Weigh Anchor and duck in for a little Rum, Sodomy and the Lash
by Roland Columbus - Sunday 23rd 2003f November 2003
The Anchor, Cambridge is one of the many wonders of this vibrant university town. Gone are the drugged rottweilers (written before Ed's time, admittedly) and riot-police exit policy, to be replaced with a quality of customer service previously unparalleled in the Old Dart.
Even without the once noble fleet of Canadian, Kurdish, Italian, American, Chinese, Dutch, French, Irish and True Blue Champion Australian (TM) bar staff - glass flippers extraordinaire, all - the Anchor is in safe hands under sound and shrewd new management.
Roused by a bawdy punt along the river, wander in and enjoy the playful, sultry machinations of the Scudamores set as they cajole their way into the hotel rooms of strangers from afar and beguile the college beauties with their tanned cheekbones.
Hot toddies all round in the winter time, and never a shortage of maritime memorabilia. heigh ho, and more besides, I'll warrant, ya young scamp. Singin' turali urali uttity, and with a shout of West Ham!, West Ham! at the food counter, a pound off from the man born to Ladel. Tip your lid to the doormen and settle in with a pint of "beater."
The Anchor doth swell with Bravos and Biscuit, and if a scurvy lad ye do find awash here, send him to the river with a toast and a cheer.
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