Wait, isn't he in Spain smoking?
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In that neighbourhood ? Crazily expensive and full of absolute cunts.
Dunno, never been. It's smack bang in the middle of tourist Hell though.
Back from Spain. Was at the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Mad mad festival. It's like the drunkest Paddy's day you've ever experienced stretched out over 9 days in a tiny town that tens of thousands of people cram themselves into. The smell of the place after a couple of days is quite something.Wait, isn't he in Spain smoking?
Back from Spain. Was at the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Mad mad festival. It's like the drunkest Paddy's day you've ever experienced stretched out over 9 days in a tiny town that tens of thousands of people cram themselves into. The smell of the place after a couple of days is quite something.
Freud
London, UK
Little known fact: in-between Animal Farm and 1984, George Orwell wrote an essay on the perfect bar. In it, he produced a list of 10 points which make up the basic recipe for the drinking man’s utopia. Well, I’ve looked through the list, and my own all-time favorite watering hole -- Freud in London -- does literally none of them. Not one. In fact, more often than not, it does the exact opposite of what Orwell recommends.
The architecture isn’t “uncompromisingly Victorian”, unless by some fluke the Victorians were known for their bare concrete walls covered in mind-bending artwork. The house posseses both a radio and a piano (gasp!), and no one -- from bartenders to patrons -- gives a sh*t about whether you like what they’re playing. It isn’t quiet, and you need to talk extremely loudly to overcome the charged, giddy atmosphere. The pint glasses? They're filled with cheap, delicious cocktails (sorry “creamy draught stout”). You technically can get “a decent lunch upstairs”, but only because upstairs is the outside world, and the bar is in a basement below a furniture shop. It’s tiny, it’s fun, and there is no Wi-Fi. And on a good night, it’s damn perfect. -- Jason Allen, editor, London
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