UPDATE: I’ve heard that this place has closed down. Bah!

The leaf-strewn lanes of NW6 may once have held a similar hold on the artistic imagination as the windy wynds of Edinburgh Old Town or the tipply side-streets of Montmartre, but these days, they just reek of privilege and haughtiness, the elevation over town as much a psychological construct as a physical reality.

Image taken from somewhere deep in teh googlez

That said, who doesn’t love a nose around posh houses? Not us, that’s for sure. After a constitutional stroll around the Heath, with the kites and the ponds and the gays and the dogs and all that, the Old White Bear is the best spot to stop for a nice, long drink. Sufficently adrift from the discomfiting centre of Hampstead, and placed on a peculiar little square, its hilliness and adjunct nature to the surrounding streets a surprise and a pleasure, this well-tended pub acts as a welcome harbour to anyone caught shy on a stormy autumn afternoon. The benched seating outside flirts with the Continent, but really, its heart lies inside, with dark wood panelling, proper plates of bangers and mash and leather seats as warm, comforting and familiar as an episode of Blackadder on a Wednesday evening.

Though it has to be said, the last time I was in there, the bar was tended by some sarky, dour South African, who had in attendance at least three vapid north london princesses. Let’s hope the Bear isn’t set fair towards that standard of clientele. Us misanthropes need our hidey-holes, and this is one of them.