Yard of Ale (Birmingham)

Herbie (The Love Bug)

And just how the f**k do you expect me to get down those stairs?

God I hate basement bars; they’re so frigging elitist. If you’re not a mobile biped then forget it. Even a small car with a big personality's screwed; Just ask my mate Brum - this is his freaking town!

Talking of the town, I f**king hate the place. Britain’s second city so they say. Hmmm, maybe it could pass for third ..... third rate and third world! Ha ha ha.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Herbie, you're a car. And Birmingham's the heart of a rich automotive sector. Why diss it; surely, you must feel a tinge of affinity?

Well I don’t. Firstly I’m a kraut. See that badge on the front of the grill. It says VW which means made in the fatherland - not the absent-father land. Besides, where’s your car industry gone? All you Brits are driving Beemers * spits phlegmy screen wash onto the pavement * or Mercs * spits again, less successfully - runs down exterior door panel*

Give me London any day. Somewhere I can hoover up a tailpipe of hokey cokey on the back streets of Soho without fat Brummie 4x4s shaking their windscreen wipers in disapproval.

This bar’s typical of Birmingham. We’d all be drinking al fresco in the capital. Here, I’ve got to try to negotiate the steep staircase down into this dingy looking cellar bar.

But I’m nothing if not determined (surely you've seen the films?). Failure just isn’t in my vocabulary; to be truthful nothing’s in my vocabulary because I can’t speak; I can toot for Germany though!

No steep stair case is going to stop ol’ Herb filling a much depleted radiator with a cool pint of Carling.

So, here goes.....easy does it…….don’t want a fender bender at the bottom.

*Herbie leans foward slightly; as soon as the front wheels inch out of the top stair Herbie starts an inevitable and painful career downwards, completely out of control*

Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkkkking hell!

* lands with a smash at the bottom. Bonnet pings open automatically *

Frigging Nora. I’ve f**ked me bonnet up good and proper. Ah well, easy come easy go. I’ll get a new one tomorrow. To the bar, to the bar.

* Herbie pulls up at the bar and toots loudly. For reasons that are both too implausible and elaborate to explain in a Falling Down the Pub review, the barman immediately tips a cool pint of Carling straight into the radiator and takes just £2.35 from the nooks and crannies in which loose change always seems to find itself*

Well, how about that. A lesson in not judging a book by its cover; setting one's preconceptions aside. What brilliant service. A cheap pint and not a bad basement bar ambience. Plenty of sport on the big screens too.

Not just that; I've just spotted the most fantastic mini number in the corner with headlamps to die for. Maybe this love bug has misjudged the place after all?

* Herbie motors over *

"Hello cupcake, how d'yer fancy joining me for quick blat round the M42?"

"Nah, sorry love; I never drink and drive...."

Herbie’s rating for the Yard of Ale – 7 / 10

Sputnikski

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