Before anyone says it The Cheese at Latchford does not count. Mine was a shebeen in a terraced house in Stuttgart in the early 80's. Following the scariest journey in a VW beetle driven by a drunken German mature student my two mates, ( one of whom was a copper), and I arrived at what our new German friend had advised was "the only place in Stuttgart that served decent Guinness". There was a reason for this, it was an illegal drinking den used by Irishmen on the run from the security forces in Northern Ireland. The place went quite when we walked in, we had the fastest pint of Guinness I have ever drunk, ( which was a pity as it was a great pint and should have been savoured), said our goodbyes and left. We were in their about 20 minutes max and throughout that time the place remained silent and the 20 or so other occupants just stared at us. We left leaving our new German friend trying to start a sing song, it sounded like a German version of Knees Up Mrs Brown. Funnily enough we never saw him for the remaining week of our visit.
A place called the bullring, an ealy house all the rave e dealers would go after the clubs closed at 6am. Dodgy as **** as the name even suggests
There used to be a Stanley Racing betting shop in an old air raid shelter next door if I remember correctly. Had to go there a few times on business, never popped next door for a pint though.
BBC Wales tweeted about all the programmes about the "valleys" a couple of weeks ago.I tweeted back saying "you do realise that Wales exists beyond Cardiff & the valleys.They replied that they would shortly be doing a programme about North Wales.I knew straight away ot would be a programme about that ****ing farmer
Grier's Bar. 24 Bogbain Road, Easterhouse, Glasgow. please log in to view this image Used to help run a kids football team and after an offer of a friendly in Easterhouse we went up on a Friday afternoon, got the kids settled in the church hall and on of our mates stayed with them so the rest of us(6)could go for a pint, we were told that the above pub was only a short walk away and that because we were all catholic we'd be safer in the bar because that's the Celtic side of the pub but under no circumstances venture into the Lounge because it was Rangers territory. When we walked through the door the place was chocca but fell silent, its an old cliche but it looked like everyone had a scar and broken nose, we went to the bar and got our drinks and noticed through a doorway behind the bar that the other room was completely empty and decided against the advice wed be safer in there. So carrying our pints we walked back out into the street and into the other side(one way in, one way out), everything was sound, only us in there(not realising it had only just opened), a feller came over that we thought worked there, he had a tray with a rolling tobacco tin on it and asked what we were drinking, we said "no ta mate, we'll just keep to our own round but thanks anyway", he said in a broad Glaswegian accent " you've got me wrong, I'm not buying I'm just going to get your drinks", the mate said a barmaid just had a word and said "you'd be better letting Jimmy the razor go for your drinks, and the rollie tin is for his wages for doing it" We found out there was a Friday night disco in there and it started filling up and if looks could kill we'd be brown bread, I was on the end of the row and as a feller went outside he said he wanted a word, so I stood in the doorway with my foot in the door just in case, he said we were "a shower of fenian bastards and we better **** off back to Newcastle", I said " we ain't from Newcastle were scousers", he said " in that case your thick Irish ****s", I went back in and broke the bad news and the lads(and me)thought we were in for a good hiding, a little while later a big ****er sat down opposite us, he was wearing a T-shirt and I could see he had a Celtic tattoo, so I got talking to him and he was a sound lad, he said "don't worry about the ****s" and he shouted "if anyone does anything to these boys you had it ya bastards" he gave us an escort to the door and saw us out, we thanked him and walked with a sprint back to our digs. Don't go to Grier's Bar, its ****ing terrifyingly terrible.
Pink Punters. Fenny Stratford A Transgender bar. Jesus Christ!! Not that I have anything against trans gender people per se. But I was looking for the toilet and went down this little corridor and saw this door and opened it. Nothing in the room except a chair in the middle with a pair of handcuffs lashed to one of the seat arms. Then, I go back out to the dancefloor and they start releasing Amyl Nitrate through the air conditioning (People sometimes put it in little brown bottles and sniff it, they call it poppers. Not sure if it has a different name up north) When you get a guy with a ZZ top beard and a dress come up to you and try tell you his name is Vanessa, it throws you a little.
