On the pittie of the Cittie of Yorke

I have a confession to make. I flew business class to London on Air Canada. My logic was that I might sleep in the comfort of a pod and thus be better able to cope with the logistics of getting a UK SIM card, assembling Leonardo at Heathrow, leaving box and unneeded bits at left luggage and then taking the Transport for London (or TfL) to Paddington from where I was to ride to the St Pancras Youth Hostel. In the anticipation/worry about flying indulgently, I fear I botched the shipping the bike bit. There is something off with Leonardo which I fear might due to bad packing. He is not shifting well and the wheels feel are weird. I found a bike shop near St Pancras. They didn’t have the time in their schedule for a tune up in my time frame, but wondered if the bearings in my axles were worn. I am considering booking a date with bike mechanic in Edinburgh as I have down time there.

I then set off for Stanford’s book/map store. I found the navigation rough, which seemed odd as the last time I didn’t feel as stressed. Then again, last time I was nowhere near as jet lagged and sleep deprived. I bought a couple of bike maps featuring Newcastle-in-Tyne and Edinburgh.

I then returned via the Cittie of Yorke pub. The spelling is that used when the place was opened something like four hundred years ago. The place is stunning. Old wooden brewing vats are suspended above the bar. There are little wooden cubicles to drink in and all kinds of weird features including a triangular stove. I came in and my jaw dropped. The barman asked if I needed anything as I was just standing there with my mouth open. Even at the best of times, I can have an awkward manner. In this case, I was able to take refuge in the truth by saying: “Sorry, don’t mind me, I am both jet-lagged and stunned by how incredible this pub is.” He accepted this, doubtless having had to deal with similar reactions in past as well as far more problematic patrons.

I ordered a BLT and a pint of bitter hand drawn from an oak barrel. I sat down in a cubbyhole and waited for lunch.

The pittie was that the Cittie of Yorke, easily the most amazing pub I have been to, was rather empty. The Saturday was sunny and warm and London was bustling with tourists. However, I guess it lies in a less touristy area and is part of London’s legal district near the Inns of Court if I recall the term correctly.