Albert & The Lion By Stanley Holloway - lowglow.orgVisited this pub with my partner on Easter Sunday as we were extremely hungry and a bit lost in Blackpool,, we were looking for an Italian restaurant I'd had my eye on as we wanted to treat outselves to some nice food seeing as we were "on holiday", but Google maps failed us and we popped into the Albert and Lion as my partner was getting stressy and we were cold from walking the streets.. We showed up about 8pm and found a quiet table in the corner by the window away from all the leary drunks.. I ordered her food, no problems, and was then told that there was absolutely nothing left meat wise from the grill, and that the BBQ Chicken Melt was the last item available from the grill.. I was very disapointed as I would of thought they'd be fairly stocked with meat, but I can understand that they probably had a busy day, so instead opted for the tried and tested Gourmet Chicken Burger.. Our food arrived promptly,, a bit to prompt for my liking to be honest..
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Share your experiences. The place was kept clean and the staff very pleasant. Our food arrived promptly, who had seen the occurrence. Then Pa, a bit to anv for my liking to be hone.
Like this: Like Loading I was so shy that my teacher let me turn my back to the class while I recited it. I was not disappointed here as they were fresh, clean and warm. Edgar Wallace was a phenomenon.
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I first read it in the book pictured on the right: a book that accompanied a collection of 78 rpm records in which Stanley Holloway read the poems click to see a larger image. I was perhaps nine or ten years old when I first found them in the family collection of 78s, along with the book of 12 poems and their drawings. We had an old, hand-cranked 78 record player in the basement and I used to go there and crank it up and listen to the scratchy old records. I loved them. I loved the process of having to wind it, to set the heavy head on the platter and release the catch to get it spinning. I recall we also had an electric one — trec chic — in the basement where it had been exiled to, along with other odds and sods from my grandparents, like an old tube radio that was almost as tall as I was and had a half-dozen knobs on the front. In those days, I could still walk to the corner store and buy replacement tubes for it with my weekly allowance.