Royal Oak (Lagness)

Royce (Johnny English Reborn)

My CV in a nutshell: 
I’m a female Rolls-Royce called Royce. Very clever, I'm a loyal companion to the UK’s (in my opinion) daftest super-spy. And when I’m not engaged in spy-type things - like opening my bonnet to the word ‘bonnet’ without any recourse to some kind of mechanical or electrical release mechanism - I have a penchant for long rides through the scenic Sussex countryside near Bognor Regis on my bicycle.

To be honest, dear reader, it’s probably not worth considering these facts (female car? pub review? riding bicycle?) in any great detail. It'll spoil things. Just take it as fact - and read on.

Anywho, not so long ago I was contacted by the administrators of this site with a request. Suffice it to say they were drunk, but I recognised the kernel of an idea within their slurring drivel “....listen Royce me old mucker....thing is.....we need a boost for our site......we were hoping you might be able to provide (and I heard them sniggering at this point).......the ‘Rolls-Royce’ of Falling Down the Pub reviews.”

Well, my first reaction was to be very angry. And I told them as much. You see, I’ve spent my life being on the wrong end of that brand cliché. Oooh, Royce, you’re the Rolls-Royce of automobiles....ha ha ha. Or hey, Royce, this new electric toothbrush I bought really is the Rolls-Royce of toothbrushes .....what about that Lindsay Lohan, the Rolls-Royce of lipstick lesbians.....etc etc.” Over the years it wears you down...... like an over eager foot and the effect it has on a (albeit mercifully these days asbestos-free) brake pad.

I guess, to me, it feels a little like it does to chat show host Parkinson when people ask him “where’s the Emu Parky, you miserable Yorkshire turd?”

But eventually I agreed to do the review because – frankly – they agreed to give me lots of money to buy oil (my own booze of choice). At first I didn’t really have an idea of a boozer to review – or angle to cover - until I came a cropper last Sunday while out on the bike I told you about in the opening section. I was probably around five miles from home, cycling away furiously (again – don’t think about the logistics of this too carefully; it'll spoil the review), when I got a puncture.

It’s not the first time it’s happened to me either. One of my friends unkindly suggested my 2.5 tonnes might have something to do with the propensity of my bike to shred its rubber, but I reckon it’s the council’s fault for not clearing road debris regularly enough.

The puncture was a pain, but I wasn't fazed! See, I’d been caught out like this before, wheeling the fucker home five miles in pissing rain not two weekends prior. This time though, I’d set off well prepared with cycle repair kit and tools and that! And, by luck, I found myself no more than 100 yards from the entrance of the Royal Oak when the hissing started - an inoffensive looking Fullers boozer btw by the roadside in the middle of nowhere.

So I decided to stop for a drink, a piss and a repair. Two birds with one stone – three if you count the piss. To cut a long and dull story short, within the hour, I’d wrestled off the chain (again, logistical caveat applies), removed the tube, located the tear, fixed it, finished my half of lager and replaced the wheel. All ready to go?

No way! I was a right old mess
Totally unbecoming of a Rolls-Royce. Oil all over my hands (tyres?) and the like. So I took a swerve to the pub toilets for the piss I’d been holding in and a clean-up. Now, ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you something about pub toilets that’s been well documented in other reviews on this site – as well as the brilliant musings of Falling Down the Blog.

The chances of finding a decent pub bog in the 21st century are about as remote as finding intelligent life in... ahem.....Bognor.

So when I squeezed myself through the entrance to the gents (I know, I know, I should’ve gone to the ladies surely?), I was amazed.

The most beautiful, light and airy toilet I’d ever seen. Clean? Jesus, you could eat your pork scratchings out of the urinal! A wash basin of staggering functionality and a small chair, thoughtfully positioned for the elderly and disabled, in the event they’d have to wait for a turn at the urinal. Unbelievable......there again, it is still a toilet! Perspective, my dear Royce.
And therein, I realised, I had my pub review. Here it is: The Royal Oak near Chichester. As a boozer it’s quite a nice. But I’ll tell you what; it’s got the Bentley of pub toilets.

Haha ha! See what I did there!

Royce's rating for the Royal Oak - 9 / 10

Sputnikski

• View by pub
• View by reviewer
• View by place

• The Bridge Bar and Eating House, Terminal 3, Heathrow Airport

  A dangerous port in a storm for a traveler, going somewhere he doesn’t want to go with five hours to kill. God bless the airport boozer – fuck the woeful High Grant’s philosophizing about finding the ‘essence of true love’ … Continue reading →