Our Undercover Imbiber Reviews The Brass Monkey Pub At Cobblesdown

Driving along the narrow lanes of North Kent looking for an inn to seek refreshment at, we came across the little village of Cobblesdown. Making our way past the boarded-up local shop (which had apparently been burned down by the villagers a few years earlier as it was believed to have been responsible for a local epidemic of fatal nose-bleeds) we eventually found a drinking establishment, The Brass Monkey.

Stock Picture Of Pub.

The pub is obviously a place for the working man, the large car park already being occupied by a number of somewhat battered white transit vans and pick-up trucks. It also seems to be popular with holiday-makers, as evidenced by the numerous caravans present. Judging by the two horses tethered to the car-park fence, the pub is also favoured by the local equestrian community.

We parked our Audi next to one of the caravans, but this seemed to attract the attention of a rather ferocious XL Bully-type dog belonging to a delightful lady of Irish extraction, judging by her mellifluous voice. Fortunately, her little pet was firmly secured to her caravan by a stout iron chain.

“Ah, beejeezus, he’s just a big feckin’ softie really,” the lady assured us as Mrs. U.I. and I gingerly edged past the frantically barking, angry foam-flecked beast.

Stock image of pub interior

We made our way to the bar, where a couple sat talking to the locals at an adjacent table. These local gentlemen were a handsome, swarthy crew; dark-haired, deeply-tanned and shirtless, with a bewildering array of tattoos and gold jewellery on display. The couple, who appeared to be greatly enjoying a large bottle of gin between them, turned out to be the landlord and landlady of the establishment

Upon showing the landlord my MORON reporter’s staff card, informing him that I was the MORON’s highly-respected and widely-admired pub reviewer and intimating that a few free drinks (and perhaps free meals) would guarantee a highly favourable write-up, our hosts graciously agreed that our refreshments would be “on the house”. Fortunately, I think the amount of gin they appeared to have drunk had a lot to do with that, but a free lunch is a free lunch and not to be sniffed at in these impecunious times.

And as if to compliment this joyous experience, the bar boasted a selection of unusual real ales on tap. I chose a pint of the 3.5% Crouch’s True-Blue Venal. This is a sweet and somewhat nutty concoction but just a little insubstantial for me. After four pints I therefore switched across to enjoy another half a dozen or so of the 5.4% Truss’s Demented Bitter, which is a real-ale snob’s delight, distinctly nutty, full-bodied, somewhat sour and with the little white specks of sediment and bits of twig on the bottom that are the mark of a good real ale, in my opinion.

Mrs. U.I. went for her usual bottle or three of Pinot Noir, served in a handy pint glass for easy replenishment as is her preferred fashion.

For an evening meal, we both chose the traditional fish and chips. I’m delighted to say that they were perfectly cooked, being pleasingly al-dente frozen on the inside and smoky, charcoal black on the outside. Don’t let anyone tell you that this fine English meal should be served any other way!

Stock image of pints of beer

By now, both our hosts and the delightful crew of locals were becoming quite boisterous. One chap, a fine friendly fellow, produced a large and obviously antique knife with an ivory handle and finely engraved steel blade for me to admire. He explained that had been passed down to him from his great-grandfather and that it really would be a good idea if I allowed him to borrow my mobile phone for a little while if I didn’t want to find out how sharp its blade still really was.

Happily passing over my appliance, I noted that Mrs O.I. was by now well into her third bottle of Pinot Noir and was clearly enjoying the attention of some of the regulars. I therefore left the bar to explore the garden area and was immediately impressed by the scale and well-kept nature of the scrap metal piles, the fine collection of lawnmowers and other farming equipment which were carefully hidden away under tarpaulins.

The smoking area is also imposing and was occupied by several very youthful customers who were indulging in some extremely pungent herbal tobacco. Declining their kind offer to “enjoy a blast of it”, I returned to the bar to find that the evening’s traditional fight had begun.

The toilets, I can also report, are superbly maintained and kept very clean and fresh. Indeed, one gentleman appeared to be inhaling his asthma medication from the immaculate porcelain surfaces, so clean and shiny were they.

Stock image of pub toilet

By now, it was long past 11 p.m. and so prising a somewhat befuddled Mrs. U.I. away from an ardent admirer, we bade our wonderful hosts a fond farewell and headed back to our trusty Audi. As a mark of the fun-filled nature of the establishment however, we found that a jolly local prankster had removed the alloy wheels from our car, along with the steering wheel, the sound system and the seats.

Making my way back to the pub I found the doors to be locked, although the sound of revelry from within suggested that the remaining customers of this fine and friendly local pub were otherwise preoccupied and would probably be so for quite some while. Returning to what was left of my car, I saw that Mrs. U.I. had staggered into the garden and was now slumped unconscious on one of the benches. Fortunately she still had her mobile phone in her jacket pocket, which I was able to use to ascertain that neither Uber nor the local police would come within five miles of the place at night, and also that my mobile bank account had been emptied. What fun!

So sliding Mrs. U.I. aside, I settled down next to her to enjoy a night out under the stars to await the dawn. The perfect end to a perfect evening!

Decor: **** Very comfortable and traditionally decorated. The floor around the bar was covered in old-fashioned sawdust, which I was later informed was probably the previous night’s furniture. The carpets in the rest of the bar were also traditional and as such were delightfully sticky and stale cigarette-scented, with just a soupçon of urine. The garden and its various covered areas served as a handy if impromptu dormitory and also doubles as a lawnmower museum.

Food: ***** As someone who believes that quantity and low price is far more important than quality, the fact that I didn’t have to pay says it all.

Drink: ***** See “Food”.

Price: ***** See “Food” and “Drink"

Staff: **** Chatty and, by the end of the evening, just as drunk and abusive as everyone else. Should my phone and the money from my emptied online bank account ever be recovered, I’ll award that final star!

Toilets: ***** Not to be sniffed at, but well able to be sniffed from, if you get my meaning!

Comments:

Please note that we do not moderate comments. However, we may edit or delete them, or manipulate the voting on them in order to reflect our editorial policy.

Grey Mondeo Man wrote:

Why does the MORON print such drivel as this? The ratings are based solely on the amount of freebies the reviewer managed to blag and are therefore utterly (Note from editor: This comment has been edited for reasons of space).

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Mrs. U.I. wrote:

Thash a good review that iss almos ’like I woz  there yor my bes’ mate you are hic…

👍+768

Undercover Imbiber replied: 

Thank you for your unbiased opinion, which is most welcome! Thank you for also getting the support of the MORON’s IT guys to handle the comments voting!

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