The feeling of inevitability is a curious one. There is an inevitability that is magnetising, like that, that finally led me to visit Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem for the first time this week. Despite having visited Nottingham many times before, I have always been hesitant to make this particular pilgrimage but I knew that gravity would pull me in eventually. There is also a triumphant inevitability to the pub itself and its survival against all odds for such a long period of time. It claims to be the oldest inn in England though this is disputed and as one local gleefully told me “it’s not even the oldest pub in Nottingham!”. But, regardless of the honorifics, the sense of permanence surrounding old buildings is always palpable and a pleasure to experience. Pleasurable is not what I would call my long awaited first visit to ‘The Trip’ though. Far from it. It left me with a distinct feeling of unease, tinged with sorrow and perhaps even grief. 

The freehold for The Trip has been owned by Greene King since 2006, when the Suffolk based pub goliath purchased Hardys and Hansons brewery alongside all of its public houses. I do not enjoy the cookie cutter nature of Greene King’s ‘pubs by numbers’ and try to avoid their venues wherever possible. But the weight of history associated with The Trip had drawn me in, like a moth to a flame, or in this instance, like a fly to a zapper. I tried to lose myself in the old stone walls and low ceilings but I was wrenched back to reality by the litany of tiny air pockets defiling my glass of characterless brown beer, the privilege of drinking which did not come cheap. Even when I managed to push past my rather lackluster pint, I could not appreciate the marks of history surrounding me as they were lost in a haze of tourists snapping photos and people asking if they could have garden peas, rather than mushy, with their fish and chips. It was when I overheard an order for ‘Mac&Cheese’ that I knew we were truly lost. I have been conned. I am a lemming, willingly throwing myself against a century old stone wall of novelty. 

Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem is a perfect distillation of everything that is wrong with big pub groups like Greene King. In the palm of their hand they had something so utterly unique and brimming with character, but they closed their hulking fist and moulded it until it fit neatly and undistinguishable amongst all of its other ruined possessions. 

There is a part of me that wonders whether I should be pleased, that at least this historic monument is still operating as a pub rather than a lifeless museum, but is being a soulless, tourist trap, cash cow any kind of existence for a site of such culture?

I leave with a profound feeling of loss. What could this beautiful old building become if it was allowed to step out of the shadow of the grotesque colossus, within whose stranglehold it lies. I feel as though I have watched Hector’s body paraded around the walls of Troy. Ultimately the battle has been won; the pub is still open. But the sight before me disturbs. Due deference is not being paid, respect not shown.