Wapping pubs

Converted warehouse offering commanding views of the River Thames. The name comes from nearby Execution Dock, now filled in, which was formerly a place of execution for salty sea dogs including the infamous Captain Kidd. The pub which has been here since the late 80s does a good impression of being much older than it really is. The full range of Samuel Smiths beers is served, so expect good value. Upstairs there is an overpriced restaurant and out the back is a substantial riverside terrace. This has won awards in Scandinavia, of all places... A delightful dark wood interior, great food and an opening on to the river. Unmissable in summer, it retains a certain splendid moodiness that makes it ideal for winter drinking too... A charming historic pub squeezed up against a converted warehouse. On venturing inside, it's as if you have fallen through time. Apparently Judge Jeffries, the infamous 17th century hanging judge, used to drink here. Despite this claim to fame there are noticeably fewer tourists than at some of the other local riverside pubs and this is not a bad thing at all. There is a small, but exceedingly well-kept, range of ales at the bar. They also serve traditional pub fayre if you’re feeling hungry. It seems that Alan Titchmarsh has been here since my last visit, as the hitherto dingy beer garden overlooking the Thames has now been transformed into a multi-level decking extravaganza. If you can tear yourself away from the lovely old interior, it’s the perfect place to watch the river slipping past in the sunshine. You only have to walk for five minutes away from the luxury apartments fronting the Thames and you enter an entirely different Wapping. This parallel universe is a small oasis containing ordinary shops and a couple of pubs that serve the local community. This establishment is one of them. It is a friendly, family-run pub that dates back well into the nineteenth century. The pub’s name is connected to the famous artist who used to frequent the area to draw inspiration for his work. In those days it looked very different to how is does today: the streets surrounding the docks were dirty and full of vice and whole families had to live in single rooms in dilapidated lodging houses. Turner used to call himself Admiral “Puggy” Booth and apparently he lead a bit of a double life. He took a mistress who was the landlady of a pub and when she died the pub was apparently left to him. In recognition of this story, the pub’s name was changed several years ago. In spite of the redevelopment of the docks the pub is still the focal point for a small group of loyal punters and there is enough there to keep them happy. The pub has a screen for the all important football, boasts a pool table and it hosts weekly quiz nights on Thursdays. The only ale is London Pride, but that is not so unusual for East London. Overall we found this to be a highly enjoyable pub. All you have to do is step a few yards north of Wapping High Street's luxury apartment strip and you find yourself in a wholly different world, one deserted forever by planners and architects after they finished laying the mid-50s, mid-rise monstrosities that bestow all the elegance on the area of a herd of farting bison. The casual Thames Path-walker - or Luxury Apartment-seeking Estate Agent-botherer - will probably get no further, but for the pub-hungry it is worth wandering a few hundred yards into Architectural Hell. The White Swan and Cuckoo appears to be a 19th century building on a quiet street, mouldering greyly at the front, with curtains covering all the windows and fluorescent stars advertising the cheapness of various brews within. I've always found curtained pubs to be a bit hit and miss; you really don't know upon entering whether you're going to be greeted by two old men and a dog, a pack of psychotic local yoof smoking crack and playing snooker with a Kalashnikov, or the greatest pub in the known universe. In this case, it happened to be the latter. Unmessed with pub decor in reds and dark wood festered beautifully under appealingly dim lighting, with a large and lively crowd divided between watching the football in one section of the 'L'-shaped saloon, and talking in the other. People made way for us to sit down and we soon got caught up in the cheerful banter, watching all the while as the crowd ebbed and flowed around us. It's no great shakes in the beer department, but was so convivial and friendly that I couldn't have cared less, taking in people of all races and lifestyles (although, tellingly, not any from the luxury apartments at the bottom of the road) as well as children, pensioners and everything in between. The football coverage was businesslike (no dabbling with half-time coverage or the dreaded post-match analysis) and the minute it was over up went the big screen and everyone got back to talking. It does food, meaning there is absolutely no excuse for leaving, and was about as life-affirming as things get on a day when Michael Howard made a speech, my football team lost, England's batting order collapsed and a dozen more people died in Iraq. Come here; be happy.

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