PINT TO PINT

The Barley Mow, London W1

Snug by name, snug by nature. There are two at the venerable Barley Mow, of the sort in which stage-door Johnnies might have entertained lady friends in days gone by, accompanied by the pop of a champagne cork or two.

Both snugs are occupied when I pop in, the peals of laughter from their occupants suggesting it’s been a good day at work. So I settle in the front bar of this fine Victorian pub, one of relatively few in central London which to have withstood the rigours of 20-century “improvement”.

As in the snugs, wood dominates – on the floor, the wall panels and framing the solid, mirrored bar back. Unsurprisingly, the pub is Grade II listed.

A grey-haired businessman emerges from one of the snugs laughing at a joke I will never know; at the bar a couple of colleagues discuss beer: “A little tip: you can never go wrong with Harvey’s.” He’s right, of course; I nod my head in agreement, hand clasped around a glass of Harvey’s Sussex Best Bitter, an earthy, bittersweet yeoman of a beer, brimming with English hops.

The pub’s sole concession to the gourmand is a selection of pies. I go for steak and stilton: it complements my beer with a heartiness reminiscent of US and Soviet troops embracing on the Elbe.

As night falls to the accompaniment of persistent drizzle, and the yellow-eyed gleam of passing traffic cuts through the gloom, I look about me at this marvellous fragment of a bygone London.