Morag Frew, our neighbour and the boss lady of the Boaters Bar at Thames & Kennet Marina, not only raved about the West End show, Kinky Boots, but had been to see it three times! So I went online to book a couple of Wednesday matinee tickets; it would be our last trip into London before heading to France next week.
I’d been wanting to try The Bull Inn at Sonning ever since I read Jerome K. Jerome’s description in his comic masterpiece Three Men in A Boat – Not to mention the dog (1889): “If you stay at Sonning,” he advised, “put up at ‘The Bull’.”
Built in the 16th century, it is still owned by the neighbouring St Andrew’s Church (which rents it to Fullers).
Summer in the UK is festival time! In the immediate run-up to the big Reading Festival (from 24 August), tiny Mapledurham village has just hosted an enjoyable food festival in the grounds of the 16th-century Mapledurham House – with everything from artisanal cheeses and locally produced rapeseed oil to Provencale rosé, South African biltong and the fruit scones I’m scoffing right this minute with butter and tea.
Like the bear that went over the mountain, what often keeps me going is the urge to know what’s coming up ahead. So wherever we stop to moor up, I can’t help wondering what the next lock or village looks like. (Whereas Roy, apparently, has no such interest.)
Fortunately, the place that’s ahead is often close enough for me to be able to gently jog there along the towpath. Here’s what I saw on the 10km route from Wallingford to Shillingford and back, via Benson lock.
Along the Thames, it’s common for a bridge to immediately link two separate towns or villages, one of which is obviously more flourishing than its neighbour. Goring has Streatley, Pangbourne has Whitchurch, and Wallingford has Crowmarsh Gifford. (Sounds straight out of Harry Potter, doesn’t it?)
It would be rude not to at least take a stroll through the bustling metropolis of Crowmarsh, especially as we’re moored on its side of the bridge. Apart from boasting an impressive total of two builder’s merchants, the village is perhaps most memorable for:
After shopping for a dinghy in Putney and popping in to the Brompton Bike shop in Covent Garden, The Real Greek restaurant – just up the road from the bike shop – was perfect for lunch.
Around 2pm, we were lucky to get a window table at this buzzy, friendly and authentic-feeling joint. Half-a-litre of retsina (£12.50) accompanied several tapas-sized plates: some of the nicest char-grilled octopus ever (£7.50), authentic horiatiki (no lettuce, slab of feta), chips (£3.50), and a serving of gigantes (giant beans; £4.75), followed by a slice of superb baklava (£4.25) with our coffee.
In such a touristy location, the place would probably manage to survive on passing trade alone. But that’s not the feeling you get here, either from the food or the service – we could almost have been on the Plaka in Athens.
An idyllic riverside location in a picture-perfect village isn’t enough. When you’re forking out for a gastropub on the Thames, you want really good food and service, and – after trying a few along the way – that’s what we eventually found at The White Oak, Cookham.
Though our mooring at Bourne End looked to be a bit “ulu”, as they say in Singapore – meaning inconveniently far-flung – it was in fact only a ten-minute walk from Bourne End village, and five minutes from The Spade Oak pub. On the plus side, The Spade Oak has alfresco seating and an interesting menu; disappointingly, both the food and the service were patchy: over-brown chips came with my cod (£11); Roy’s delicious fillets of sea-bass (£16) were served lukewarm the first time round; and other people’s drinks took forever to arrive. (Intrepid Roy got ours directly from the bar.)
There must be a connection between The Spade Oak and The Ferry at Cookham Bridge, nearby: the menus are identical, and the service equally poor. We’d stopped in at The Ferry on our new bikes for a couple of halves of cider, which did eventually come; but having witnessed the sorry confusion, decided not to return for dinner. A pity, that, as it has a nice alfresco setting right on the river and was literally 150 metres from our mooring.
Instead, we tried our luck along Cookham High Street. I loved the ambience of Bel and the Dragon, which came highly recommended by a couple of our marina friends,and could have spent a week curled up with a few of its marvellous collection of old books. Disappointingly watery cocktails (£8) – especially Roy’s martini, even the second time around – drove us away after one drink.
Across the road, the menu at The King’s Arms was almost identical to both The Spade Oak and The Ferry – just laid out differently. So, after a glass of French chardonnay (£6) at young and buzzy The Crown, which marks the end of the High Street, we headed back to the boat for a chicken curry that I’d made “just in case” – fortunately, as it turned out.
The White Oak
Finally, we made it to The White Oak in The Pound, Cookham, a pleasant 15-minute walk from our mooring near the bridge. It fully deserves the moniker “gastropub”; it’s #1 on TripAdvisor, and you can see why. Spacious bar, well-proportioned restaurant and lovely garden were all full to capacity on Friday, 22 July – the first day of the summer, according to the manager. (The last day of the school term?) Even so, the service was lovely, the atmosphere convivial and the food excellent.
We opted for the day’s set menu (£15 for two courses; £19 for three). To start, breaded beef rib, horseradish and carrot salad for both of us. To continue, we shared both the slow-cooked pig cheeks, sultana and caraway ragu, mash and burnt savoy, and the smoked haddock, squid ink and leek risotto.
For dessert, just one sticky toffee pudding with ice cream to share, and all washed down with the unoaked Chilean chardonnay (£20) pictured below. Fabulous.
The Bounty Pub
Marina neighbour Al (who, by the way, lives on a boat named “Alestorm”) said we should visit The Bounty if we found ourselves in Bourne End. You can only get to this popular establishment by boat, or by crossing the pedestrian and railway bridge*, turning right and following the river for a couple of hundred metres.
At this welcoming, relatively cheap and decidedly cheerful joint, shirtless mad dogs and Englishmen happily roasted in the sun, while Roy and I cowered under what little shelter there was to polish off some jolly good cod and chips (£11). Happily, the friendly service included a lift back across the river to the Bourne End Marina, just five minutes from our mooring.
* In the days when The Bounty was Al’s local, he recalls, it was only a railway bridge, and they used to walk across the railway track, flattening themselves against the sides if a train came along. The pedestrian bit was added later for a bit of ’Ealth & Safety. (He also recalls popping into the pub on a Friday night and not getting home until Sunday.)
According to our neighbours at the Thames & Kennet Marina, near the English town of Reading, the Bird in Hand, “just up the road”, is one of the best places to eat in the neighbourhood. That’s not surprising – the chef and proprietor is a Sicilian, Santino Busciglio, who cooked at several Michelin-starred restaurants in London before taking over proprietorship of this reportedly 13th-century country inn.
It certainly looked the part when we popped in last Sunday, partly for a half of cider but mainly to check things out. Having done lunchtime duty, Santino came in with his dog to commune with a table of diners and their own dog, who’d been slumbering under the table. We introduced ourselves, and then followed a delicious discussion with this delightfully charming man about the benefits of brining pork for several days; that day’s Sunday roast had been a gorgeous belly, and the diner who was finishing off his portion of it had such a look of glazed contentment that I could hardly wait to return for a meal.
So we were back the very next Wednesday evening, this time with daughter Wendy, who was visiting from France. It was the Bird in Hand’s weekly pizza night: From 5pm until sunset (around 10pm now, it being mid-summer), Santino creates his own authentic, slow-rising sourdough pizzas in the wood-fired alfresco oven out back, next to a verdant expanse of beer-garden. Pizza is not generally my first choice, nor Roy’s, but the signature Leggero (£12), thin of crust and topped with mozzarella, fresh tomato polpa, anchovies and just a hint of chilli, was everything we’d hoped for.
All our neighbours had recommended the Bird in Hand’s beef, and Wendy polished off her grilled fillet of aged Herefordshire (225g; 24); it came with a “divine” peppercorn sauce, mixed vegetables and fat golden chips that had been thrice-cooked in beef dripping (!).
From a mostly Italian wine list, we chose a nice Bordeaux (£28). The service was good – especially when you think that the chef was having to run between the alfresco pizza oven and the indoor kitchen; and did I mention what a lovely, picturesque old place this is to linger in? (It offers rooms, too, by the way.)
We’ll be back before long. The Châteaubriand for two (560g; 28 per person) is calling, and so are the various small sharing dishes – especially the grilled Galician octopus and the salt cod fishcakes. Who thought there’d be such a place in the heart of the English countryside?
www.birdinhand.co.uk
This is the perfect place for a summer wedding – in fact, my stepson Carl and our daughter-in-law Carrie were married here on a perfect English summer’s day in July, 2009. We (but especially Roy) have stayed here many times since then; it’s conveniently close to Roy’s mum’s home in Alcester.
We come not so much for the accommodation as for the food, though this is a lovely old historical inn with oodles of atmosphere. Casual weekday guests like us are not the hotel’s bread and butter: weddings are.
Nevertheless, proprietor Simon does a great job in the kitchen on this quiet Tuesday evening in mid-summer, ably assisted by his friendly wife, Agnes. We’ve already had an excellent lunch today at The Bell at Welford-on-Avon (where Roy had an apple crumble that I suspect he’s going to be raving about for weeks to come); but both Roy and I thoroughly enjoy our delicious shanks of lamb, slow-braised for 14 hours. Wendy, more restrained, pairs a starter of cheesy mushrooms with a lovely salad.
Roy is always good at sussing out the best room at a hotel, and then making sure he gets it on his next visit; at the Arrow Mill, it’s Room 11: a corner location, up just one flight of stairs, away from any kitchen noise and with pretty views. It has a romantic four-poster bed and a fabulous corner bath to put a smile on my face – though Roy complains he has to jump around in the shower to get wet.
We’ll be back, no doubt of that.
Overnight at The Bull Hotel either before or after the British Grand Prix – it’s 20 minutes from the Silverstone circuit.
People tend to sneer when you mention the “new town” of Milton Keynes, built in 1967 as one of several to relieve London congestion. But there’s more to the place than ugly concrete facades and bewilderingly endless roundabouts – it also encompasses Stony Stratford, whose Watling Street was since Roman times the main thoroughfare from London to the north, and later famous as an overnight stop for stagecoaches.
The Bull Hotel (1609) is one of a handful of old hostelries that remain, and Roy and I spent the night there after the 2016 F1 British Grand Prix. Just along the High Street is The Cock, and this is apparently the origin of the expression “cock and bull story” – it refers to the gossip and tall stories exchanged by travellers at these old inns in days of yore. You can almost hear the clatter of ghostly stage-coaches through its arched entryway into the courtyard; but it’s more likely the sound of a barrel of real ale rolling across cobbles into the adjacent Vaults pub.
One of just 12 rooms, ours overlooked the Parish Church of St Mary and St Giles. Furnishing and décor throughout this little hotel are in new condition, cosy, mainly comfortable, and in keeping with its history. Our room had a spacious bathroom with a good shower, plus a couple of welcome features such as armchairs, a safe and even a fan. This being F1 weekend, the GBP135 we paid was understandably over the odds; happily, it included a full English breakfast, served all the way through to a civilised 11am.
Who names these beers?
Less civilised was the Bull’s kitchen closing at 6pm on a Sunday night. After a half of Wight Squirrel (lovely name!) at the Vaults, we had another of Hop Goes the Beagle (!) at The Old George Inn (www.theoldgeorge.com), a cosy 16th-century pub offering accommodation and known for its live music.
After that, dinner at the decidedly 21st-century Indian-Bangladeshi Kardamom Lounge (www.kardamomlounge.com), mainly because it was still open. Its ten-quid Sunday Gourmet deal included starter, main, side dish and bread or rice. Good service, good value and generally good and plentiful food, though the chicken vindaloo was, we agreed, so volcanically hot as to be virtually uneatable.
Gratuitous Limerick
A sign for Buckingham on the route back to Reading made me wonder aloud to Roy whether there might be a dirty limerick about that first-mentioned town. There was, yes, and the old sailor in him recalled and recited it at once. It’s far too filthy to repeat here, but I’m going to do so anyway:
There was a young man from Buckingham,
Who stood on the bridge at Uppingham,
Watching the stunts of the c***s in the punts
And the tricks of the pricks who were f***ing’em.
(Sorry.)
