You only notice the musty smell if you’re unfortunate enough to get stuck in a queue back past the bread plinth, towards the shanty town of chest freezers (the sliding doors are the backbone of each ageing unit rather than the doorway to claim Aunt Bessie’s Apple Pies and out of date Fab lollies. From the darker corner, six people deep in the line of dipsomaniacs, the mildew becomes noticeable, the shelves seem more yellow than cream and dust hangs on the rim of metal tins, clogging the air as winter jackets brush past the weeping shelves. Read the rest of this entry »

Tonight I went to 3 pubs I’ve never been to before. I’ve lived near them all for over 3 years, but tonight was the first time I’d ventured over their thresholds.

I’ve long believed that much more than the smoking ban has caused the British local to wither to it’s current state. I’m right as well, I know it. I don’t doubt the smoking ban has exasperated problems that some pubs faced, but there are many more issues that have led to bars, clubs and people’s living rooms beating pubs to share of wallet.

Tonight is a micro example, a tiny embodiment of how things have changed yet not changed in Britain. I will write about this another time and in greater detail, but to summarise my thoughts, the demise of British pub is finite, it’s a numbers game and it won’t end in extinction, merely a change of nomenclature and form.

The first pub we visited tonight, I will never go back to. It was rubbish. They promote local music and serve local people, which should be applauded, but it smelt and the music was shite (it may keep me up all night, up all night…) The band played Van Halen and Bon Jovi badly.

The second pub looked twice as good from the outside. It was lively: impromptu darts and possibly impromptu karaoke thrived. There was a nice lounge but a decrepit bar. The bar staff were downright ignorant. We felt completely unwelcome. Newcomers? How dare they come in here and spend money.

The third was the liveliest of the establishments, with a full on disco visible only when you hit the front porch. Remarkably, it was the most amendiable to conversation. Perhaps we’d just warmed up, lubricated with two pints previously. Or perhaps signs of human life simply woke us up. And possibly the bar staff, who were all remarkably attractive.

On a less positive note, midway through our first pint of cooking lager, my good friend was told “I’d nut you, but I can’t be arsed.” We drank two pints each there and chatted enthusiastically between us. Apparently that’s enough to piss off some of the twats that live in this country.

If you think I’m being snobby, at one point police officers were called to quell the increasingly tense mood. Just prior to this, 6 chaps had left the pub in a particularly argumentative moment, and only 3 came back. I can only presume the other three left with broken pride if not broken noses.

The British pub is alive and well in many places. Despite probably 1/3 of pubs around my area being boarded up, the ones that aren’t are doing a fine trade. There’s little in the way of cask ale, there’s little in the way of customer service, but the people love and hold dearly these locals that are their preference over heading into the city centre.

These locals won’t die out soon, but they will diminish in numbers. And the reason? They are bloody horrible places to go to. Increasingly they will serve a smaller audience, and, unfortunately, where better pubs could historically do well, the image of worse pubs will mean that the public house is an inferior alternative to the modern living room.

I found this bar recommended in a review of places to go for real ales in London – I would be more than willing to pass the recommendation on to anyone else.

My guide for the day assured me that this wasn’t the best of areas in the capital and that he would be massively surprised if we found the sort of pub we were looking for, if I’m honest, as we walked from the tube, I began to believe him more and more. Keeping the faith I made him bash on and it wasn’t long before I was sat with my ale thinking ‘I wish I’d bet him a fiver’.

The pub, set back from the road, is smart, well kept and would surely grace any area of town. What it does have, and what I feel escapes many pubs as tidy as this, was a local atmosphere. There were a good number of locals drinking and chats at the urinal, what else do you need to feel immediately at home?

Turning to the beer I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed with the fact that there was only London Pride and one guest ale available on draft. ‘When in Rome……’ I had a London Pride and I have to say it was a belting pint. At the worst of times London Pride is a smooth, easy drinking, beer and on this hot afternoon, after the walk from the tube, that effect was definitely accentuated.

Credit to the landlord because the beer was poured with patience, allowed to settle, and then topped up after payment had been taken. My cynical companion, who was already lucky not to be a fiver lighter by this stage, thought this was only because it was the landlord and because the bar was quiet. Repeat visits proved him wrong again as the other staff carried on in exactly the same way.

I’m not really sure about the surroundings, or whether this place is accessible enough to drop in on a night out, but, all in all, I would have to say I’d be chuffed to bits with having The Beehive as my local.

Website – www.thebeehivebar.co.uk