Beastly Places
by Emma Robson
Well that'll teach me to volunteer for anything again won't it? For this issue of beast I promised faithfully to come up with two pieces to make up for the fact that in the last issue I contributed sod all.
So I sensibly went out and walked into some of the most fucked up drinking establishments I know in order to tell you where the best fights and all round bad element was.
First up is the Gardeners, known locally as 'The Beak' (Why? I have no idea) Located approximately ten minutes away (walking) from 'The Den' (The Millwall Football Ground) and about a quarter of an hours walk from London Bridge area 'The Beak' is the local haunt of the well known and avoided Silwood Estate, or it was.
I have fond memories of this place, the thoughtfulness of the bottle throwing Millwall fans as us girls walked past, the concern they showed if a fight broke out and we happened to be inside the pub at the time (being hidden under a table by a blood soaked stranger is an experience every fourteen year old should have) The NF marches parading past on Saturday mornings, the soft screeching of the local alcoholic bint, more fondly known as Auntie Sue. Ahh yes memories.
It’s changed a lot. Okay so it’s still a dive but it just isn't up to the standards in the days of yore. Life on the estate itself is slowly dissipating as the property developers move in and the most old skool practitioners of violence are finally old enough to be detained at her Majesties pleasure. Millwall are just plain shite (well some things don't change) so the fans are more despondent and barley a head is cracked during the after game drinking sessions, itıs almost safe to walk in wearing a West Ham shirt. Auntie Sue has taken her fourteen kids and gone to live somewhere equally as nasty and the NF have had their heads kicked in. Now you'll be lucky if you see one skirmish in the course of the day and that's more likely to be the bartender trying to wrest that final pound from the hands of the drunkard slobbed out by the bar.
If I was writing this based on the years of 1990 through 95 I would almost certainly give this a ten out of ten, in the old days it was a model for all other dives to aspire to. Unfortunately these days the carpet is more likely to be soaked with spilt diet coke than blood and it gets a very pitiful four out of ten.
Originally this piece was going to be just London based but then I changed my mind, why not give you some variety? So I move on the 'The Anchor and Hope' the corner of Wolesley Road in Freemantle, Southampton about two minutes walk from Shirley High Street.
Words can not express how much I love this place. The dimly lit smoke smogged rooms. The fifty year old bleach blondes trying to pass themselves off as twenty year olds and their pissed off wives. That local group of young ‘uns, the annoyingly loud blonde with a huge arse and big tits who hugs everyone she vaguely recognises (That’ll be you, then, luv -ed.) in an attempt to look popular and escape the vacuous pretty tart and short specie dyke she's sat with. The pissed off knife wielding ex barman, the huge tattooed and knuckle duster wielding bar prop, the screaming psychotic slag and of course type of landlord only a pub like this could attract, built like a brick shit house with the look of a bulldogs arse after a particularly nasty bout of diarrhoea.
It all happens here and refreshingly nothing ever changes, the barmaids have no idea what a smile is and all have honed their ducking skills to perfection. You never know when you'll be ordered "Get away from the window ladies that fuckin' maniac is gonna kill someone - perfect. Still it lacks the angry mobs of the Gardeners heyday and so I can only award it a seven out of ten, six for the above and a whole extra point for the smell of the loos. Now that could kill you.
Now it was suggested that I have just three of the above establishments and originally that was all it was. Not anymore. You see I have yet to mention Old Kent Road aka 'Murder Mile' if you need to know where it is take out you monopoly set and have a look at the lowest priced place on the board, thatıs right itıs the shit coloured one. Nightlife on old Kent road is shit, with clubs the likes of 'Caesars' and 'Screwballs' amongst others the violence seems almost choreographed when one fight ends another begins.
Of course the fact that most of the clientele are twelve years old and females the most gore you'll see all night is a scratched face and foot stomping tantrum. Again like the establishment at the beginning of this piece it's all just died a death. The Triads and the Frenchys have moved onto pastures new and being honest even 'The Lavender Hill Mob' could win the nastiest fight down here now. There's no angry big bloke chasing our taxis anymore, no big bitches in little skirts to drunkenly tell "I could 'ave you slag' not even a leering medallion man to badly insult and get kicked in a whim. The most action you'll see down there is probably your little sister making Barbie and Ken do it on the dance floor while jigging around to some impossibly twee and interchangeable poppy crap.
Of course I've been to other places but I have to admit I've mainly been disappointed. No challenge no rush of adrenaline as a pool cue narrowly misses your pint. I'd say murder mile scores a five, for effort, but I think they need to do a check for paedophiles on the doors 'cos I tell you what there has to be some reason that many pre pubescent in spangly silver can get in.
Overall a huge disappointment. If you know a pub that can pass muster or have any suggestions as to the next review donıt forget you can email on .blah blah blah blech.