A great thing about Bristol is that this pub is this pub.
Opposite the most iconic street in Bristol – the joyfully grand Royal York Crescent, the longest terrace in Europe – and right in the heart of what we’re legally bound to call ‘Clifton Village’, this place could be going in all kinds of directions. It could be a snooty, snappy pub/restaurant – a sort of bumptious, provincial Harwood Arms – and I wouldn’t bear it any ill-will. No, I’d think, it’s only to be expected that a pub called ‘The Clifton’ in the middle of Clifton would turn out to be such a thing.
But it hasn’t turned out to be such a thing at all – it’s a cosy, cheery, sometimes quite noisy gathering spot for studes and young professionals to munch on massive burgers and drink a surprisingly good range of lagers, ales and ciders. It is another of those pubs with multiple furniture personalities, which can confuse some but, once you know the drill, there’s generally a spot going for whatever mood you’re in.
It also has a website that says things like “Dogs are allowed as long as the staff can have a cuddle!”.
I like that.
I guess this would be the 'palm-strewn living room' section of the pub
Looking at this website, you realise that it’s another Mitchell and Butler spawn – not least because they have to use the shitty template M&B demand for their pub sites – and you think, hot damn, can’t a welcoming, nicely kitted-out, unpretentious pub make it independently these days?
And then you think, no, no probably it can’t, not slap bang in the middle of the fanciest suburb for miles around.
So, oh well, but also, hooray. At least this pub is this pub.