13th July 2014, The Hide at The Bull, City of London
The area around Liverpool Street is packed with dodgy looking but classic pubs that have been there since the days of Jack The Ripper.
The Hide at the Bull is one of these and although it is probably more appropriate for beer heaving me and Miss Bubbles headed there for brunch on her last day in London this time around.
I guess the one thing that you can say about the staff is probably... Confused. Now there are two types of confused; cute and charming scatterbrain alternatively nonchalant with an attitude problem. In the Bull, we met both. We had the adorable Italian girl who in spite of forgetting what the difference between Eggs Benedict and Eggs Florentine and having to rush into the kitchen and ask the chef, completely won everyone in the place over by doing something as simple as laughing at herself being a bit all over the place. Then we have the grumpy and clearly hungover 22 year old who basically found everyone entering the pub annoying an unworthy of his paid time. I don't even demand politeness out of kids like him - I know that Sunday morning feeling too well - but after the fourth time asking for a plain tomato juice it would be nice if it didn't come out as a bad Bloody Mary. 'Can you not just drink that instead?'. No young man, I can not.
As with most bars in the area, there is nothing at The Bull that really sticks out. It's a pub, nothing more, nothing less and although our food was fine, it was nothing beyond that, history or no history.
Nevertheless, it was lovely to spend some time with Miss Bubbles one-on-one, seeing as hangout time with her is becoming a rarer and rarer occasion, just like staying out until last call on a school night. And although she and Mr Bubbles are very happy in their country side house I know they'll always come back to London for Bloody Mary brunches and summer Prosecco on Clapham Common.
Next time, we'll find a place where they know their eggs a tad better though.
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