Thursday, 3 January 2008

Running Up That Hill

The most important thing about a new place to live is not the house/neighbours/localmicroclimate/crumpet, but of course, the pubs. Granted,when seeking new accomodation, it should really be a given to try out at least 20 local establishments (if there are that many) within walking distance beforehand to assist the decision. City folk-no excuse. And let's face it, if you're closer to the cowpat than you are the congestion charge, then pleasant locals are abound.

Whilst I am happily getting used to the idea I live in Earlswood and not Redhill (nuts to the postal address - Earlswood has more of an English ring to it), I have to remember that Redhill has many drinking places in it's immediate environs, most of which I've been warned about. Luckily, I have about 7 pubs within a ten minute walk from my gaff that does not require me to go into Redhill's dark and evil locality. Wonderful.

Any rightful drinker should try out these at haste, especially when one, The Joshua Tree, employs their housemate. Alas, no football and many golfers would have me running a mile.
The Old Chestnut is too local, if you get my drift, so that's out. The first one I tried is the Garibaldi, slightly up a hill towards the common. Off the beaten track (read: no pub crawlers). It's small and furthest away out of all of them, but hardly far. And already a result, Iwould say.

Football is a guarantee, especially if it's United. And even though there's a match on the tellybox once in a blue moon, it has a fairly respectable Crystal Palace contingent. Double wahey. Ok, the landlord's a Liverpool fan, but his general niceness excuses this slight misdemanour. And with camra-friendly beers, we have a winner.

Just need the internet, and I'm done.

And a housewarming threesome, possibly.

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