How do you choose your pub?

A Tyrant Named Miltiades! wrote: »

I think I must be one of the few people who hate my local.

The exterior is as grim as a 1980's social welfare office, or the visitors' entrance to Long Kesh, with its dirty grey aluminium door and its bleak little frosted window.
Inside the carpeted grotto of the bar, red-faced bachelor farmers in top-boots and peak caps huddle together in little groups. Even on Summer days, the fire is roaring and the door is shut. It always smells of piss.

When the door opens, the regulars blink and glower in the flood of sunlight. They fix their eyes on you and any outsider you've brought along, registering each petty detail or perceived offence for later criticism.

Anytime I've taken Dublin friends to this pub, they goggle in enthusiasm at the absence of Sky TV, or listen in awe to the rancorous old bitch singing rebel songs and pissing herself beside the fire. The Sunday World's pub reviewer once called it "the real deal", which if there were any justice in this world, would have dealt this hovel a death-blow.

Still, it's the only pub left in our pretty little hamlet, the landlords that dealt in food, music and basic hygiene having been squeezed to the brink of bankruptcy long ago.

I run a mile from attempts to recreate the traditional Irish pub in modern hipster venues. There's nothing wrong with svelte modern interiors, music, sports and dartboards while you sip on a wide variety of beers. It's called progress.