A princely hostelry
11:53am Friday 11th April 2008
ONCE again The Vizier has been clubbed over the head by that well-known Cardinal of Crime, The Unknown Blackguard whose sole mission in life is to make mischief in the affairs of man and his ale.
It is easy to make an unforced error - a slip of the keyboard can mean the difference between a Bishops Finger and a Fat Belly Boozer. But The Vizier will always hold up his half-drained pint pot and put the record on the straight and narrow. So this to my good fiend - sorry, friend - Derek, who kindly pointed out that one of the Robinson's ales I mentioned in the previous article did not exist. So I can surely ask Derek to wipe away any tears he shed over this oversight and inform the general populace that Cumberland Way does not exist and it is fact called Cumbria Way. There, there, Derek, dry your eyes, mate!
Anyway, sideways it's time for the next review so let us strap on the parachute, leap out of the bay doors of Ale Force 1' and hurtle at great speed to our next destination. Brigadoon, as you all know, is a mysterious Scottish village that only appears out of the Highland mist every 100 years, as with the Prince Albert on Newton Street, which is one of those pubs that looms out of the ether whenever somebody with a parched throat approaches it. And where is this mysterious watering hole? you may ask. Turn off Park Lane onto Bond Street, hang a second right on to Hatton Street and Terry is your cousin twice removed! You find yourself on Newton Street and you will not able to miss it as an enormous sign on the front and side of the edifice leaves you in no doubt as to where you are.
The Prince Albert is an open plan public house with brick red, beige and cream walls bedecked with portraits of idyllic villages. The pub is spick and span, as if the makers of How Clean is Your Boozer had broken in during the early hours and proceeded to use their full supply of Mr Sheen. Ricky Hatton must be a local around here because of the number of belts with brass knick knacks that also dangle from the walls. A variety of china ornaments are atop a white wooden shelf that circles the room. Yet again the brewery's interior designers have reached another plateau of artistic integrity with another inspired choice of multi-coloured carpet that has the unnerving ability to send you into a trance if you stare at it for more than three minutes. If ever you need to identify a Prince Albert local, just take a look at their shins, which must be covered with all manner of bruises, bumps and scrapes, which are the result of trying to put your legs under one of the extremely small tables and banging them against one of the stools that has been hidden underneath it. You can also park your derriere on the two crescent-shaped seats on either side of the entrance. For those who like the naughty weed there is a smoking area at the back of the pub with seats and tables provided.
Upon the tabletops you will be presented with The Prince Albert Wine Menu'; although The Vizier is not a connoisseur of the wondrous grape, all he can say is that if you pine Pinot Grigio, crazy Cava, or are mad about Merlot Blush or even insane about Shiraz Rose, then you are in good hands.
This may come as a shock to many of you (so you had better sit down and relax) but it has to be declared that the Albert is one of those rare creatures that is bereft of a pool table. Although it does specialise in that other mammoth of pub gamesdarts. On the night this review was written, the darts team were limbering up for an epic encounter with their deadly rivals. Darts were thrown with deadly accuracy and it must be said from a man who throws like Frank Spencer that he was slightly envious of their skill. Beside the dart board is the now standard mini library which consists of a shelf full of historical pot boilers, autobiographies and spicy erotic thrillers. Above said shelf of literature there is a display of numerous photographs of fun-loving locals celebrating what seem to be raucous, but merry, evenings. The photograph of the young lady displaying her jet black brassiere lends a certain charm to the pictorial exhibition.
But the question that is teetering on the brink of every reader's tongue is of course: "But what about the beer?" Well, we have the spiffing Speckled Hen (4.5 per cent), the indomitable IPA (4.8 per cent) and the terrific Tetley Smooth flow among the many delights that await you upon the brightly lit, solid-looking bar that also has a backdrop of bottles of spirits from the four corners of the globe and the usual bar snacks, such as dry roasted nuts, that have kept the typical ale drinker in good stead since the dawn of time. The beer was and probably still is in exquisite form and all you virgin ale drinkers should make haste to The Prince Albert and sample its wares.
The Vizier would like to thank the young lady who did her best as the Albert's public relations officer in pointing out that entertainment is provided on Saturday nights in the form of that rare beast The Pub Singer', who has one of the most formidable occupations ever to be conceived.
So if you reside on Newton Street or its environs, The Prince Albert is your local and it's up to you to use it and enjoy it because in the next 100 years it may fade away!
The Vizier