The Greyhound, Longlevens, Gloucester

A quite unusual looking pub in a residential part of Gloucester, it’s constructed from red brick but looks nothing like your usual pub. There are a few turrets and archways, what could well be a roof terrace although I didn’t see any sign that this was open to the public, and even some art deco touches. A quite interesting building, although what it’s age and history are I’m not sure. It could equally well be a modern constriction in an unusual style. Internally it’s somewhat more contemporary, and has clearly had some recent refurbishment work as it looks freshly decorated. The only old touches were some very thick supporting beams on the ceiling, which certainly appeared very old, but I’m unconvinced that they genuinely were. Elsewhere it was the usual rather generic feel that one experiences in many chain pubs. Flooring was a mixture of black and white tiling in the high traffic areas, with a mixture of wood and carpet elsewhere. There was quite a bit of exposed brickwork, as well as rough plasterwork and all the timber had been painted either turquoise or pale blue. A free standing brick chimney breast contained a few logs in the fireplace, but I suspect this may have been gas rather than the genuine article. Beers on tap were Wainwright’s, Pedigree, Bank’s Amber and Bank’s Mild. Two further pumps for Hobgoblin and Ringwood Forty Niner were apparently conditioning in the cellar. Ciders meanwhile were Strongbow, Strongbow Dark Fruit and Stowford Press. Overall, whilst there was nothing really wrong with this pub, it was ultimately quite run of the mill and I felt, somewhat disappointing given the promising external appearance.

A noisy Marston's estate pub in a residential area just inside the ringroad. It shares a large car park with nearby businesses, mainly fast food takeaways. The single story modern building is open plan inside, has a mixture of floor and décor styles and is primarily laid to table, with a few empty spaces for vertical drinking. The staff were friendly enough, but the majority of the dining tables were taken up with uncivilised families, loud, garish autochthotons using their hands to cram the fatty deposits masquerading as food into the faces of their shrieking children, who in turn also used their hands to eat hot meals. Elderly relatives looked on with mild disdain, the whole thing having the air of feeding time at the mortuary, an image enhanced by the awful racket from the sound system. The availability of freshly made pizzas was the only saving grace as far as the food, otherwise the usual chain pub junk, was concerned. Three ales on draft, Pedigree, Hobgoblin and Jennings's Pie in the Sky. The beers were in decent condition, but not quite good enough to make me want to race back.