Off The Fence: The Worst Pubs in London
And our flash sale is about to end
Dear Readers,
Good afternoon, and welcome to a special Saturday edition of Off The Fence. Thankfully this unbearable cold snap is coming to an end.
Our competition for the winningest snap of Issue 21 has been won by Robert Loyko-Greer. Congratulations, Robert, the bottle of Bollinger is yours.
Issue 21 is now sold out in many shops, but you can find copies online at Magculture and Magalleria (great names) and a few more stores besides.
We have migrated to Bluesky, and we are having a lot of fun there. Join us.
Ahead of Issue 22’s launch in the first week of December, we are running a flash sale, where you can score three free magazines. This deal will expire at midnight on Sunday, so either click on the image below or get at it via the garish orange-red button below.
So here we go, as voted by you, our readers, here are the worst pubs in London, the sorriest gastroparlours, the grimmest boozers, etc. The nomination process was so extensive that it’s taken us a day to whittle it down. Because we are good sorts, we’ve also got a list of the 20 best pubs in London later – it looks like a perfect weekend for holing up with some friends and some pints. Let’s get on with it.
A Swift Half at Satan’s Arms
The most obvious place to start is Hackney: there were nominations for The Hemingway, The White Hart (‘a student union for adults’), Royal Inn on the Park, People’s Park Tavern but a solid five nominations for Pub on the Park, the gawky playpen overlooking London Fields, packed with chirping twenty-somethings chugging seven-pound pints from plastic glasses and wasting the brief kiss of youth.
Further south, The Owl and Pussycat on Redchurch Street, or the ‘OAP’ drew particular ire, with one correspondent writing ‘It’s a smoker’s yard, a pavement full of people basking in the supposed glow of Shoreditch House.’ The staff, we are told, ‘hate anything that moves’ and it’s a similar story at the Shipwrights Arms on London Bridge, where one correspondent was told to drink more when watching the TV: ‘We have a rule of one beer per half.’
The Trafalgar Tavern in Greenwich enjoys the dreamiest location, a great wedding cake of a pub plonked next to Old Father Thames. But it is operated as if ‘David Dickinson and Ben Fogle decided to run a pub together.’ With staff compelled to sport ‘matching crested blue shirts’ and an ‘excessive display of naval tat and bunting’ all throughout the hostelry, there is possibly no smugger pub on this list than The ‘TT’.
There are reams of terrible pubs in SW3 and SW7 – the Chelsea Potter, the Sydney Arms and the Zetland Arms, but perhaps the worst is The Stanhope Arms, the ‘distilment of everything you secretly fear a west London pub could be’.
Who among us hasn’t had a terrible evening out in town? There are so many third-division boozers in central it’s difficult to know where to start. The Montagu Pyke was once the last home of the legendary Marquee Club and is now a sterile barn, but you have to head to Mayfair for the two truly ghoulish options, the Coach and Horses off Old Bond Street, where the fake Tudor exterior beckons punters into the cramped room where you jostle for pints with the quarter-zipped junior analysts from the neighbouring hedge funds. The crowd at the Only Running Footman is, by some distance, more pathetic: ‘I was once there on a Thursday evening and the pub was three-quarters full, so there were about 90 people there I’d say. But not one single woman. Just 90 men, talking to each other in separate groups.’
But we think there’s an establishment even worse than that. The Pregnant Man sounds like a modish joke, a pub launched to the sound of outraged Daily Telegraph op-eds, but it opened its doors in 1970, as the in-house bar for the Saatchi & Saatchi advertising agency. It moved to its current location in Chancery Lane, when it opened its doors to all customers (except for weekends, when it is closed).
The Pregnant Man’s location means it is not only popular with ad execs braying about their latest campaigns, but also lawyers and barristers from the many nearby chambers, thereby bringing together London’s two most irritating professions in one small building. While quiet in the early part of the week, The Pregnant Man comes to life on Wednesdays and Thursdays, when you’re likely to find junior solicitors splitting the G alongside ‘buzzed’ creatives. All to the sound of a DJ nobody asked for. Merch is available behind the bar.
A Slice of Village Life
Yesterday afternoon, there was a security presence outside our office. The Windmill Theatre, the strip club-turned-nightclub beneath us, is being repossessed by the landlord. Exciting times.
On the street below, there are bright yellow banners on the railings outside Soho Parish School, which might close after serving the community for 140 years. There are issues with finances – which could be solved instantly by a benevolent patron. More pressingly, the enrolment has almost halved since 2018.
It’s hard to think of a more depressing coda to Francisco Garcia’s feature on the dwindling band of residents in London’s naughty heart, a piece of reportage so tight that it was featured on Longreads’ ‘best of the week’.
Goodbye England’s Rose
Since moving to Dalston, Rebecca Fallon has fascinated by the extraordinarily grotty Rose Hotel, a 70s hold-out on Kingsland High Street with a bizarre array of clientele coming in and out at all hours. What unfortunate events were taking place there? Read on to find out more.
Reach for the Lasers
On Tuesday, we divulged that a top-tier DJ gets paid £8,000 for a set at Fabric nightclub. A number of you wrote in with a series of claims and counters – one of which we can verify is that at Pacha in Ibiza, the tiny table for four behind the DJ booth costs £75,000 for the evening. Of course, if you are a friend of the house or the artist, then you can go in the booth. For free.
Another Hackney Story
Mark Lambie was arrested in 1985 as a suspect in the murder of PC Keith Blakelock. He was only 15 years old. He then became head of the Tottenham Man Dem, and the principal target for Operation Trident. 20 years ago, a war between Lambie’s TMD and gangs in east London was played out on the streets of Clapton, which became known in the press as ‘Murder Mile’.
Heading Hackney’s Love of Money crew was Robert Powell, whose Instagram acts as an astonishing visual archive of that time. It’s the ideal accompaniment to Max Daly’s extended feature on Clapton in the noughties, a story about guns, Yardies, gentrification and two warring gang bosses who were once close friends. Do read it if you haven’t done so already.
The Fence’s 20 Best Pubs in London (in no particular order)
Dolphin Tavern, WC2
Lord Clyde, SE1
Prince Edward, N7
The Orange Tree, N21
The Hare, E2
Black Deer, Debden
Skehan’s, SE14
Blythe Hill Tavern, SE6
Ivy House, SE15
Sir Robert Peel, NW5
The Cock Tavern, NW1
The Cow, W2
King and Queen, W1
Palm Tree, E3
Chequers (only in summer), SW1
Stag’s Head, W1
The Crown, N19
Dog and Bell, SE8
Shakespeare’s Head, EC1
Hemingford Arms, N1
In Case You Missed It
The piece you’ve all been waiting for: Giles Coren reviews The Yellow Bittern.
An unfortunately written piece on an intriguing subject. Vincenzo Barney (real name) interviews Augusta Britt, who was only 16 years old when she met Cormac McCarthy by a motel swimming pool. Half a century on, she breaks her silence.
Is the cost of living going to surge again?
Jonathan Nunn heads to the Reindeer Café in Brent Cross Town, London’s newest neighbourhood.
You’ll never guess what Peter Mandelson is up to…
And Finally
We will return to this slot’s standard fare of yellowing BBC reels shortly, but there is something in this sketch from Charli XCX’s SNL hosting last week. It’s pretty funny, as sketches go, which is why it was probably cut from the broadcasted show. Still, it’s good to see people trying: that’s the main thing.
*
The third time that Charli has been featured in this mail-out this year: she truly is ‘the moment’. We’ll be back on Tuesday, with some more gossip, tips and links. Remember that our sweet sweet digital deal expires tomorrow at midnight, Cinderella-style – three free magazines could be yours at this link here. If you’d like to speak about an order, please email support@the-fence.com and we’ll get back to you promptly.
All the best,
TF
There's an article in The New York Times about the Cormac McCarthy revelations.
The Blythe Hill Tavern is Forest Hill SE23, not Catford SE6