Old Gaolhouse (Winchester)

The Stig of the Dump

Dumps! Phew-eee!

I could've written a book on the places, I tell ya!

Oh I know you probably recognise me from my big break, tear-assing round a track for the “Top Gear” boys. But like all lottery winners who swear a big prize will never change them (liars), this 'helmet-of-mystery' is staying true to his tatty roots.

Straight after filming, I take a leisurely drive down the A34 in the (sensible) Picanto. Back to my beloved sofa at Winchester 'Household Waste Recycling Centre'. (I dunno - I can't be doing with this corporate re-branding; it'll always be the dump to me).

Now, before I arrive chez moi, I like to stop off to unwind with a pint. And I've just got to tell you about this place I ended up in last week, just off Winchester High Street.......so you lot can avoid it!

You'd probably assume that a man who lives in a rubbish tip would be immune to filth and squalor, maybe even wallow in it down the boozer. Couldn’t be more wrong! When I’m drinking, I'm a hygiene fascist. Even a trace of lipstick on a pint glass and I hit the reverse gear straight out the door.

So I suppose I should've made like an Italian tank before I'd taken more than one step towards the ridiculously-crowded bar! Except that I was desperate and there were queues everywhere else.

Let me tell you something about Winchester’s Old Gaolhouse. In the dirty little world of the Wetherspoons’ pub, it has to be the dirtiest.

For starters, it’s got a filthier entrance than Roy Chubby Brown. The pavement is a masterpiece of revulsion, an ever-changing canvass of puke, fag butts, breakfast and spilt alcohol. Imagine a Jackson Pollock in vomit and you’ll get the picture.

As for chewing gum, if there's more trodden into the tarmac on Oxford Street I'd be staggered.

Step inside and you’re on Kim and Aggie’s telly show – before they get to work with the bleach. Dirty tables, hepatitis-friendly glasses and a real special treat when I was there - bog paper strewn throughout the floor by the bar.

Being fair, I suppose it is difficult not to get the stuff on your feet when it's been left to morph into super-sticky fly paper on the sopping-wet gents floor. I won't go into any more detail, other than to suggest you take the number of an environmental health officer if you still choose to venture inside.

I suppose some of its customers might argue that poor hygiene is central to the ambiance of a pretend medieval pub. Just spend five minutes in the company of the quality al fresco breakfasters at opening time and you might start to agree.

But I ain’t buying into that.

Far as I’m concerned, this isn’t a dump. It’s an open sewer. And since my name is the Stig of the Dump - not Stig of the Filthy Cesspit - I won’t be coming back.

Neither should you – unless you want to catch the plague.

The Stig of the Dump's rating for The Old Gaolhouse - 0 / 10

Sputnikski

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