire Cheese, the Lamb, the Old Bell and so on.

It’s a continuing problem: you live in London, you know a number of good pubs. You invite friends out for a drink, and you choose a familiar pub to start in, because you can easily explain where the pub is and because you are sure it won’t be vile. Then, though, you (I mean I, of course) have a couple of beers and get settled and – because you’re in a really good pub – there’s no incentive to go out in the cold and the rain searching for another boozer which nine times out of ten is likely to be inferior to the place you’re happily sitting down in.

Whither the pub crawl in these dark and rainy days?