In love with the locals

by Alice Lascelles

It’s always exciting finding a great new watering hole, but the pinnacle of drinking discoveries must surely be finding a favourite new local. To find two in a month is moreover miraculous – and yet this is exactly what recently happened to me:

Pub no.1: The Southampton Arms on Highgate Road, North London. Once a stinking old boozer (of the wrong kind), this newly-revamped pub is a shining example of a simple idea brilliantly executed. It’s tiny – barely more than six tables – but it has one of the biggest, if not the biggest, independent cider and ale selections on draught in London. Walls have been stripped back to reveal gorgeous old tiling and the fireplace restored so that your nostrils are filled with the smell of a coal fire as you arrive. There’s a wonky old piano and a crackly record-player on the bar. On cold days they do a cauldron of mulled cider, and the only food is a glass case full of homemade scotch eggs and pork pies, served up on tin plates with a blob of Coleman’s mustard. No fiddly gastro-pub pretensions – just simple stuff served exactly how you want. Pure heaven.

Pub no.2: The Torriano on Torriano Avenue, North London. Tucked away off the high street it takes a bit of finding – perhaps why I’ve never been despite it being only five minutes from my house. Of the flakey wallpaper and wonky chandeliers variety, this pub’s more about atmosphere than fine booze. Old Irish barflies, north London hipsters, a group of middle aged ladies who looked like they might be a book group, art students, ageing musicians, at least one calligrapher...a more diverse clientele I have yet to find. Fuelled on whisky and wine, I blundered through the wrong door on the way to the loo and even found myself in a speakeasy salon going on in the cellar downstairs, run by a lady who looked like she’d stepped out of an episode of Poirot. There was nice cheap booze, bread and cheese, good music, the bartender shared his fags with me, and even had the presence of mind to offer my dog a bowl of water. Now that’s what I call service.

All hail the pub I say.