Formerly known as The Scrubber’s Nook and The Axeman’s Tool, this filthy hovel is inhabited by a motley crew of unsociable smelly regulars, who don’t mind short measures of tepid, cloudy ale served up by the foulmouthed landlord and his subservient aid, commonly referred to as “Mary Poppins”.

In winter a bald headed bloke insists on opening the front door to let all the heat out, and if you’re not quick at tea time, a thin, cheese loving, youthful looking yokel, scoops up all the left over cheese bits (complete with mouse droppings) with which Mary Poppins has adorned the bar in a vain attempt to attract a better class of clientele.

A steep staircase leads to a scruffy patch of land, curiously named “The Beer Garden” (it’s more like a rugby pitch after the fat lads have completed more scrums than yards trotted) where the landlord can be frequently found playing with his equipment and rattling his tackle. Children aren’t particularly welcome and on a bad day the landlord can often be found abusing them (verbally, of course).

The Landlord Pulling His Usual Full Measure


Let’s be honest – why would you? Make sure that you have your fill before visiting, it’s ghastly. For all her best efforts, Mary Poppins hasn’t got a clue. Fiddling with this, faffing with that, by the time the disaster is complete – its clock cold (probably ‘cos the bald bloke’s opened the kitchen door as well).

Overpriced, undercooked, bland piles of colourless mush and fluid, and that’s on a good day. Egon Ronay once visited and gave Mary a star – you know, one of those gold sticky-on ones that you got at school to humour your best efforts that were actually crap.