El gato sigue aún destripando en secreto al perro ocasional, arrancando cabezas de pollo de un mordisco

Osmundo B., autor pontevedrés, cosecha del 67, que cuenta sus lectores por cientos de miles, entrevista a Sergio Vidal (Pontevedra, 1982), el landlord-frontman del porcobravismo rampante.

Me reúno con Sergio un sábado a mediodía en el Bagos, un pequeño bistró del casco antiguo pontevedrés ideal para mantener una conversación tranquila con buen vino y viandas de calidad. Una ligera resaca de la noche anterior es el único pero, y mis facultades mentales no están en su momento de mayor plenitud, pero si el mundo fuera perfecto ya habría dejado de existir hace tiempo.

Sin más preámbulos, pedimos el vino (aquí no sirven cerveza) y el elegido es Gabacho, un tinto de la Rioja alavesa cuyo responsable, el francés Olivier Rivière, cruzó los Pirineos hace unos años para elaborar sus caldos con una buena dosis de ironía, como pone de manifiesto el nombre del producto. Buen comienzo.

Reconfortado el ánimo, entramos en materia. Para preparar nuestra charla me he leído varias entradas del blog y confieso que no he entendido ni la mitad, así que espero que Sergio me aclare algunas cosas.

¿Esto de la Anglogalician Cup va en serio o es una pachanga regada con grandes dosis de alcohol?
Va muy en serio, algunos duermen en camas hiperbáricas, otros se machacan en el gimnasio, otros intentamos, mediante una dieta equilibrada, preparar nuestros estómagos para la cantidad de alcohol con la que intentarán ahogarnos. Yo diría más, son los partidos mas importantes del año, todo lo que conlleva viajes, pubs, huérfanas y conciertos, son pequeños males necesarios.

Como ya hemos empezado en el lado equivocado de la Manche, seguimos ahondando en la herida. Llega nuestra terrine de foie. Sin palabras.

He visto algunas imágenes subidas de tono en el blog. ¿Hay algún componente carnal? (Es decir, ¿se folla?) Sé de más de uno que reactivaría sus maltrechas carnes para vivir unos últimos momentos de gloria.

Hay cuestiones de las que por contrato tenemos prohibido hablar. Hay que ser Porco en el campo y en la vida, después de todo nunca es bueno desvelar todas nuestras andanzas.
No obstante diré que seguramente alguno soñaría con dar su ultimo estertor con alguna huérfana... perdón quería decir en el partido .

Continuamos con una concesión a los ancestros, pulpo a la gallega, pero deconstruido según los principios de la nouvelle couisine. Espectacular.

Después de unas cuantas ediciones, la Anglogalician Cup parece consolidada. ¿Hay algún proyecto de ampliar la competición? ¿No estaría bien celebrar una especie de torneo cinco naciones con los adler germanos, los lupi transalpinos o los coqs galos, por ejemplo? Sería una especie de apocalipsis futbolístico-cervecero.

Bah, eso nunca podría ser, habría que mantener demasiado la compostura para que nadie resultase herido. Tú imagínate, gabachos!!! e italianos !!! Con los primeros habría que tener cuidado para no romperlos y total se acabarían rindiendo, y con los segundos sería jugar contra 7 como Lutzky, ajjaajaj. A mí personalmente contra los alemanes no tendría problema, gente seria joder, bebedores de cerveza.

Tempura de crevettes avec moutarde, un toque nipón para llegar al cielo.

Dejando a un lado las pasiones balompédicas, la única actividad de la Cup en la que he participado es el mítico concierto de la sala Karma el año pasado, donde pudimos asistir a la presentación de Castlevania, actualmente Tora! Tora! Tora! ¿Se va a repetir algo así en próximas ediciones? ¿Vais a componer un himno? No estaría mal para animar a la tropa.

Se repetirá eso seguro. De hecho ya se ha repetido en Sheffield y si todo avanza como hasta ahora, en octubre tendremos concierto. Lo del Himno yo casi pasaría más que nada por no ver como unos se ponen la mano en el pecho otros miran al cielo como Raúl y alguno que otro fijo que silba. Nuestro único himno es el "Anglogalician Cup nananana Anglogalician Cup nanana nanana", que es como el de la Champions, neutral y utilizado por los dos bandos.

Como traca final,  faux brouillé de morue, contundencia y delicadeza. Inapelable.

Por último, en una entrada del blog aparecen referencias a Beckett y Joyce, y ahí sí que me he perdido. ¿Me lo explicas?

Es un metacuento. Ahora, ahí que cada uno le dé la interpretación que quiera a la cuestión, lo que el Rodillarato oculta es la verdadera intención, la polémica por la polémica, a lo Salvame Deluxe, ataviados, eso sí, con un halo de misticismo y cultura. Bueno, más o menos un reflejo de lo que es la Cup.

Casi al límite, no podía faltar le fromage, aunque a Sergio le está vedado este placer.

Para rematar la faena nos faltaría la copa de cognac de rigor, pero un inoportuno ensayo de su grupo obliga a Sergio a salir corriendo. Tal vez sea mejor así, porque ya empezábamos a ponernos tiernos. Otra vez será...

Also sprach Boroman

The Tills Are Alive With The Sound of Music... Boroman’s Top 20 Sheffield Music Pubs

Let’s face it Sheffield is a musical City and this is reflected in the number of pubs and bars hosting live music. From City Wine Bars with all the ambience of an Airport Lounge to Local Pubs as welcoming as a fart in a spacesuit we’ve got the lot. In fact most of the pubs in the City Centre have music of some sort, apart from drunken locals auditioning for the X-Factor. Even the tattoo parlours have music rehearsal rooms to hire – see pic below. Those below are distinct in that they are primarily drinking dens that host music rather than dedicated music venues like the City Hall, Memorial Hall, O2 Academy, Leadmill and the Plug. My mate Colin goes to every gig in Sheffield so we don’t have to go to these places to get the low down. Many of those mentioned also boast a fine selection of beers, lagers, alchopops, and spirits, unlike the aforementioned music “venues” who usually charge a Kings ransom for flat tasteless “cooking” lager you can get at the local supermarket for a 5th of the price. This also isn’t an exhaustive list by any means as there are new ones opening up I haven’t visited yet such as Maggie Mays but these are some of my favourites, in no particular order.

The Dove and Rainbow – Arguably Sheffield’s sleaziest rock bar, some would call it “atmospheric” some would call it a shit hole. Even the arms of the chairs have got tattoo’s on them etc etc. It’s a one room bar with pool table at one end and a stage at the other, with pinball tables and a fag machine. Has a small selection of Real Ales, along with generic lagers and alchopops. Good range of live music though obviously leaning towards the heavier end of the rock spectrum. There is nowt like a bit of Death Metal with your “Devil’s Butthole” (5% ABV) and pork scratchings. Also has an excellent juke box. Was in there one lunchtime and a couple of ladies well into their seventies were grooving to Led Zeppelin. “Stairway to Heaven” suddenly had much more resonance. Avoid the toilets if at all possible though as they are what you would expect to see on a French Farm.

The Greystones – This has taken up the mantle of the much missed “Boardwalk” as one of Sheffield’s premier music venues but it’s out of town location and relatively small stage/music room is a slight drawback. There is live entertainment every night, covering every type of music, including regular visits from the best of British and internationally established “turns”. They also have stand-up comedy and poetry recitals too. I believe Shabba & Thomo are carrying on their double act there next week. In the car park. It’s a Thornbridge pub, so has an excellent selection of real ales. A quality venue, Flip Chorale & Los Macabros and Tora,Tora,Tora, would be at home here. Chuck Prophet is playing here in April. Get in there.

Bath Hotel - Small but perfectly formed, two-room corner pub in the City Centre. The black & white tiled floor is reminiscent of a Victorian parlour and the place may still be frequented by the odd chimney sweep, cut-purse & bootblack. Time moves slowly in Yorkshire. The back room is often home to literary and poetry groups discussing the latest cultural and philosophical events so none of the Stags have actually been in there. The equally small “main” room has a dart board resulting in many a patron sporting an arrow through the noggin’ before closing time. They do occasional gigs, mainly Jazz, Blues and Folk. Not much room for anything more than a duo so be prepared for the odd violin bow in the kisser. Has an excellent range of real ales with an ever changing menu for the connoisseur or visiting piss artist. I can just see Martin “The Goal Machine” smoking one of his trademark Fidel’s whilst quaffing a pint of “Goal Hanger” (3% ABV.)

University Arms -. Upper class establishment as the name suggests. You have to wear a tuxedo to get in the lounge. Usually full, that is full of student types paying for a bag of crisps at the bar with a credit card. Don’t attempt the pub quiz, it’s harder than Mastermind I can tell you. It boasts a fine selection of Acorn Brewery and guest ales. They do occasionally have live music of an eclectic variety, jazz, folk, world music as you would expect. All rather sedate mind you, nothing too loud and snotty. Don’t expect to see The Bollock Brothers there anytime soon.

Frog and Parrot - A famous City Centre pub, one of the earliest real ale haunts and home to the legendary “Roger and Out” a beer so strong they only serve it in halves and Thomo gets squiffy after five pints. Was in here one night in the early nineties with some mates from Boro, and during some sort of confrontation about “protection” some local toughs smashed all the bottles and optics behind the bar, then nonchalantly walked out. Bit of a fuss to make about the condom machines I thought. Canny boozer me mates said without a hint of irony. This is a well-established music venue with regular live bands and solo performances. Ten Beers After’ Bass Ace, Funky Paul is a regular performer here. Also hosts an annual Frogstock Festival with performers on all day over a weekend. Bring a guitar and you can serenade the attendant throng with your reggae version of “If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body Would You Hold It Against Me” whilst supping a pint of “British Bulldogs Bollocks” (5% ABV).

Fagin’s - A small local just down from West Street. Like a typical Dublin Bar (without the fighting) with live “sessions” most nights apart from Thursday when they have a quiz. (Don’t attempt this. It makes the University Arms Quiz look like a shopping list. One of the questions went “Here’s an atom, now split it”) Musicianship is of the highest standard but it’s very welcoming for the beginner too. As befits a proper pub session, there are lots of fiddles, acoustic guitars, accordions and mandolin (thanks Trev). “Dead Flowers” very own Duncan also hosts sessions on a Saturday so you are guaranteed superb Tom Petty covers amongst the musical excellence. One night after a few Guinness’ I actually had the bottle to get up and sing “Long Black Veil” by Johnny Cash. The subsequent restraining order means I can’t go back in there until 2015. Choice of ales is limited but excellently kept and the home-made food is second to none. It’s a regular haunt of genuine music legend and gentleman Richard Hawley, who often holds court in the tiny “snug” next to the bar.

The Forum – Trendy bar and eatery. The décor outside hints at Antonio Gaudi but this isn’t the Ramblas, unless the Ramblas is an open piece of waste ground full of skateboarders and winos. Food is excellent though service can be slow as the staff enjoy posing, seeming to think they are working in Hollywood and will be picked up anytime soon. “Come on love, where’s me chips???” To cement its reputation as a trendy bar sometimes shows movies, mainly obscure World Cinema, usually in black and white with subtitles. You won’t see “Legally Blonde” here I’m afraid. They also host the occasional gig. Colin saw Vintage Trouble there recently and said they were awesome with their lead singer blasting it out whilst standing on the bar. Mind you if he’d have spilt Col’s pint he would have chinned him. Patrons are the trend setters of Sheffield so expect to see plenty of “Man Bags” and I don’t mean those you hold whilst taking a piss. Small selection of on tap real ales but mainly bottles. You can strike a shape clutching a bottle of “Laslo Piss” Polish Lager (20% ABV).

Walkabout Bar – Much like its slightly skuzzier chain “cousin” Weatherspoons, you know what you are getting in a Walkabout and this one is no exception. Converted from an old Church the building itself is impressive and very spacious it is too with an upper level containing church pews for seats and a massive organ (oooh eeer missus) overlooking the bar area. The whole thing is uncannily like the “House of Blues” in New Orleans but that’s another story. It has massive screens for sporting events and the usual range of beers, mainly of the generic lager variety. You know the “F” word, Bud and Red Stripe, all brewed in the same bucket methinks. Decent and cheap food to act as belly ballast whilst you spend a day watching the English crush the Aussies at cricket, whilst ribbing the Aussie bar staff. Don’t like it when we are on top do you “cobber”? Occasional “Battle of the Bands” events when,even if you are shit, if you have the most mates in the crowd, you win.

Sportsman – A spit and sawdust throwback of real character. It doesn’t have live music as such, but worth a mention as the owners of one of the best juke boxes in the Northern Hemisphere. They even have a “Rock DJ” on a Thursday. Yes he’s got a blonde mullet and yes he’s stuck in a 1970’s time loop but where else could you hear Atomic Rooster at bone crushing volume whilst supping a pint of “Cobblers Nuts” (8% ABV)? I was there last week with Funky Paul listening to a bit of Robin Trower and got so pissed I left my house keys in there. Cath said I was more concerned about the key ring they were on, a guitar pick holder I got from Manny’s Music Shop in New York, than the keys themselves. I’d rather be burgled than lose that pick holder to be honest. Anyway the bar staff found them under a chair (funny I didn’t notice them when I collapsed on the floor) and gave them back to me a couple of days later. Result.

Delaney’s - There have been many pubs on this site. Most recently the Dulo Bar, a monstrosity kitted out like a “club” complete with DJ Decks and mood lighting. Thankfully restored to a proper music bar owned by well known Sheffield Musician and mover and shaker Steve Delaney. As you would expect has quality bands on weekends with an open mike night on a Thursday – Viktor where are you?? We are hoping to get “Slow Moves” and “Forty Four Joules” to play there sometime soon once they have dried the beer out of their amps from the Yellow Arch gig. Recommended.

The Harley - Loud, disheveled “claggy mat” of a music bar with the atmosphere of a Roadhouse, though probably too rough for Patrick Swayze. I believe this is a Hotel too but who the hell would want to stay there I haven’t a clue. It has regular live music, usually from singer-song writing types or Arctic Monkey’s wannabes. Recent acts include Willy Mason and the mighty Josh T Pearson.

West Street Live - When it first opened it seemed a laudable attempt at an American Bar in Sheffield. Looking a bit road worn now but still worth a visit. Has Live bands most nights, mostly “tribute” acts but a good range of stuff on show. Busy on weekends but tends to be empty on a weekday. My mate Dave’s band played here and me and my pal Bry were the only one’s in the crowd. Dave said it’s not often you play and know the entire crowd personally. He even waited to start a number until I’d gone to the toilet. They then blasted out an accomplished and passionate set like they were playing the Royal Albert Hall. Now that’s Rock’n’Roll.

The Harlequin – Stags resident raconteur Ron Clayton’s old “office”. This is a traditional boozer, with regular live bands, covering a range of musical bases, though rock covers are predominant. Last time I was in, a band were playing 40’s swing stuff so convincingly I thought I’d get powdered egg in me sarnie. The blackout curtains were a bit over the top though. This is also a very highly regarded real ale pub with a liver busting selection. They host regular beer festivals too. I remember the Porcos lads in there when there was a quiz on. Me and the Stags were a little worse for wear having been on the “Old Scrotum” (5% ABV) so it was with no surprise, though a little embarrassment, that the Porcos got more questions right than we did. Still, we beat ‘em at darts.

The HOP – A new venue in the “Devonshire Quarter” of the City Centre. (Why they call it that I can’t fathom, this isn’t New Orleans and the “area” in question is about the size of a 5-a side pitch. A question of planners getting up their own arses methinks to ratchet up the prices of the flats round there. They must have been from Lancashire.) Anyway this is a big pub with an excellent and large selection of real ales looking to establish itself with a range of mainly Rock and Blues Tribute Bands. Early reports are promising. Will be checking out a Bruce Springsteen tribute band there soon. They also specialize in quality pies! Break out the Henderson’s and let’s boogie.

The Pheasant – Although situated on the outskirts of town this is still a legendary Sheffield Music pub. There can’t be many music fans who haven’t sat in the back room of the “Phez” on a Friday night listening to the Frank White Band. A large roadhouse style pub, it used to attract international acts in it’s heyday but seems to have gone into a decline much like the local football teams (sorry lads couldn’t resist). I remember seeing now sadly passed Blues Legend Luther Allison in there with his full band, horn section and everything. Still one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to. Some would say it’s a bit rough but aren’t all the best pubs?? I remember the Bier Keller in Middlesbrough in the seventies, when punk started. Gangs of bikers/rockers used to wait outside for the punks and if you couldn’t recite the Rolling Stones entire back catalogue, including single releases, you got your head kicked in. It was like bloody Altamont I can tell you. Keef would have approved though.

Hillsborough Barracks Tavern - A real traditional pub with a trouser soiling selection of real ales, international lagers and soft drinks for the ladies (and Mackems). They have regular live music, with top class local performers to the fore. They also have a couple of smaller offshoot rooms including a dart board in the front side bar and a rather pleasant seated backyard area. The food is homemade and excellent so this one’s pretty much got the lot and is highly recommended. Many’s the evening I’ve been regaled by the most excellent “Johnny and the Prison Didn’t Help Boys” (possibly the only folk/rock/country/blues band to feature the erhu) over a pint of “Tinker’s Jockstrap” (12% ABV). It’s also where the Owls fans congregate before and after the match. It’s usually recommended to go for the gallon before the match then fill up after with another few more. That helps to scrub from the memory banks the 90 minutes of “action” you have witnessed. I remember Boro getting hammered there one time (thank you Benni Carboni) but by the time I left the pub I thought we’d won. Result.

The Washington – Apparently the “Wash” is owned by one of the blokes out of Pulp. Despite that it’s an excellent mix of real local and select music venue, albeit a very small one, punching well above its weight. On a weekend the walled back garden area is very popular, as is the nearby Devonshire Green. That is, a popular place to divest yourself of the 12 pints of “5 Knuckle Shuffle” (10% ABV) and hot chili kebab you’ve taken on board during the evening, before staggering into the darkness, desperately trying to hail a taxi home.

The Cremorne – One from the other (red and white) side of town. Though a small bar, they do host regular live music having opened a small performance room across the backyard. Excellent position on London Road to sample International cuisine to go with the 10 pints of “Shepherd’s Rectum” (10% ABV) you’ve just supped. If you are around there on a Saturday watch out for the occasional clearance from the Lane landing on your head. Total Football my arse. They still carry the ball off on a stretcher at half time.

The Shakespeare – A long established Sheffield pub which has risen, Phoenix like, from closure to become a real ale hot spot. They are also committed to live music, carrying on the tradition of it’s previous incarnation. Has already boasted some classic gigs inc Justin Townes Earle, Steve’s son, who amongst the doobie smoke (man it was just like Woodstock) produced a memorable set shot through with Hank Williams inspired country heartache. Yea, and indeed, Haw.

Fat Cat - Spiritual Home of the Anglo Galician Cup and Real Ale Mecca, though it doesn’t do bingo. Not really a music pub (although who can forget Alfredo’s rousing rendition of that old favourite “Anglo Galician Cup nah nah nah nah nah, Anglo Galician cup nah nah nah nah nah nah”– classic) but they do occasionally have bands in the back yard so any excuse to give them a mention. There is a plaque on the wall to commemorate the AG Cup next to the one marking where Argie got his first round in. It saw the introduction of our very own “Anglo Galician Ale” (5% ABV) though the barrel didn’t last long once the beer monsters of the Porcos Bravos got going. Legend has it that some of its patrons were witness to a particularly gruesome robbery and on a dark winters night if you listen closely on the breath of wind you can hear soft voices whispering “4-2 to the Stags – we was robbed”. Not to be confused with the Gato Gordo, Pontevedra, owned by AG Cup legend and Tora,Tora,Tora frontman Sergio. I knew he liked a drink but buying a whole pub was a bit extreme. Can you get barred from your own boozer???

Those we have lost
The current economic climate (cold, with a definite chance of heavy rain (or Cleggy as we say in Sheffield)) has seen the closure of a number of pubs in the city including some excellent music venues. Just about everyone who has ever played music cut their teeth in the upstairs room at the Grapes. The music room was closed down when the owner of the nearby Dog & Partridge moved across and took the entire contents of that particular Irish Bar with them. It’s now shows Horse Racing from the Curragh and the walls are covered with pictures of the Kennedys, in my opinion the biggest bunch of crooks and liars since the Borgia’s. Still they were “Oirish” I suppose. Most serious was the closing of the Boardwalk (previously known as the Black Swan or Mucky Duck) in mysterious circumstances which to this day have still not been fully explained.

Everyone from the Clash to Ryan Adams to Robert Plant played there at one time or another and it’s passing leaves a massive hole in Sheffield’s music scene. Honorable mention to The Halcyon Bar who, after a gig by The Tipsy Kings on Colin’s 50th birthday, closed the following day, got a total re-fit, changed its name and re-opened as a restaurant with no live music. For Those About To Rock, We Salute You.

Boroman aka Neil Old

La Guerra de las Sedes

“(…) que el origen de la disputa se encontraba en un retruécano verbal que Beckett había lanzado a Joyce. La anécdota se refiere todavía en las tabernas de Tractorville como cosa cierta, y dice que Joyce se negó a servir a un cliente con un abrupto “yo no tengo sed, ¿por qué habría de tenerla usted?”, a lo que Beckett, que secaba vasos a su lado, añadió el famoso “yo también” que provocaría la ruptura definitiva de su relación profesional. Unos meses después, Samuel Beckett abría su propio negocio a escasos metros del de Joyce, en el número 17 del Pasaje Orange Plank, a la sombra de un viejo ciprés que señalaba la frontera con el territorio stag(…)”.

Eugene Philip Coetzee, Crónica de la violación de una mañana de otoño entre las siete colinas de Tractorville.

El sol languidece detrás de las nubes sobre los muelles de Tractorville. James Joyce pasea taciturno, demorando un poco la hora de apertura. El día ha sido muy fatigoso para los porcos, querrán beber sin descanso hasta bien entrada la noche. Cerdos sedientos, más frustrados todavía, apagados sus espíritus por culpa de una nueva derrota en las calles frente a los stags. Sobre el adoquinado en torno al ciprés que divide en dos Tractorville, la sangre de porcos bravos, única huella visible de la penúltima batalla. Joyce se agacha para mojar las yemas de sus dedos en uno de los charcos. Un escalofrío le recorre la espalda. “¿Cuándo volveremos a ganar?”.

"¡Devolvednos lo que es nuestro!"

Desde el interior del local de Beckett, Don Ramón del Valle-Inclán observa con atención a Joyce a través de la ventana. Le pega un trago interminable a su pinta y consulta su reloj de bolsillo. “Hoy hace dieciséis años que ganamos por última vez”. Beckett emerge de detrás de la barra y ve a Joyce en el exterior lamiéndose las manos. Don Ramón continua: “Esta mañana vinieron los más jóvenes; sanos, fuertes. Antes de entablar combate pararon en la Sede a depositar sus esperanzas en el hueco reservado para la Cup. Notitas con preces y cosas de esas. La mayoría de ellos ni siquiera ha visto nunca el trofeo, por todos los santos. Uno se echó a llorar cuando el capitán tuvo que retirar, avergonzado, una telaraña que recorría el estante de lado a lado. Ya ni saben por qué luchan”. Beckett se encoge de hombros y pincha un tema de Cabaret Voltaire. Don Ramón se revuelve en su banqueta con gesto airado y pide otra pinta.

Álvaro Cunqueiro y Julián Ríos trotan calle abajo cogidos de la mano. Se detienen al llegar a la altura de Joyce. Cunqueiro: “No has abierto todavía”. Joyce: “Hemos perdido el Morrazo. Solo sirvo cerveza de importación”. Ríos: “Miente, Don Álvaro, solo quiere confundirnos”. Cunqueiro: “A mí me gustan grandes”. Valle-Inclán, uniéndose al grupo desde el interior del local: “Tenemos una derrota que celebrar. Entren o váyanse al infierno”. Ríos: “Con usted quería yo hablar. Explíqueme qué hago aquí”, y entra. Cunqueiro: “¿Non ten sede, James?”.  Joyce: “Teño, mais vacía”. Cunqueiro: “Haberá que enchela, logo”.

La puerta se cierra tras ellos justo cuando desde el lado stag de Tractorville empiezan a llegar los ecos de los tambores de guerra, otra vez, un desafío que reverbera en el fondo de los carolinos y aviva las pasiones de un puñado de locos. 

It´s the end of the world as we know it

Na 49 con Broadway está un dos Pizzbur de NYC, Sbarro. Non ten a caña fresca dos mariñaos, mais vale ben para o acougo do remate da mañá. Na miña vila e nesta, os camareiros son latinos e teñen os ollos cansos. A guía colombiana dos contrastes de Nova Iorque explícao con retranca galega: “ es el sueño americano”. O sotaque morre na ferida do riso conxelado, e as chonis madrileñas e os seus mozos camisola CR7 continúan a tirar fotos desde o autobus. NYC non pasará por eles. Noto que un leve calor me medra desde o lado dereito do cerebro, transmuta en Vicente Risco e me convida a pasar á navalla ao grupito de ejqueyasabestía que nos tocou en malahora de acompañantes. No envés do turismo, a mirada cansa dos hispanos e o esforzado suor dos galegos de aquén, hai cen anos. As parroquias de aquí e de acolá. A Internacional Emigrante e Pete Seeger e o ice cream de Castelao sobre a Miss Liberty franchute. Non hai guerra de culturas, senón de clases, insistes. Miro o céu agochado entre edificios. Desde aquí onde queda Castropol? Respiro o vento de Cavanardá, mar por medio, e volvo a min.

Os pementos asados e a pasta fresca. Pagará a pena ir tomar o caldo até Hoboken? Alí o berce de Francis Albert, e o cubano que me indica o Craig Patterson desde Inglaterra. Fálame tamén de Newark -Nuarca para os da tribo de nós que aló chegaron, estudados pola amiga Nancy Pérez Rei- onde no bar Galicia Spain (sic) é posíbel falar cos parroquianos do Celta – Valladolid desta semana. Quedará para a próxima, acordamos, e decidimos mollar os ollos nas augas de Brooklyn, no peirao debaixo da ponte. Gústame esta cidade, mais gosto máis de Londres, Pontevedra ou Ribadeo. Aínda que sexa absurdo e estúpido escoller, como explica o Enric González nos seus libros de memoria persoal sobre as cidades habitadas. Decídome polo Radical walking tours of New York City e polo bate dos Mets, que vén sendo o Atlético de Madrid. Eu, en calquer caso, sería de Boston.

A Anglogalician Cup da banda americana podería xogarse nas dúas ribeiras do Hudson, entre galegos e ingleses de descendencia. Escribo isto e penso no main porco e en como perceberá desta volta o convite. Os ingleses, primeiro, terán que vir aquí: costa dos albiois, porto das barbas do Altruán, Rinle das baleas. Nós seguimos na Atalaia, desde o olor de séculos dos Old Customs, na primeiro riff de guitarra do primeiro concerto dos Clash, no tupé incontestable de Richard Hawley, na cervexa negra do Kursal, nas bandeiras célticas do Recuncho, na segunda edición do Merlín e familia, no 11S de Allende bombardeado polos gringos, na Palestina negada por Obama, na voz de Sinatra e na Habaneira de Ribadeo, na herba recén segada e no campo cheirando a regates e centros desde a banda, agardando, agardando, agardando.

Nota: a fotografía é do Altruán, vello e coñecido mariñeiro ribadense, na primeira década do pasado século XX.

When Thomo Met Shabba - A View From Sheffield

Thomo asks Shabba for his views on the Anglo-Galician Cup...

What were your first impressions of Pontevedra/Galicia? It smells of dead fish, and there are no black people. I always thought it had a distinct aroma of cabbage. It does but I thought I’d say dead fish as that’s more disgusting.

Right, you want to start by trying to upset our counterparts. Nice one. Staying on a “food” theme what has been your favourite culinary experience in Galicia? It wouldn’t be the dead half boiled fooking pig I was made to eat on Gallo’s 40th. I think I ate its cock at one point. Now I know the Spanish boys are used to eating cock but us English lads aren’t European enough to change our ways. To be honest I enjoy all the food we have when we are over there, the boys treat us like kings – Burger Kings!

Staying on the subject, can you remember the pre-match meal in O Piňo that they served to us before the first ever game? I do yeah I hate a whole pulpo and a tonne weight of chorizo before the game not to mention the gallon of Albarino to wash it down with. I lasted 5 minutes on the field and spent the next 20 throwing up in a ditch. I think I came on in the 2nd half and had a chance but I didn’t feature much that day, luckily we had enough players out there that year to win it.

(Cheekily) How does chorizo affect you by the way? Makes me shit through the eye of a needle, I love it though.

How we managed to win that game half-cut through drink and more than full on food I’ll never know. Drink…right then, what is your favourite bar in Pontevedra? It was Blow Jobs, any bar where you can pour your own beer is my kind of place. Plus, nowhere else have I been able to watch hardcore pornography at half-time of a televised football match. It’s a pity they had to close it down for having an illegal immigrant running it.

That’s obviously a dig at the Argie, however would he be your favourite Porcos barman? That’s a tough one. Argie’s a top guy all round and looks after us very well; Serge has the looks; Victor, for me sometimes it’s like looking in a mirror when he serves me; Arturo’s a top fella and has some nice groupies. I don’t think I can say who is my favourite.

Gay boy. I’d always say Victor because he plays rugby and is therefore more useful to me if I get into any trouble in Pontevedra. Talking about being in Pontevedra, have you ever met Maria Vasco de Gama whilst you’ve been over there? Not that I know of but aguardiente is powerful stuff. If you did meet her in a bar in Pontevedra what would your first words be to her? I’d ask her if she was Serge in drag. Seriously though if I met her, I think it would be a wonderful experience. She’s a national treasure just like Palma Cathedral or the Dunes of Maspalomas and I would hold her in the same esteem as I do the two Fernandos, Torres and Alonso.

You also appear to be following in her musical footsteps. I understand you are to be involved in the recording of Galicia is Green, why did that come about? Boroman does a lot for the whole Anglo-Galician experience so I thought it would be good to support him. I think though that he will regret asking me as I will perforate his eardrums with my dulcet tones.

So do you like the idea of singing or just being in the same room as other men? Fuck off.

Come on be truthful you love a man’s company, who is your usual room-mate whenyou travel to Galicia and do they allow you to get much sleep? I’ve been unlucky enough to share with Gallo, Gangsta and the last three occasions Thomo, and no, the bastardos keep me awake every time. Even had Batty sharing one night with us the last time we were in Pontevedra and he snores like a frigging hippo!

Talking about hippos, you’ve been to see Celta Vigo on two occasions and on both occasions Vigo have been awful, losing 0-3 each time. Do you think it’s time to go to watch another team? Or as a Blade does it make you feel happy seeing another team being hammered? Fuck off you blue and white scum. Actually I would like to Pontevedra one time we’re over there and naturally I would love to see Barça play.

OK you red and white pig, when we go over to Pontevedra the weather in Galicia has often been very similar to that of England – wet. Do you think the Stags should make acquaintances in a different part of Spain, say Benidorm or Torremolinos, where the sun shines, the beer is cheap, the ladies are dirty, the language is English and a full English breakfast with a cup of tea costs €2.50? Yeah I think Magaluf. They show Only Fools and Horses and have John Smiths on tap, and it’s all Spain at the end of the day.

Yeah, you have been known, along with my good self, to use the Spain-Galicia weapon to wind up the Porcos. Famously flying the Spanish flag, complete with torro, before the VI. However I see that you sometimes post on the Blog in Galician, why and do you speak Galician or Spanish when the Stags and Porcos collide? I’m fluent in Galician especially when I have Google Translate handy. I’m also fluent in mierda de torro (bullshit). I do try and speak a little Spanish when we go over but I seem to be forgetting more and more, especially as I drink more and more aguadiente. What were we talking about again?

I can’t remember. Anyway I reckon we should now get onto the Anglo-Galician Cup. Have you played in all of the AG-Cup matches? I’ve turned up to every one so far.

Yeah until the VIII you hadn’t really contributed to any of the games apart from the occasional knee high challenge. However in the VIII you did the unthinkable and got your name on the score sheet. How did you feel when I (Thomo) sent you clean through on goal and then when the ball flew passed Santi into the back of the net? One word - “Erect”. No really it was great to score. I don’t get up there being a topnotch centre half as I prefer staying at the back and kicking Martin. And you’re also a cheeky b**tard. Not contributed? I had a right game in the VI and in the VII, apart from the handball, I was great. At least I lasted more than 3 seconds and didn’t go off because I was on my period.

Obviously that’s a dig at my unfortunate injury in the VII but I’m a better man than to raise to that comment. Instead let us reflect on your goal celebration; taking your red shirt off for me (Thomo) to charge at – like a matador and torro - was a (dis)honourable gesture towards our Galician adversaries. How did the idea of such a celebration enter your head and how funny do you think it looked? Well I thought I would do it in their honour of being them Spanish. It wasn’t until after the game I was told that they are Galician (said whilst smirking to himself). How funny was it? Hilarious, but I wonder what we are going to do next time. I think the goal celebration annoyed them more than the flag in the VI and the Spanish shirts in the VII. I can just see them saying English b**tards (Shabba is properly laughing now).

I fear for what your celebration would be should you score in Pontevedra. Dare Iask…? If I ever score in Ponte then I’ll run around the Praza de Leña wearing just my pants. Delightful.

Other than breaking your goal-scoring duck what has been your most memorable, amusing and disappointing moment of playing in the AG-Cup? The most memorable moment, despite you sitting across from me would have to be Thomo’s free-kick in the VI and the team spirit on that occasion to come from behind was amazing. The most amusing, I have two; the penalty decision in the VII and seeing Martin’s face when I said that I was over the line when I punched the ball; and the other wasFran playing in his black and red Dennis the Menace baseball boots the first time we played in Sheffield. The most disappointing was Thomo’s shin splints flaring up in the VII. Ha fucking ha.

Something that you have just alluded to is that in the VII you caused some controversy by saving a shot that was flying into the top corner and then by disputing the award of the penalty. From a spectators point of view you should have been proud of such a great save but you seemed adamant not to take the “glory” and insisted the shot was going wide. Looking back do you still believe it was going wide or do you snigger to yourself that you got away with one? It was never going in, my foot was over the by line when I punched the ball. The talk of it being a penalty was just another propaganda stunt by the porcos to make me look bad and to slur the stags name. Just ask Miller what he thought of the decision.

Talk in the bars later was that Miller had encouraged you to bend the truth. Is that correct? Well to be honest understanding “Rotherham” talk is harder than Galician so I’m not sure what he was saying to me.

Moving on to the VIII, wasn’t it you that recommended that the Porcos should stop in the Harley this year once you knew the Psalter couldn’t accommodate them?!? The Harley is rated as being 51st out of 57 hotels in Sheffield. How do you explain your recommendation? After putting us up in an old Spanish palace for Gallo’s 40th I thought that suitable vengeance should be sought, as such I thought that a hotel with music until 04.00 and blood/seaman stains on the sheets would be on a par with the conditions of El Parador. Worryingly I shared with you in El Parador, who’s was the blood and who’s was the seaman? Thinking about it you were missing for the Saturday night and Basso had a smile on his face on the Sunday morning. Ha fucking ha again.

You’re getting funnier with every bottle of San Miguel you drink. Right then, the weekend of the VIII seemed to be a great success what were your highlights? I loved every minute apart from the Chinese; what is that all about showing them our English heritage? Obviously I totally enjoyed the match and the gig night was great. I loved worked behind the bar had such a good laugh. Overall the weekend was great; a lot of people put a lot of hard work into it and it paid off. It was good to repay the hospitality they show us.

The Porcos Owls revelled in the Wednesday comeback and local television actually captured me celebrating the equaliser with Santi, Victor, Jorge, Marcos and Fontaiña. Did you enjoy the Sheffield Derby and what did you think the porcos pigs thought of the experience? I enjoyed the first half but that was about it and it was great walking to the Milestone amongst three thousand Wednesday fans whilst fearing for my life. Dirty piggy b**tards (that’s for you Jules). Come on Blades. Tit.

I think a draw was the best result, not the fairest as the Owls were by far the better team, as everyone was happy in the Milestone afterwards, apart from Gallo who went home to sulk. Do you agree that the scoreline of Derby should have reflected the score of the VIII and Wednesday should have won 4-2? I was happy with the draw just to keep everything nice at the Milestone and no, Wednesday shouldn’t have won 4-2 as you just fouled our keeper and played the long ball, now kindly f**k off. (I shake my head in disblief of Shabba’s deluded memory of the Derby).

Whilst we’re talking about Steel City Derbies what are your thoughts on La Folerpa De Aceiro? Predictions? It’s going to be a tough one but the Blades will edge it, Dirty Argie at the back and Martin up front no problems. I’m just wondering though, where were our invitations as their overseas players? I think they know that we would have been the best two players on the pitch so they didn’t invite us for fear of embarrassment.

Talking about us embarrassing them, what are you hopes for IX? Can’t be nothing else but a win for us; we’re coming home with it this time. I want all the Stags in bed at a reasonable hour and no drinking the night before. The Porcos had better arrange a chess tournament for the night before but then again, we’d whip their asses at that too. Do you think you might participate this time in the game as well? I’ll take some extra tampons for you just in case. Extra? So you’ll be taking some for yourself anyway…?!

Do you think the AG-Cup will survive into the next decade? Do you have aspirations for your son Noah to be part of a successful Stags team? If I’ve anything to do with it, we’ll be playing for a hell of a long time, I’m sure Noah will be able to take time off from playing for Sheffield United to go over and play in the AG cup when he’s older. I’ll be playing until my knees finally give in and you never know I might have learnt a few more Galician sentences by then as well.

What is your overall impression of Galicia? The AG-Cup? The Porcos? The Stags? What an absolute honour it’s been over the last four years to travel out there and for our amigos to come over here as well. They’ve treated us so well and also my family when we went out there last year. I’m so glad that you (Thomo) took us over, it’s a beautiful part of the country and the people we meet are wonderful. I’m looking forward to getting out there again for a few weeks in the future and travel around a bit to see more.

Thanks Shabba. Up the Stags and onwards to 6-3...

O Magosto De Sheffield Termina En Castañazo

Hay tres cosas que no vuelven: la palabra dicha, la flecha lanzada y la oportunidad perdida. Lo leí en la pared de un retrete. Debe ser cierto porque las letrinas son auténticos templos de sabiduría universal.
¿O fue en una galleta de la fortuna?

La otra crónica, la escrita según el tradicional método galeguidade ao pao, informa:

Sheffield Stags 4 - Os Porcos Bravos 2.

The Sheffield Stags: Miller (Gk); Gangsta ;Shabba (1); Thomo; Albert Finney; Ben Torres (3); Irish; Sniper; Fenners; Batty Smoker; Steve J. Terry.

Os Porcos Bravos: Santi Barrilete (Gk); Serge; Fontaiña(1); Fandiño(1); Lutzky; Viktor; Frank; Marcos; Martín; Xandre; Jorge; Delgado.

Venue: Gym Plus Ground, Crookes. En perfectas condiciones.

Attendance: Unos veinticinco privilegiados.

Incidencias: Dr Sylvia Dunkley, Lord Mayor of the City of Sheffield preside la VIII.
El cielo despejado sobre nuestras cabezas desmiente la idea de una Inglaterra otoñal.
Os Porcos repiten uniforme negro. Los Stags estrenan camiseta roja.
Antes del partido,varios miembros de the Official England Supporters Band escalan con brío " God Save The Queen".
Por primera vez en la historia de The Anglogalician Cup, hay árbitro. La responsabilidad recae en Chris Taylor, que lució un delatador chándal del Manchester United.
Fandiño ganó el trofeo porcobravo "Laurence Bowles". Debutó,marcó y fue galardonado. En el día de su cumpleaños.
Un espléndido Sniper fue elegido el "Derek Dooley's Left Leg" de los Stags.
Ben Torres, dos partidos, dos hat-trick.
Los Sheffield Stags aventajan en dos ediciones aos Porcos Bravos. 5 a 3.

Parergas y Paralipómenas de la VIII en clave Rashōmon.

Jugar de rojo en Inglaterra es un asunto muy serio. En las tierras de la pompa y circunstancia es donde comprobamos que esconden al Diablo en los pequeños detalles.
Los Stags entrenaron duro, apelaron a su célebre fighting spirit, colocaron en un fondo la bandera con la cruz de San Jorge, gritaron su himno y, por encima de todo, siempre tuvieron un plan de juego.

Precedidos de gran fanfarria, Os Porcos se las prometían muy felices. La Grande y Felicísima Mesnada llegó a Sheffield pensando en tractores y orfanatos, en un desayuno sin diamantes en el Parlour del Concello, o en la placa del Fat Cat. En todo, menos en el football. Eso sí, Whitby es un hermoso pueblo para desembarcar.

La fría dictadura de los números. Los Stags tuvieron cinco oportunidades claras y marcaron cuatro.Os Porcos tuvieron doce, y metieron dos.

Ya que estamos:

0-1 Fontaiña
1-1 Ben Torres
2-1 Ben Torres
3-1 Shabba
4-1 Ben Torres
4-2 Fandiño

Por segundo partido consecutivo en Sheffield, los Stags remontan en el marcador.

La gestión de recursos porcobravos ha vuelto a fracasar estrepitosamente.
Tanto en la VII como en la VIII "La Malograda", el banquillo se ha convertido en un quebradero cuando debía ser solución. Quizá un sargento en la banda que enseñe donde crecen las cruces de hierro y Thomas Bernhard de utillero para la IX...

Frente a la plétora de verdades contradichas por otras tantas antífrasís, ante el desorden de ese taller metafísico en el que todas las afirmaciones cuentan con su propia negación, se puede asegurar que los marranos montaraces marraron una ocasión histórica.



Ya saben. Lean más en los urinarios.

La verdad está ahí dentro.

Whitby,8 de Agosto. Como Un Barco Pintado En Un Océano Pintado.

Programa Oficial de la VIII Edición.
Un pueblo de pescadores en la costa de North Yorkshire donde, no hace mucho, ha encallado una goleta rusa.

13 de Octubre

08.50. Aterrizamos en Londres, Old Blighty, procedentes de Oporto.
Marchamos hacia el Norte.

09.30 to 11.00 - Stansted to Stamford, Lincolnshire.

11.00 to 12.00 - Pintas en Stamford.

12.00 to 14.00 - Stamford to Pickering, North Yorkshire.

14.00 to 15.15 - Pintas en Pickering. No hay ruinas pero sí el fin de semana donde todo el pueblo se viste de segunda guerra mundial.

17.15 - Llegada a Whitby, North Yorkshire. Nos instalamos en The Riviera, callejeo por la capital gótica de Inglaterra, y visitamos una docena de pubs.
La noche es joven pero cuidado con el cuello.

14 de Octubre
Inmersión en el Mar Germano buscando los pecios de la Deméter. Visita a la abadía de Whitby. Más piedra sobre piedra. Pintas.

12.30 to 14.00 - Whitby to Tadcaster, North Yorkshire.

14.00 to 16.15 - Tadcaster. Asaltamos la Samuel Smith's brewery shop. Comida, pintas y menaje.

16.15 to 17.30 - Tadcaster to Sheffield, South Yorkshire.

17.30 - Check in to Harley Hotel. Céntrico. Tendremos morriña del Psaltern Tavern pero lo que no pudo ser, no fue y además es imposible.

19.00 - Empieza el primer run amok cervecero por The Bath Hotel, Red Deer, Frog and Parrot, Harveys, Washington, Devonshire Cat y otros watering holes de alcurnia.

21.30 - Cena y cuento chino en Hui Wei, un laureado restaurante donde nos van a hacer la tradicional encerrona. No caigan como colegiales,por favor.

15 de Octubre

El PARTIDO

11 de la mañana. El Battlefield es el mismo que en la III, V y VI. El magnífico Gym Plus Ground, Crookes Road, Sheffield. Evitad en la medida de lo posible las blasfemias, los esputos y los gestos obscenos porque va a honrarnos con su presencia The Lord Mayor of Sheffield que nos hará entrega de los trofeos individuales y de la KAP.

13.00 - The Fat Cat. Donde todo nació. Se descubre la placa conmemorativa, we will be unveiling the "Anglo-Galician Cup" plaque on one of the walls, y se celebra el tercer tiempo en el beergarden del pub.

15.00 - Vamos a The Kelham Island brewery shop,e iniciamos el segundo run amok sheffielder por los pubs Kelham Island Tavern, Harlequin, The Gardeners Rest and all that.

19.30 - Meeting in The Shakespeare para comenzar el tercer run amok cervecero por el segundo reino. Puro teatro.

A eso de las 21.30 hay programado un curry en el Seven Spices Balti House. Para los que lleguen, claro.

16 de Octubre

12.00 - The Steel City Derby. El segundo mejor partido que se puede ver en la ciudad del acero. Blades y Owls se han enfrentado en 125 ocasiones. El Sheffield United ha ganado 45 veces y el Sheffield Wednesday 41.
La Brigada Harry Johnson, formada por los porcos&stags blades, acude a Bramall Lane a gritar el encuentro.
La Brigada Andrew Wilson,integrada por la rama owl stag&porcobrava atenderá el derby "beam back" en Hillsborough.
No juego a adivino si escribo que "pigs" va a ser la palabra de moda durante este día.

14.45 - Comemos en en The Milestone. Es el pub donde se celebró el tercer tiempo de la VI. Gordon Ramsay lo premió hace un año, no pretendamos saber más que él.

18.00 - Sheffield tiene una orgullosa tradición y merecida fama de ciudad musical. Seis bandas locales van a cargarse de razones en The Yellow Arch.

Rememoren The songs. Varios stags y menos porcos, se subirán al escenario para aportar su dosis de furia sónica. Habrá más sorpresas. Será el segundo concierto auspiciado por The Anglogalician Cup, y por si todo ésto fuese poco, estará regado con la Anglogalician Ale, elaborada especialmente para el evento.
Después, que cada uno vuelva al hotel como pueda.

17 de Octubre

Resaca y agujetas.

10.15 - Check out en The Harley. Nos despedimos de Sheffield hasta la X.

10.30 - Desayuno oficial en The Parlour del Lord Mayor.

11.00 to 12.45 - Bajamos hasta Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire.

12.45 to 14.15 - Pintas y comida en Melton Mowbray. Esta localidad, considerada de Rural Capital of Food en Inglaterra, es famosa sobre todo por su pastel de... cerdo.

14.15 to 16.30 - Melton Mowbray to Stansted Airport.

20.50 - Aterrizamos en Oporto.

Fíjense, ni la nieve es tan pura como The Anglogalician Cup.

E como sempre o de sempre, Galicia Über Alles!

ON THE ROAD TO THE VIII: farewell and adeus…

...to you, you few, you happy few…
…you band of Porcos
For he to-day that sheds his beer with me…etc, etc.



La Porcallada on tour, rumbo a la VIII.
Os nosos senglars tra-los pasos de Draculea.
La revedere, mistreti.



Recordade aquel Luns, 23 de Outubro.
Remember, remember.
Deixade a xenreira fluír.
Let the hate flow.
Hemos oído acerca de docenas de estivales partidos sin crono en los arenales y pastizales de Bon.

Hemos oído acerca del Fidípides de los Porcos fajándose en la Puerta de Brandeburgo con negros del altiplano y regresando victorioso sobre sí mismo(2:42:18).

Rumores que arrecenden a Victoria. Eles puxarán polos pousafoles e kamakawiwo'oles na hora decisiva da alba do día da algueirada final.



Recordad al bushi Tsunetomo, quien tiene esto que decir: “Cuando abandonáis vuestro tejado, entráis en el reino de los muertos; cuando abandonáis vuestro umbral, encontráis al enemigo.”

angst is not a weltanschauung

Mais non debemos calar o fundamento común grazas ao cal o noso encontro, que contén o esforzo da procuración da existenza, é un encontro no mito.

A cultura porcobrava vive de descubrir palabras que descubran univocamente o carácter condicionado do mundo da experiencia; ou mellor, vive do desexo da iluminación verbal de aquel ser que se sabe que non é comprensible como obxecto, e que a súa presenza non se compón da presenza dos obxectos.

Podemos dicir xa: baixo o advenimento da vella tríada do bó, do verdadeiro e do belo anúnciase a chegada da VIII.

Ou ben: o mito comeza de novo a súa andaina. O engranaxe da maquinaria da VIII escóitase ao lonxe. O rebumbio dos tractores. A visión alucinada dunha cup borrosa entre a néboa alcohólica dun pub de nome ilexible sacude xa aos porcos bravos. As sinais acumúlanse no horizonte, insoportabeis para os alleos, como unha chamada á volta ao fogar para moitos outros. Tractorville, como se fora un subproduto da teoloxía de Malek Al-Mottekalemin, redúcese á nada e volta a xurdir desa nada simultanea e continuamente, xa que o tempo da Anglogalician Cup ten unha estrutura discontinua e atómica. Nese proceso de aparición estamos xa. A cervexa interminable, as orfas polas rúas da Galizalbion máis profunda, fentos e droppings cambiando freneticamente de mans en pubs aos que só chegan os máis perseverantes. A longa noite do home co horizonte dun partido de fútbol como abrente posible. Hai avións preparados para abrir os ceos, mentras a terra espera e pode sentirse un tremor irresistible que funciona como chamada primordial. Como un berro nunha lonxitude de onda que só algúns poden escoitar. Deixalo todo non é suficiente. Hai que deixarse a un mesmo atrás. Olvidarse de si e entregarse.

O trance da VIII.

Tambores. Tambores nas profundidades.

The Lost Pints Of London

Te aconsejo por completo la ciudad negra, la enorme Londres con la cicatriz del río oscuro en medio, te convido a venir, qué más da el cielo de cobre o de plomo.

Cabeza de jabalí, muy cerca de la piedra de Londres.
¿Un discurso fúnebre ante un ataúd vacío?

"Es jodidamente complicado resumir un Londres cervecero en solo cuatro o cinco pubs", coinciden los tres elegidos. "Una guía pubera de la capital del Imperio, habiendo tantos y tan buenos, es el típico marrón Támesis a la altura de Deptford, que se espera de este blog".

Sergio Vidal (Pontevedra,1982) es, entre otras muchas cosas, porco bravo original, frontman de Tora Tora Tora y el landlord do Gato Gordo.

Alejandro Lutzky (Buenos Aires, 1980), no necesita presentación. Si acaso, repasen SON UNOS MUERTOS, YO LES TIRO PAREDES Y ME DEVUELVEN LADRILLOS. Y vuelvan a aplaudir. En el callejón del ciervo blanco.

Cousi (Pontevedra, 1976), reune todos los requisitos para cometer un waltzing matilda con los braves.Es cervecero, anglófilo y habitual de The Big Smoke. Su pasión por las armas de fuego le ha llevado a tener una simpatía especial por los gunners. Victoria Concordia Crescit.

Sergio pide la pinta y la palabra:
"Sin duda cada uno tendrá sus preferencias, incluso las sexuales, y en lo referente a los pubs de Londres también. Sirva mi lista de utilidad para neófitos, versados, nigromantes y dipsómanos. Empiezo fuerte. Parece ahora fácil apuntarse al carro de The Harp (CAMRA National Pub of the Year 2010/2011) pero llevo años recomendando este Templo cervecero de Covent Garden y he sentido cierta satisfacción personal después de tan merecido galardón. El local es pequeño, no mucho más grande que O Grifón, y su selección de Real Ales es para llorar de la emoción. Las últimas que he probado allí son la Sussex Best Bitter y la local Sambrook´s Hoped Head".

Interviene Lutzky:
"La mejor oferta cervecera de Londres, está en Southwark. Enfrente al Borough Market encuentras el Market Porter -originalidad se llama la figura- que oferta siempre cervezas distintas fuera de las grandes marcas y uno las puede acompañar con un hearty breakfast. Muy recomendable por la visita al mercado de fruta y verdura, especialmente los viernes y sábados que se llena de puestos de pan, carnes, embutidos y quesos. Una gran opción si hace buen clima es comprarse un bocata e ir a comerlo a la terraza del George Inn con la cerveza de la casa. Hoy es sólo un Pub, pero es un ejemplo de lo que fueron los Coaching Inns en el siglo XVIII. Es imprescindible ir y ver la sala vieja".

Sergio asiente y añade "por esas calles, puedes ir al BUNCH OF GRAPES. Es un maravilloso local a unos 5 minutos de la estación de London Bridge, un poco escondido para los putos turistas, lo cual siempre te asegura un poco de tranquilidad. El local por dentro es espacioso todo de madera y tiene un curioso patio interior con varios niveles, que para los fumadores es un alivio. Como cervezas nos encontramos con unas viejas conocidas, como la Bombardier y una variedad de Young´s desde la Bitter a la Directors pasando por la Golden".

Irrumpe Cousi:
"Como ésta es una guía hecha a seis manos y luego sometida al Rodillorato, acepto mi papel de “coche escoba” y espero complementar las ya de por sí magníficas reseñas de mis colegas. Y lo que hayan escrito y o dicho Lutzky y Sergio también. A ver. A mí me gusta The Old Bank of England (194 Fleet Street EC4). Sólo hay una palabra para definir este pub: MAJESTUOSO, techos altos y muy decorados con lámparas de araña de color dorado colgando de ellos, madera y mármol decorando sus paredes, y como epicentro de todo ello una de las barras más bonitas que yo he visto, situada en el centro del local, con forma octogonal y de madera muy trabajada con un bar central rematado por una torre con cuatro relojes. En lo que respecta a las cervezas, es un pub Fuller´s, con lo cual siempre podréis tomar una pinta de London Pride, una Fuller´s ESB y si hay suerte la excelente Fuller´s London Porter. El único inconveniente es que cierra los fines de semana".

Sergio, cómodo en su papel, se suma al club de los pubs epatantes:
"The Knights Templar se encuentra muy cerca. No se si la palabra majestuoso hace justicia a tal dispendio de abrevadero. En la línea del Old Bank of England y para colmo no es nada caro. Una pinta de Real Ale por 2,40 droppings Fuck Yeah!! Sólo un pero. Al actual encargado dan ganas de asesinarlo allí con tus propias manos, es un estúpido nivel gran maestro. Superado esto último, decir que un pub con las tres B: Bueno, Bonito y Barato".

Llegado este punto, Lutzky quiere carne.
"No hablo de precios ni camareros porque la guía debe tender a a ser intemporal. De hecho Cousi y el mainporco tienen una buena anécdota en "The Fox and The Anchor", que cerró al poco de aquello y ahora ha reabierto. Es un pub que está en la zona de Smithfield Meat Market. Con seis habitaciones nuevas y una carta de comida renovada, sigue manteniendo su decoración victoriana. Tiene dos apartados atrás interesantes, y su encanto a pesar de estar claramente más limpio que antes. Otro pub de la zona, completamente distinto al anterior, es The Jerusalem Tavern. Tiene azulejos de las cuatro estaciones y Moisés esperándote en la entrada. Su rango de cervezas es St. Peter’s. Imprescindible".

Realmente no cometemos nada obsceno, más que lo que escribimos y lo que cagamos. London calling. Pero aún falta tiempo para que la manada de os porcos bravos huelle de forma oficial sus calles y sus troncos ennegrecidos. Así que con un grito de caza de ciervos, nos vamos al Soho, para que los niputas se encuentren en un Londres familiar.

Sergio toma la voz cantante:
"RED LION. En una lista de pubs de Babylondon nunca puede faltar uno del Soho, y os preguntaréis por que escojo éste y no otro. Muy sencillo. Todos los locales que merecen la pena allí, menos el The Ship (Fuller´s), son pubs de Samuel Smith, pero este tiene la particularidad de ser de los pocos que tienen la Bitter en Cask Ale y no con el método Drought, y además es un lugar de referencia para todos los visitantes de Carnaby Street. El único "pero" es que es un poco lioso de encontrar. También es una ventaja."

Lutzky contraataca:
"Otra zona fácil de llevar del Londres "que se debe ver", ahora que ya no hay reyertas raciales, es Notting Hill. Paseando por Portobello Road, mejor si no es fin de semana, se llega a The Earl of Lonsdale. Otro pub de Samuel Smith a la vieja usanza, sin música y con una gran barra de madera rodeada de ‘cellars’ acristalados. En dirección contraria, yendo desde la estación hacia el parque Holland, vemos una vieja casa de dos plantas y tejas en el techo. Por dentro, el Windsor Castle, (construído en 1800) está revestido en madera y cuenta con un beer garden más que agradable. La cocina abre hasta más tarde que en la mayoría de los pubs."

El Támesis jadeante, cíclico, imparable, nos aguarda. Cataplasma de arcilla oscura para sellar para siempre nuestra sed del temor y agonía de la vida, pasiones reducidas a légamo.

Interviene Cousi:
"Mi pub ribereño es The Prospect of Whitby (57 Wapping Wall E1). Si quieres comprender Londres, debes explorar Wapping. The Prospect of Whitby, otrora conocido como The Devil´s Tavern, se caracteriza por su estilo rústico, madera y suelos de bloque de piedra son sus señas de identidad, posee unas bonitas vistas al río, una magnífica terraza. Pero lo que más llamará la atención del visitante es el patíbulo que se encuentra en la balconada que da al río, recuerdo de uno de sus clientes más inolvidables, el juez Jeffreys, "El Juez de la Horca”, que solía observar los ahorcamientos mientras almorzaba en el lugar. Una auténtica comida inglesa. Como complemento cervecero, encontramos actualmente la Courage, Directors y la Old Speckled Hen.

Enfrente, en la otra orilla del río, se encuentra "The Mayflower". Lutzky rememora:
"Tiene un espectacular interior de madera oscura decorada con las leyendas y citas de sus habituales célebres, y la mejor terraza fluvial para disfrutar del verano. Lo tiene todo: calidez, un marco incomparable, el peso de la historia, sellos y chimenea. La cerveza es casi una excusa. Muy cerca y siguiendo el paseo ribereño, dirección oeste, está The Angel. Cerveza Samuel Smith, -¿qué pensarán Fuller´s y Young´s de esta guía?-  y las mejores vistas de la City.
Como tantas otras zonas cerca del río, ésta era muy peligrosa en el siglo XIX y principios del XX. Ahora se han reformado y revalorizado hasta convertirse en barrios exclusivos para gente pudiente".

Remamos contracorriente. Al viento. Ecos épicos de pugnas entre oxonienses y cantabrigenses.

Sostiene Lutzky, "Mucho me tiene que gustar The Dove para mencionarlo acá, no he tenido la mejor suerte con él. Siempre muy lleno de gente me tocó acomodarme en la terraza en invierno y junto a la chimenea en verano; una vez crucé la ciudad para beber en él y estaba cerrado, ¡al parecer se había incendiado la cocina la semana anterior! Siendo un Fuller´s Pub destaca por su comida y porque sencillamente es de los más bonitos de Londres y del mundo. Cerca de la paloma, y también ubicado a la misma vera del río, en un paisaje bucólico, quiero incluir en esta lista al Black Lion. Además de ser un pub pintoresco, con jardín y excelente comida, especialmente el tentempié a media mañana de los sábados, tiene una historia curiosa para os porcos bravos, ya que la fabricación de cerveza era una actividad secundaria que el dueño llevaba acabo en el recinto, siendo éste una granja de cerdos inicialmente".

Sergio vuelve a llevar la voz cantante. "Relativamente próximo a esos dos, tenemos THE WHITE HORSE [1-3 Parson's Green]. El mejor puto Fish and Chips de mi vida, uno de esos pubs donde te quedarías toda la vida, cervezas para aburrir, como la Adnams Broadside, Harvey´s Best Bitter, Bishop's Farewell, Sierra Nevada Ale!!!, y con una carta de cervezas en botella de más de cien referencias, amplia terraza y salones que alquilan para fiestas, ¿una idea?, en resumen un señor pub a descubrir, llamado coloquialmente "The Sloaney Pony".

Le toca a Cousi poner la pinta final. "Cuando me pidieron que diese mi opinión sobre un par de pubs londinenses para este blog, mi primera sensación fue la del peso de la responsabilidad de escribir en un medio leído por tanta gente e incluso algunas personas. Espero que os sean útiles a todos aquellos que viajéis a Londres, pero mi recomendación principal es que entréis en el pub que os apetezca, sobre todo si tiene el cartel de cask ale, os pidáis una pinta de real ale, y disfrutéis del momento, de la ciudad y de su aureola mítica. Porque ya se sabe. Cuando un porco bravo está cansado de Londres, está cansado de la vida, pues Londres tiene todo lo que la cerveza puede brindar.