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VERSION:2.1
N:The Ruskin Arms
FN:The Ruskin Arms
TEL;WORK;VOICE:020 8472 0377
ADR;WORK:;;386 High Street North;E12 6PH
URL:
NOTE:The Punjabi word 'paanch', meaning 'five', is where we derive the word 'punch', with both its meanings of a five-fingered fist in the face and five spirits mixed in a bowl with fruit. It was, therefore, quite appropriate that in this well-loved Punjabi drinking den I had to break up a drunken squabble in the toilets. Two men walked in, began a very heated conversation in Punjabi and squared up to each other. Toilets, as I told them, really aren't the sort of place for this sort of thing, especially with a third party nearby trying to ease the pressure on his bladder. They looked embarrassed, promised me they were best friends and headed back out again; I later saw them sat together at the bar, laughing and sharing a joke, so no damage done there, then. About a year ago the Ruskin Arms decided it was a restaurant, and the canopies above the windows bear the motto "Ruskin Arms Restaurant", with "Punjabi Restaurant" painted round the door. It was with considerable disappointment that I discovered this no longer to be the case, and I initially thought the pub had reverted back to something like normal. To call the decor in this place completely minimal would possibly be an understatement; when I first walked in I was overwhelmed by the cavernous emptiness of the place: no carpets, wallpaper, pictures or anything, it's just like an old school hall with long arrays of plain wooden tables. It was only when I was standing at the bar, being served by one of the statuesque Eastern European barmaids that I realised I was standing in the shadow of a colossal figurehead. Above the bar runs a very ordinary garden fence, and through the fence a motorcycle has crashed, throwing out its rider (a leather- and helmet-clad skeleton, no less) in a cantileved sprawl over the centre of the pub, arms akimbo, skeletal face twisted into a paroxism of horror. Uh, weird. I stared at it, while the locals just carried on drinking and playing cards.I didn't think it was a Punjabi thing, but didn't like to ask, so I took my drink, sat down and watched the cricket on a tiny TV perched somewhere near the ceiling. Later, while inspecting the further recesses of the cavernous gloom, I discover that the pub plays host to a veritable legion of Death Metal bands on various nights of the month, which sort of explains it. So now this place has turned into a Punjabi/Eastern European Death Metal gastro-pub that doesn't serve food. Right. A veritable vortex of weirdness, but mighty pleasing for all that.
NOTE:Apparently closing in December 08
NOTE:The Ruskin Arms is now all boarded up and building work is in operation but do not know as what.
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