Cow Shed (Ladbroke Grove)

Brian the Snail (Magic Roundabout)

This is Dougal’s idea of a joke. And a painful one at that. He probably thinks it works on several levels. But I know it only works on one – taking the p*ss out of me.

After Ermintrude the Cow rejected my advances (again), I was feeling a bit down in the dumps. I was having a chat with the dog, telling him that I hadn’t had any how’s yer father for years and that what I needed was a decent cattle market; somewhere where even a man who leaves a disgusting, sticky trail behind his ass can score with the broads.

“I know just the joint Brian,” he’d slobbered while turning in circles. “It does exactly what it says on the tin,” he added (using possibly the most irritating advertising strap-line of all time).

“The cow shed on Ladbroke Grove. It’s a real cattle market Brian. Get your self down there.”

Literal tomfoolery. Ha ha ha Dougal

It should’ve clicked that I was the (slimy) butt of the mutt’s joke. But the idea of a cattle market, that really was full of whore-ish cows was a carrot this donkey (snail) couldn’t resist.

It took me hours to get there, but as soon as I crawled up the steps and through the front door, I swore I could hear that shaggy, feather-duster laughing all the way to the dog biscuit drawer.

See, the Cow Shed isn’t a cattle market .... but it is a right dump. One of those rotten, filthy old boozers that hasn’t succumbed to the ravages of a re-fit or an over-ambitious landlady with changing rooms aspirations.

In other words, a big disappointment. Or so I thought, when I first arrived.

Then as I slithered up the bar stool, I re-appraised my surroundings. OK, I wouldn’t be getting my ‘hands’ on any udders in here, but pubs like these are one in a million. To find a sticky old boozer that sticks out like a lonesome stump atop a busy London street is something of a revelation

Remember too, I’m a snail. In a gastro-hell-hole my after-crawl would’ve gone down like semen on her majesty's bed-spread. Not so here; the ground doesn’t seem to have been cleaned in years and a bit of snail scum makes not a jot of difference to the Steptoe-esque ambiance.

The barman was prompt and polite too. And my Fosters Top cold and welcome.

( site host D-Fens Foster interjection – “See... who says this site doesn’t review pubs – prompt service .....cold Fosters - you Philistines” )

I just sat solo at the bar for a four-pinter, read my copy of Metro and enjoyed the Small Faces CD playing in the background. Not a bad session if you ask me.

The Cow Shed isn’t really a cow shed. It isn’t even a cattle market; but I tell you what; it beats the hell out of another depressing evening spliffing-up with that dope-head rabbit, then chasing pink cows.

Brian’s rating for the Cow Shed – 9 / 10

Sputnikski

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