I slipped into the Lamb & Flag through the back alley, that old Covent Garden bolthole where in 1679 the Earl of Rochester hired thugs to knock out the poet John Dryden. But then Rochester died of syphilis at the age of 33 while Dryden made 68. Some run, then.
Perhaps such longevity was down to Dryden’s moderate temperance, or perhaps it was because it takes almost a poetic sea change to get a pint in the Lamb & Flag. If Dryden had the same service as on display last week, he was more likely to die of boredom than some heady vice.
The staff, you see, appear entirely indifferent. There we sat, four of us, quietly getting through the day in the wooden, tomb-like rooms. It was an afternoon and sparse for patrons save for a handful outside smoking. And two bartenders were present, though they were hardly there at all. This might sound a little expectant. But 20 minutes for a lager? A bit much. We left earlier than planned and went somewhere we were trying our utmost to avoid. Imagine.
I like the Lamb & Flag and sometimes enjoy myself there. It’s an old pub and a historic one, which means it often (correctly) makes those lists of London’s best. In fact, on a good day, this is among the best worst boozers in town. It’s covered in tat and serves only the ordinary stuff. It’s one of those glorious pubs we’re told is an endangered species these days.
And I do not want to come in too hard, Rochester-like, on the two lads serving us. They might well have been tired. I neither demand nor desire the efficiency of an Aldi checkout. But it’s reasonable to want acknowledgement when asking politely for a beverage. Sat at the bar. Looking up and yearning in hope.
The Lamb & Flag has a long and chequered past. A brick building has stood on the site since the 1600s and it’s been a pub under its current name since 1833. Charles Dickens used to drink here — although I’m pretty sure he drank everywhere. Once there was bare knuckle boxing in the rooms above, when it was still known as The Bucket of Blood.
I wonder if those fighters had to wait so long to get a drink. Fine, none of us are double hard and none of us are Dickens, but I wouldn’t mind a beer all the same. Please allow me to purchase one, preferably in less than 20 minutes. It might help pubs stick around a little longer.
