It’s a shiny, quietly ecstatic day, when the air is soft and warm and everyone’s humming with excitement. You’re on the hunt for a gathering-place for a few lucky souls to toast your goodwill and good fortune and whatever else feels good on this good day to be alive and solvent. You want space in the sun, a decent drink, with a sprinkling of town-centre bustle to keep you alert. You are feeling smug smuggity smug. Head for Clerkenwell Green and take up residence among the iron seats and tables scattered around outside this smartly-upholstered pub. Get yourselves some nice wheat beers, from Belgium or something. Order a burger, in a ciabatta, with potato wedges. You know, that kind of stuff.
In the winter, Farringdon and its surrounds can look severely drab. You wish to retire from such scenes and chew up some newsprint, with warming victuals to help you on your way. Head here, and inside. The walls are a sensible red; the large windows remain clear to all, but the heating is up. The armchairs are capacious enough to swallow you up and leave you to your large glass of Rioja or pint of TT Landlord. That sort of thing.
Image swiped from BITE - sorrrryyy
This is that sort of pub. “Quietly efficient” probably gets it right. A place at the bar for all – but most likely, not in the heart. Don’t know why. Just ’cause.
EDIT: This was written before realising that the upstairs area is an unheralded beaut, a brilliant, characterful meeting-spot filled with chandeliers, sofas and fading theatre posters. Go meet some chums there, it’s the best.