Euston pubs

Very well kept pub minutes from Euston Station, in the restaurant-filled area tucked just off Euston Road that is often termed ‘Little India’. Nice cosy seating booths, if you are lucky enough to bag one, and plenty of other tables both inside and out. A good range of beer. Gets exceptionally busy on Fridays, but is eerily empty at the weekends. Better than much of the corporate nonsense nearby. The rest of Somers Town’s pubs may have succumbed to the gentrification craze, but not The Cock. No faux-old reclad, expensive lagers and gastro food. Instead, The Cock has stuck with its original clientele, and provides them with what they want: a pool table, lots of TVs and cheap industrial lager. It’s not somewhere that will be to everyone’s tastes, but it can’t be faulted for its basic, no-nonsense approach. With the front containing enough flora to put the Chelsea Flower Show to shame, I was worried the inside would disappoint. Never judge a pub by its cover seems a pretty good maxim, and on more than one occasion I’ve been sorely tempted by a thrilling exterior, only to be deeply disappointed by what lies within. Thankfully, the Exmouth Arms is the exception proving the rule: the lovingly-cared for outside matched by a robust, clean, no-nonsense interior that’s all plain colours and dark wood, littered with plenty of tables and a surprising amount of space. Has a couple of real ales and all the other usual stuff. Situated on a quiet road close to Euston Station, with a few tables placed out front, it makes for an excellent meeting place. Does food. It was all going so well. Transformed from the festering heap of yesteryear, the Prince Arthur has managed to metamorphose into something, er, nice: wooden fittings, leather seats, moodily lit by lights contained in big red lampshades, free of football and full of real ales. Nice people hung out around its tables and chatted about nice things. And then I went to the loo, which is situated just behind the bar by the picture of a naked lady. OK, fine, we all get the postmodern joke thing like we all get strange pains in the backs of our heads after too little sleep. I let it pass, and was happily having a slash when I noticed something pink, tubular and flaccid laying on the floor. Initially alarmed that the Euston Penis Hacker had struck, I took a closer look and realised it was in fact a dismembered portion of crab, about four inches long, left under one of the sinks. On my way out I checked the menu, just in case some of the ingredients had been re-enacting The Great Escape, but no, no crab. So, um, maybe someone’s got a king kong version of a certain genitalia problem? I was quite put off my beer.

---

All content © Random Pub Finder 2001-2010, website development by Doogal