Prince Albert
Rodborough Hill


It’s a fair hike up Rodborough Hill to the Prince Albert, especially so when you are a tub of lard like me, but if you make the effort I’m sure you’ll find your effort has been suitably rewarded.
The Prince Albert is a pub. You’ll find no style bar trappings here. Apart from an occasional lick of paint I’m pretty sure the place must have looked the same for many a moon. I’m assuming the owner is a bit of a music fan as the walls are decorated with famous folk from the world of guitars and microphones and one of the bookcases is home to many books about Elvis Presley. Coincidentally, one of the pictures on the walls is of Elvis Costello. Elvis seems to be a bit of recurring feature. If there’s a pub cat I hope it is called Elvis.

The beer list was home to a couple from local boys Stroud, Timothy Taylor Landord (which boasted a vintage looking pump clip, which suggests it’s been a long-time favourite beer of the pub) and Italian Job from Rooster’s. I went for a pint of Italian Job. We took a seat in the corner beside the Elvis book shelves and a huge bulbous green bottle that was jam packed full of loose change. I soaked in the pub. It felt like a good place to drink and I’d imagine if it was your local it would feel even better. I took a glug of beer. I’ve never had a bad beer from Rooster’s but I’ve also never had a beer from them that has totally blown me away. The Italian Job was good and got tastier with each moutful but, sadly, it wasn’t as great as so many people tell me that Rooster’s beers are. But with that said I would have happily downed a second pint and very probably a third. But, alas, the time was running out on the parking meter and the car was back in town. With slight reluctance I departed the Prince of Albert. Hopefully, I will find a reason to return.


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