Gunmakers (Clerkenwell)

Nick Nack (Man with the Golden Gun)

What was that comment? ……did I hear you right??.....did you just call me a mental midget?

You jerk!

How about a little compassion. And how about getting your facts straight before chucking ‘little-people insults’ my way.

True, I carry a shooter and yes, I’ve been in serious therapy, but so would you if you’d been through my horrible incarceration. Doesn’t’ make me mental.

Have you ever been entombed in a suitcase after a punch-up? Ever hung from the rigging of a boat lurching on the high seas for weeks on end listening to a wise-cracking British spy humping below deck? Ever worked for a man with three nipples? Exactly!

Maybe you would’ve needed a little psychological assistance.

Allow me to give you the real ‘low-down’ on old Nick Nack: I’m a snappy-dressing Pixie henchman, still more than a little obsessed with the golden stuff.

Nah, not the precious metal, that was Scaramanga’s angle. All that painting beautiful broads and hoarding bullion just didn’t do it for me (or was that another Bond film….ah well whatever). You see I’m a drinker and pub fan and I’ve been on a drive for a different kind of golden domination – driving real ale out of your boozers for good. Installing lager in its place.

Oooh, I love the golden stuff. Cool, fizzy lager, sparkling in two half pint glasses (my hands aren’t big enough to hold a full pint). It’s my idea of heaven.

I’d been pretty successful until my quest for domination took me to the Gunmakers. I'd got wind of a bloke that runs it who never shared my vision for the future of imbibing. Like Meeester Bond, he’d been working undercover for years, pushing real ale through propaganda on the interweb.

He’d even taking the odd swipe at old Nick Nack. The big bully.

As soon as I learned he’d broken cover, I planned to find him – and kill him with my little gun. But things didn’t go to plan.

When I arrived in the Gunmakers he wasn’t behind the bar. I stopped for a few Carlsbergs tops.

Then, as I sat on a little chair, I had something of a road to Damascus moment. You see, the Gunmakers is a real ale pub, but it’s also a quality boozer. It’s a little tucked away, yet on a proper drinkers night (Tuesday) it was wedged with people (sadly all 5ft-plus tall).

Punters stood at the bar tasting drinks before buying, braying a bit and exchanging banter with the barmaids. However, there were also plenty of slightly unhinged characters like me, filling their faces with pint after pint of cool, golden lager.

Like sitting on a policeman’s shoulders, my perspective changed instantly. Perhaps gold and brown can live together like ebony and ivory in quality pubs, I reasoned. Maybe it is OK to run a real ale boozer, as long as your one lager tap isn’t Fosters, or puke like Alpine.

Maybe pub fans are pub fans whether they’re CAMRA members or middle-age lager louts.

Kill my nemesis? No way. I’m going to buy the bloke a pint and hang my gun on the wall with the other shooters ..…..gnnnnerrr…..if I can just haul my arse up on one of these bar stools. They’re very high…

Nick Nack (to punter): “bung that on the wall with the others mate!”

I think that’s him arriving now……...

Nick Nack: “Meeester Stonch, Meeester Stonch, excuse me Meester Stonch, it is I Nick Nack, your lager drinking nemesis. I have come here to make peace. I think we should booze in harmony, respect each other’s views on pubs and pub culture. Won’t you join me in a half of golden Carlsberg?”

Stonch: “Drink that filth? Where are you from sunshine - Fantasy Island?”

Nick Nack’s rating for the Gunmakers – 9 / 10

Sputnikski

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