First foray to the pub lacks the fizz and sparkle of old times

ON a normal summer Saturday, the White Horse, a Thirties boozer just off Carnaby Street, would be stuffed to the rafters with drinkers, spilling out on to the street, booming laughter bouncing off the walls.

Today, a few dedicated punters had stopped by to quench their three-month-long thirst for a pint, but there’s nothing of that lively pub atmosphere that makes drinking in this city such a unique joy.

Only eight tables are allowed to be used, and table service for drinks takes ages. Bar staff forgetting you feels even worse post-Covid. The closest other drinker to us is seated far more than two metres away, basically on the other side of the room.

In a relatively old-school pub like this, with various nooks, it’s quite easy to ensure customers are spread out, but it does mean that there’s no real hustle and bustle. Everyone feels a bit sequestered off.

My partner and I order a drink, and the barmaid brings it over on a tray, which she balances on the edge of the table. “Please can you pick up your own drinks?” she asks us, almost flinching away as we collect them.

We drink in near silence. I try to make some jokes, but the whole thing feels quiet and rather desolate, all suspicion and silence. Fellow patrons murmur to themselves but there’s no real pub-like camaraderie.

It’s clear that staff are trying their best. Our barmaid is bubbly and friendly, with a warm smile, cracking a joke as she collects our empty glasses which we have to slide across the table to her, rather than passing over.

James Blunt is being pumped from all the speakers to drown out our silence, but it’s grim.