Atomic Burger, Hobgoblin, & Oxford billiards

Fi & I spend most wknds in London.  It's so close, & two of the other lovely Mooring ladies are there, so more often than not, making that east-sou'easterly journey on Friday after work is a no-brainer.  Plus, we always seem to have something to accomplish in the city--shopping, work, goings-on about town, etc.  As a result, I've spent quite a lot of time there since my arrival.  In many ways, having the Big Smoke just a few bus-lengths down the M40 has made for a fairly easy transition from NYC.

This past wknd, Fi had to be in London for her second job, but I opted to hang back in Oxford for a change. There were any number of to-dos in the apartment, & if bored, I could always venture out for some sight-seeing.  Oxford is quite small, but I still haven't seen all of it.  As it happened, MC was on his own for the wknd too, so we made plans to meet up on Saturday evening for a nosh & hit the pubs.  I'd read about a place called Atomic Burger on Cowley Road, supposedly the best burger in town, so that seemed a logical place to start.  Check out who was guarding the bathroom:

Goodness, gracious me.

The food at Atomic Burger was top-notch, so MC & I couldn't help but stuff ourselves silly.  Burger babies gestating in our bellies, we cruised up Cowley toward a former haunt of MC's, the Hobgoblin.  Compared to most other Oxford pubs I've visited, the Hobgoblin was huge, a wide open plan with plenty of tables & standing room everywhere.  They aired sports on the big screen & offered a selection of real ales, including Wychwood staples like Brakspear Oxford Gold & my local favorite, the namesake brew Hobgoblin.  In fact, I'm drinking one right now.  Go team.

From there, MC & I repaired to another Cowley pub called Star, rumored to have a couple of pool tables, which are a rarity in Oxford boozers.  God knows why.  Get some skills, people.  Anyhow, we arrived, secured some beverages from the landlord, & sought out the billiards room.  Sure enough, toward the back were a couple of standard English tables, 3/4 the size of the smallest one I've seen in an American bar (billiards engineers here must attend the same school as the automotive designers).  I deposited my £1 in the slot, far more convenient than clumsily trying to fumble in 6 quarters.  Much to my surprise, when the balls emerged, they were colored like this:

Stripes or solids?

Good luck trying to play 9-ball.  This country is so weird sometimes.  Anyhow, a few games & a few beers later, MC & I reached our fill of Greene King IPA & pygmy pool, so we toddled back to our side of town for some Zzzzs.  Great night!