Alexandra Inn, Telford

I came in here with a splinter group from our crawl of the Wellington to Wolverhampton railway line, tired of the unremitting excellence of the pubs encountered so far. We'd been told there was sometimes a real ale or two on here, and on entry there turned out to be just the one, a solitary pump clip on the bank of four hand pumps. We were the only customers, and the landlady pulled a couple of pints through before pouring our three halves. On tasting, it was apparent that the beer was not in a drinkable condition. The landlord apologised and gave the feeble excuse of not being a real ale drinker himself and (therefore) not knowing how to keep it properly. Now I'm a betting shop manager by trade, and although I would never bet on roulette or numbers myself, I make it a point of professional pride to know how those games and those bets work. Two of us accepted the offer of a Guinness instead of the undrinkable real ale, and it has to be said that this was not a very good drink either. This man said he'd been in the pub trade for more than 30 years. I reckon a novice just out of a three week training course would have a better idea of how to run a pub than this waste of space.

A quiet edge of town terraced local. The four handpumps were unclipped! I was told that they only sell one Real Ale but the delivery was late. I had my first ever half of Stowfords Press and dashed back to the "triangle"