Before and After.

Now that we have been open for a month or so, I should really attempt to show people some of the difference between how I found the building, and what we have done to it. I did methodically take a series of photo's from specific points, when I first took the keys, in October, so that I could highlight the difference with exact before and after pics. But, of course I'm highly disorganised with a memory like a goldfish, and I must have forgotten where I was stood. In due course I shall post many more of the before and after pics, if I can, but for the moment I shall just post these two pics up.

 Pretty much everything has changed. We took all of those sad looking pump clips off the walls, (more about that later. Much more.), changed the weird seat in the alcove into the place where the record deck now lives, and lit it properly. Threw that horrible fake Bristol Heritage Pubs poster away, that you can see on the far wall. Obviously we have painted the walls of the pub what I like to call 'Light Terracotta', but as you can see, is actually pink. And we hung some sexy wallpaper, which has gone down considerably better than I thought it would. The photo in the oval frame is something that I picked up for a song, from a Clifton antique shop, called 'Focus On The Past', as is looking up Bristol High Street, somewhere near the turn of the century. Mr Hitler put paid to all the buildings on te right, sometime in 1940, but most of the rest is still around. I painted the pillar with magnetic blackboard paint, and this is where the now famous Rules of My Pub reside. 

Back into the swing of things.

Firstly, please let me apologise to the people who have been following this Blog, for not updating or writing anything for the last month or two. This shall change, and hopefully I shall be posting a few times a week to catch up on all the things that have happened over the last few months. Life began to get hectic in late October, building up to a crescendo of activity and stress in November as we approached opening day, followed by much hard work, and activity and energy through December as I tried to keep a really disorganised pub afloat in it's first working month, for the busiest month of the year. 

I must say thank you to all the friends and customers who have supported me and the pub, and come through the door to help make the place work. Without you it would have been a massive balls up.

Right then. So the most important news that has happened since we opened is a little fluffy thing called Malcolm. A month or so ago, Hayley asked me if I wanted a nine week old kitten for the pub as she was unable to keep him. It took me almost a second to say, yes, yes, YES !!! Since then Malcolm has become very much the most popular and favourite living thing to set foot in the bar. Along with all kittens, Malcolm has three modes which he can switch between in less time then it takes him to jump on your thighs and draw blood. These are Sleep Mode, Attack Mode and Affection Mode. He is at his most sweet in sleep mode, and you may see him curled up in his box next to the radiator, near the record deck, and in his most cutest pose will arch his back nearly 180 degrees backwards, showing off his exquisite clouded tabby belly. Do not be deceived by this apparent slumber. He can switch from this to Attack Mode quicker then you can remove your fingers from his belly, and many people have been so far caught out by the switch.

Anyhow, this is one of the first photo's that we have of the little monster, from mid December ish. He has grown quite a bit since then, but his cuteness has not diminished at all yet. 

 Now that I am back into the swing of things properly, I shall ensure that I update this blog properly and regularly from now. Cheers.

Aaaaargggghhhhh !!

I'm not usually one to start yawning on about what dreams I had last night and what their significance or lack of, means. But when you wake in the middle of the night as I have just done, and you can remember lucidly most of your night's dreams and in all of them you end up starting an argument or fight in them, even to the point of shouting at children that you don't even know, then you know that you must be pretty stressed.
The difference between my life three months ago and now is striking and can e highlighted in the respective times that I took/take coffee down at the excellent, Do Lii Coffee. A few months ago Dominic or Claudia might see me roll in, bleary eyed at no earlier than One O' Clock for my morning coffee, and sometime it could be as late as half past three. These days, I can sometimes be waiting for him to open his doors at half seven.

Anyhow, the pub. What's going on ? Well apart from myself transforming from a sedentary sloth into a hyped stresshead once more, great progress has been made with the Bag of Nails, and problems have been solved, bypassed or mostly wallpapered over.

I wrote the above a few days ago and was rudely interrupted from my rambling by a call from some supplier or other telling me that they were outside my pub waiting for me and if I wouldn't mind could I get my ass down there ASAP so that he can continue with his daily work. Since then I have spent a total of one hour at my home, which mostly consists of rushing to put some soap on my face, and then digging deep into my many piles of junk to unearth some crucial piece of the jigsaw puzzle that make up my pub. I cannot write much more now as today is the big day, and my friend John and I have a full day of running around the city, tearing our hair out at the latest crisis. At five o clock today, we find out if we have a working pub or not. Wish me luck.

Finally ....

We have the keys to the pub. It's been so long. We took them last Friday and have been in the building since then. I would say that I have hit the ground running, and we have accomplished a huge amount so far, but this would be far from the truth. I'm going to get up to speed a little bit more slowly than I did at the Nubes, because I managed to utterly knacker myself out over the course of a year.
To be fair, at the Nubes, I didn't actually ever know how long I was supposed to or going to be running the place. I was only actually brought in for one day to hold the keys until the new manageress turned up the next day, and she never turned up at all. I was running it on a daily basis for a month before Mike decided that I was the best man for the job. And even then we were constantly expecting the company to go bust on any given day, (which it did a month or two after I left the company.) I like to think that I was the only thing holding Hidden afloat and certainly the Nubes was hemorrhaging money when I arrived, and when I left it was the only profit making part of the company left.
Anyhow, we finally have the keys, and I'm really excited. The place is in quite a state, in so many different ways. The council or the old owners ripped all of the carpets out, and so the  bare floorboards are covered in twenty years of dirt and dust, mingled with a smattering of rubble and other roof fixing things.
The first executive decision was to buy a Henry hoover from my nice local electricians, Able Electrics on Gloucester road, which was cheaper than any of the major suppliers would have been. The next executive decision was to cover the Henry with Sonic the Hedgehog stickers, just to make him feel loved. Don't worry, we didn't cover over his eyes at all. He needs to be able to negotiate those flights of steps after all.
Since Friday, I have been generally seen around pubs and bars with a tape measure in my hand, taking measurements and thinking deep into my pint. A lot of decisions need to be made, and most pressingly is what to do with the back of the bar. The Bag of Nails was never really built as a proper pub, and so the facilities are, lets just say they are certainly lacking an amount of functionality. To be honest, behind the bar is actually just shit all around, and I am tempted to just rip it all out and start again. I am generally against people doing this kind of thing, because they are just ripping out something lovely only to put their stamp on a palce, and once they inevitably fail, then the next owners are just left with some kind modern rubbish that doesn't fit the venue. But the Bag was never actually put together properly in the first place, so it makes it difficult to build onto it in a decent fashion. The back bar is just thin hardboard painted matt black, and you couldn't affix any proper shelves or mirrors onto it. So I am in a bit of a quandary between wanting to keep the character of the pub, and wanting a bar that has been built properly in the first place.

Balloon Photo

I was drinking beer when I took this which is the flimsiest excuse for showing off a picture I can think of.

Goose Island IPA.

It has not been unnoticed that so far I have not mentioned beer at all in this journal, a mistake that I shall now improve. While cask ale shall be the main focus of drinking in the Bag of Nails, I shall also be stocking a very wide range of world beers. It is only fitting that the first one that I mention is also one of the first really good American craft beers that I came across. Five or six years ago, while working for Bath Ales, as an assistant manager, we had a music night booked for the evening, called the Chicago Music Explosion. This consisted of three or four rock/funk bands containing various hirsute Chicagoans, and the tour was organised and lead by an Englishman called Ben 'Shakey' Ruth. These bands needed somewhere to stay after the gig, and my manager, Paul, knowing that I lived in a big house asked if I could put any of them up for the night. Having seen Spinal Tap, I was very hesitant. Shakey finally bribed me to permit nine hairy, smelly Americans and one Lancastrian to stay across our house with a six pack of this beer, Goose Island's IPA.

Goose Island IPA is from the Goose Island Brewery in Chicago, and they have been brewing for nearly twenty five years now. Being American it comes in the standard funny sized bottle, which is 12 fluid ounces. No, not our fluid ounces, but ones of their own invention, which are nearly the same volume as ours, but not. After all they do have to prove that they are not like the British really. So anyway, 12 American fluid ounces translates as 12.49 Imperial fluid ounces or 354.88 ml. (or nearly two thirds of a proper pint.)

Coming in at 5.9% this craft beer is strong by British standards, but is par for the course in it's own country. It is bottle conditioned, and to pour it getting the correct head of over an inch without some of the yeast slipping into the glass can sometimes be quite tricky. Because of this I often drink it a little hazy, but I really don't actually mind this as much as maybe some people think I ought. (But of course if I'm serving it to you in the Bag then I will serve a perfect drink every time without question, m'lud.)
Goose Island describe the colour of the beer as 'Bourbon' which is a nicer way of calling it light orange :).
This beer has a big, full flavour, which you begin to experience straight away upon sipping. As you would expect with an American IPA, hops play a large part in the taste. But along with the hops you do have a fuller fruit like taste, and also a clear hint of citrus. There are quite a lot of individual flavour forming one composite which is very pleasing indeed. There is a floral hint and or course malts in there too ('pales malts' they unhelpfully embellish on their web page,) but just enough to counter the natural astringency of the hops, and so this beer would never be described as overly bitter. In fact without being cloying at all, I would say that it was more on the side of sweet than bitter. You are never close to experience the sucking in of cheeks which  does happen with some American craft beers.

This is a beer that tastes a lot better in it's own glass. So if you do find it in a pub and they pour it into a pint glass,and try to charge you four fifty for it, send it back and tell them that I told you too.

This is actually a beer that I can drink all night long, but I would recommend caution before doing this, as you really don't notice the alcohol content, and getting carried away and falling on your arse can be a real possibility.
.
This beer is mostly imported by James Clay, although I suspect that it shall be much more widely available due to a recent deal with some evil purveyors of 'UniFizz'.. I do hope that they allow the brewers to retain their craft beer integrity, Else I'll be buying a plane ticket, an eyepatch, a false moustache and a chainsaw. (like that one in Doom.)

Just time to thank Shakey Ruth for introducing me to this wonderful beer. After that first night, he bagsied the floorspace underneath the pool table, and came to stay again quite a few times more. He leads a band called The Convulsions, and you should always get to their gigs if you get an opportunity. But take your drinks of off the bar if you do. They're not safe when he's around.

Find a penny, pick it up..

Today I feel good. Despite the fact that I was out drinking again and actually feel like shit this afternoon. I woke at half one, having not been able to sleep until five, last night. I wasn't even any drunker than usual, but had been smoking, which is the stupidest thing that I ever do in my life. Even though I feel wretched and sick and everything, I feel really positive about things today for two reasons. Firstly the lease for the pub arrived in the post for me to sign today. This is exciting for me as you can imagine. I just have to sign it and drop off a huge amount of money, and the place shall be mine within days. 

Secondly; well I'm not a superstitious person, but I do tend to pick up pennies when I find them. In my mind I usually tend to go through the mantra that we all learnt of discovered pennies as little children. Most of the time I pick the coin up and perform the ritual, and forget about the penny later that day. Perhaps this is why I don't ever seem to have any money.  This time I found a dirty, discoloured coin sitting on the wall of our garden, near the rocks and neighbours' hedge. I picked it up, thanked my luck, and began to clean off the mud and dirt on the coin. As chance would have it this was not a lucky penny, but a lucky sixpence from 1950.  It must have been buried in our garden for a long  time, and had only emerged very recently, to enhance the luck of a certain young publican. It just seems very apt timing to find it on the very day that the contract for my future also came along. I'm going to keep this coin, and hopefully I shall not need to use all of it's luck up too soon. 

:)