Welcome to The SportDork.com Vacation Entries!!  When SportDork.com was launched just over a month ago, we pledged to deliver both quality and timely content to you, the readers.  Well, quality may have fallen by the wayside shortly after, or in conjunction with, the launch, but timeliness lives on!  I realized last week that just because I am passed out somewhere on the beach in Spain from one too many pitchers of sangria doesn't mean you should be deprived of your twice-a-week mental oasis that is SportDork.com.  How could I even enjoy myself knowing that, for one week, my nine subscribers would have nothing to help them escape the mind-numbing hell that is full-time employment?  I decided that I have to give the people what they want.  So did I bring my laptop to Ibiza?  Hell no.  I'm on vacation!  I just worked extra-hard last week and put together a couple of very special "vacation entries" to tie you over until I'm back.  (A few notes - For the working professionals out there, please forgive my very liberal use of the terms "worked" and "extra-hard."  I realize that the use of those terms by a man who has no job may make you angry.  Similarly, I have had a number of inquiries regarding how it is possible for someone who is on a year long "vacation" to take a vacation.  To those individuals, I can only say this: You try running one-four hour load of laundry, re-filling five ice trays, re-filling the Brita water jug six times, walking back and forth from the grocery store and watching the same episodes from the fourth season of The King of Queens and Two and a Half Men every day for a couple months and tell me you don't need a vacation.  On second thought, don't answer that.  I don't know how it's possible for me to take a vacation.)

Since moving to England, I've received many questions such as, "Is there really a pub on every corner?" or "How far is the closest pub?" and "Is the beer really warm?" and "Have you gotten beat up yet?"  This entry is provided to answer all things "pub" about England - at least all things "pub" that I know, which really isn't much.

 

I don't think I have disclosed this in any previous SportDork.com entries, but since our move to England, I have taken up jogging again in an effort to bring my weight down to a more reasonable level.  Six-One and Two-Thirty sounds great when they're announcing the starting safety for the Miami Dolphins, but it doesn't look quite the same on a guy in his mid-thirties who just celebrated ten years of sitting behind a desk at an accounting firm and was the first one in line for the red velvet cake at the monthly birthday celebration.  I figured if there was ever a time to try and get back in shape, this is it.  If I can't lose weight with a year off in a foreign country that isn't exactly known for its outstanding cuisine, I've got real problems.  What does this have to do with English pubs?  Well, while out for a jog, I realized that there are no less than eight pubs on my route.  I know what you're thinking - that's not such a big deal when you plan your jogging route based on where the pubs are located - but I can assure you I had no such intent.  What makes the number of pubs on my route even more impressive, outside of the fact that it was unplanned, is that my route isn't exactly marathon-esque.

One day soon I plan to walk the route, stopping for a beer at each of the seven pubs.  I have already named it "The Gauntlet" - now I just have to do it.  If only I could find the time  . . . . . Anyway, I am eagerly awaiting our first visitor so that I can challenge them to a run through "The Gauntlet."  I hope it's not my mom, because I don't think she'd make it very far.  Whatever.  No pain, no gain.

Allow me to take you on a tour of the pubs along my route.  Here is the pub that is closest to our flat (I know - I said it.  Just let it go.):

This is Ye Olde Six Bells.  It is about a five minute walk down the street.  It dates back to 1304 and is the oldest pub in our town.  Interestingly, I think because of its historic nature, we have spotted far more Americans at Ye Olde Six Bells than at any other pub.  How do we know they are Americans?  It's not very difficult.  Look for shorts and running sneakers.  For example, look at the two people going in.  Clearly not Americans.  That guy is wearing white jeans, and he's way too skinny to be American.  Mrs. SportDork and I actually have a game we play called "Spot the American."  She is very good.

Here's the second pub on my route:

This is the Air Balloon.  It is a family-friendly pub.  When I was out taking these pictures for you guys, I got a little parched from all the hard work (there's that term again), so I stopped here for a pint.  I was taking it out on the patio (indicated by the white arrow), so they gave me a plastic pint glass.  No glass allowed on the deck.  At least that's what they told me.  Maybe it has nothing to do with the patio.  Maybe they only give drunk people the plastic.  Either way, I can't get on board with a plastic pint glass.  That's it for the Air Balloon.

Here is number three on my route:

This is The Bull.  I have not been inside The Bull, as much as the name makes me want to go in and do some serious drinking.  It appears to be very much of a local pub.  I have run by it on a few occasions in the afternoon and seen groups of people who looked like they had been there for many hours hanging out at the picnic tables that are in front of the pub.  I expected to be heckled, but I was not.  I think I was actually disappointed.

Number four:

This is The Chequers.  While conducting my research for this piece, I popped in here for a pint.  It is attached to a hotel - I think it is a Best Western - and is on a major thoroughfare, but don't let that cloud your opinion of this place.  I found the beer quite tasty and enjoyed sitting at one of the tables in front of the pub.  Here's an interesting bit of pub knowledge for you - Did you know that when you go to a pub in England, you almost always order from the bar?  If you are getting a drink, you go to the bar, order, and take your drink back to your table.  If you want another drink, you go back up to the bar, order again, and take your drink back to the table.  What about food, you ask?  Well, every table has a number on it, usually imprinted on a little piece of circular metal that has been affixed to the table.  You peruse the menu at your table, decide what you want, walk to the bar, order your meal, give the bartender your table number, and go back to your table.  The food is then brought out to your table.  It's really ingenious.  They have essentially eliminated the need for servers!

Below is number five on my route, and also my favorite:

This is The Farmhouse.  It is the quintessential country pub.  It's in a more rural, neighborhood area, and has great outdoor seating.  It also has the best food that I've had in a pub since moving here.  Fantastic chicken sandwich.  I won't lie - I also dig it because the American accent always takes them by surprise when I order.  I don't think they get many Americans at The Farmhouse.

Here is number six on my route:

The Kings Head.  Believe it or not, I haven't been in this one.  It has great seating in front and looks like it has a nice patio in the back.  Really no good reason for me not to have been there yet.  That's it.  I'm going when I get back.

Another piece of pub knowledge for you:  There is no tipping at the pub.  That's right - no tipping.  You heard me - no tipping.  You go to the bar, place your order, pay the bartender, and take your beer - and your change - with you.  This applies to food orders too.  As long as you're not getting "proper table service," which means a dude coming over to your table, taking your order, and bringing you your drinks and food, you don't tip.  I've been told that if you leave a pound on the bar after you get your beer, the bartender will probably inform you that you left some money on the bar.  Did I mention I love this country?  When you consider that a pint runs somewhere in the neighborhood of two pounds thirty pence, and the dollar is worth about half of the pound right now, it means you're getting a pint for about $4.60, which is about what you'd expect to spend in the U.S.  Who says it's more expensive to live over here?  As far as I can tell, if you're not drinking a lot of beer, you're losing money.

On to number seven:

 This is the The Gatwick.  It is on the High Street, which is the English equivalent to our "Main Street."  I've only made it in here once - when Mrs. SportDork and I were in search of U.S. Open Golf Championship coverage.  Ok - I was in search of U.S. Open coverage, and Mrs. SportDork was kind enough to indulge my addiction.  We didn't have any luck, but I did notice a lively game of darts.  That's all I've got.

And last, but certainly not least:

 

Here is The Foresters.  I have probably spent more time at The Forrester than any other pub.  The small outdoor patio in the front gets great sun all afternoon (when there is sun), and they have the cheapest beer in town.  I have noticed that The Forrester, like many other pubs I have seen, turns into somewhat of a "club" on the weekend nights, with a bouncer stationed out front.  I have discovered that just because a place looks like a pub and is referred to as a pub, that doesn't mean it conforms to the typical U.S. stereotype of a pub.  I found this out shortly after moving here, when I walked into a local pub, ordered a pint of Guinness, sat down in a dark, padded, mahogany chair and realized I was listening to "Rhythm Is A Dancer" over the sound system.  Very confusing to the senses.

That concludes the SportDork tour of our local pubs.  But before I sign off for today, a few final observations:  First, warm beer in England seems to be largely a thing of the past, with the exception of cask ales, which are intended to be served at room temperature.  Almost every pub I have been to has a variety of draft beers that are served "Super Cold."  They are actually colder than most of the drafts I get at home, so I think we've got some catching up to do on this whole "Super Cold" technology.  Second, in my experience, English pubs are big fans of the "trough" in the men's restroom, which you don't see much any more in the States.  Some of the ladies out there are probably wondering, "What is the trough?"  Well ladies, it's a long, metal trough that is attached to the wall of the restroom and is used in place of urinals.  It's advantages are that it is cost effective and it allows more gentlemen to relieve themselves at once.  The downside of the trough, however, is that it significantly imposes on your personal space.  I understand that for some men, the lack of personal space afforded by the trough renders them unable to accomplish what they came to the men's room to do, a condition affectionately referred to in male circles as "stage fright."  Don't laugh, ladies.  You try sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in the ladies room with another woman some time and let me know how that works out.