Return To The Mitre

Greetings, my droogies. Let me tell you about my day in London. It began with a traditional greasy breakfast, pictured below:



Then my hostess Mieke and I sauntered out to Greenwich. Why Greenwich? Well, my lad and lassies, let me tell you a tale. Many years ago my sister married an Irish fellow in London, and I flew out there to do the brotherly in-law thing an attend the wedding. While there I met and dated a young Irish lass who, as it turned out, was a bartender at the Mitre pub in Greenwich. So I ended up spending much of time in that very pub. Days after I went home to Canada, young Pamela informed me that she had placed a photo of us behind the bar in public view.

Well, to no one’s surprise, Pamela is no longer at the Mitre pub, and I do hope she has moved on to bigger and better things (no, that’s not a euphemism, you jerks). Most saddening, though, is that the photo of us is no longer there, assuming it ever was. Here’s a photo of the inside of the modern Mitre pub, which now seems to be a family friendly sort of place:



All right then. Off to the pub with me, then tomorrow brings my lingering hours in London, a rendezvous with fellow gorilla hunter Andrew and a flight to UGANDA!