Best Irish Themed Pubs

In the heart of London's southwest, Whelan's Kingston emerges like a Celtic hearth, its warm glow beckoning through leaded windows. The familiar green facade stands proud against the urban bustle, a few steps from Kingston station where the evening crowds ebb and flow like tide pools around this Irish-spirited anchor. Here, beneath vintage-style lanterns, stories begin their nightly migration from stranger to friend. Inside, time moves differently. The polished wood bar stretches like a ancient fallen oak, worn smooth by countless elbows and animated conversations. Light plays through amber pint glasses, casting honeyed shadows across tables where laptops and business papers give way to sharing plates and laughter as day surrenders to dusk. The space holds its history in every groove and corner, yet remains vitally present, like a well-loved instrument that improves with age. The pulse of Whelan's Kingston quickens as evening deepens. Live music fills the air three nights a week, transforming the pub from casual meeting spot to cultural crossroads. Local bands and seasoned performers take to the compact stage, their sound carried on invisible currents to every corner of the room. Screens mounted strategically throughout display sporting events with democratic fairness - whether it's Premier League matches, rugby internationals, or hurling from across the Irish Sea, each broadcast finds its devoted audience. The menu speaks in comfort food dialects, offering substantial plates that bridge the gap between traditional pub fare and contemporary tastes. Fish and chips arrive golden and crackling, while burgers tower with ambitious architecture. During lunch, office workers and students find refuge in hearty sandwiches and warming soups that feel like good value without sacrificing quality. The kitchen maintains its standards from opening until late, understanding that hunger keeps no regular hours in a proper pub. Pints are poured with reverence here - each tap commanding respect from the bar staff who know their craft. While real ale enthusiasts might note the absence of hand pumps, the carefully curated selection of keg beers and ciders offers plenty of conversation starters. Wine drinkers aren't forgotten, with a focused list that provides quality without overwhelming choice. Your glass, whether filled with craft lager or house red, becomes a passport to belonging. The pub's layout creates natural eddies of activity - high tables near the bar for quick pints and chance encounters, cozy booths for intimate conversations, and an outdoor space where smokers and fresh-air seekers find common ground. During summer months, this area becomes its own micro-community, with umbrellas providing shelter from both sun and occasional showers, the chatter and laughter spilling onto the street like music. Service here carries the genuine warmth of Irish hospitality, though it can strain during peak hours when the venue fills to capacity. The staff navigate the space with practiced ease, managing to maintain their good humor even as Friday night crowds three-deep at the bar signal the weekend's proper beginning. They're equally adept at welcoming solo customers as they are handling large groups, maintaining that delicate balance between efficiency and personal attention. Late hours transform Whelan's Kingston into something else entirely, as DJs take over from live bands, and the energy shifts from pub to party. The transformation is organic, like watching day become night, and even those who came for "just one" often find themselves carried along by the changing tide. Yet somehow, even at its most vibrant, conversations remain possible - the mark of a well-designed space that understands its purpose. Step inside Whelan's Kingston and join the ongoing story of this London cornerstone. Whether you're seeking lunch away from the office, live music to lift your spirits, or simply a proper pint in good company, you'll find your place here. Like all the best pubs, it offers not just refreshment but belonging - a place where memories are made while others are honored, where tomorrow's traditions take root in today's moments.

Just what London needs - another Irish pub claiming to be "authentic." When I first walked into Nolan's in South Lambeth, I was ready to dismiss it as yet another pretender trying to cash in on the eternal appeal of dark beer and dartboards. The neighborhood already has enough watering holes vying for the coveted "genuine article" status, so why should this corner establishment warrant any special attention? I'll tell you why, though it pains my cynical heart to admit it. Nolan's in London has somehow managed to do the impossible - create a pub that feels both legitimately lived-in and welcomingly unpretentious, without trying too hard at either. The stripped wood floors aren't artificially distressed to look old; they're actually worn from decades of foot traffic. The blue walls aren't "thoughtfully curated" by some interior designer's vision of what an Irish pub should be; they're just... blue. Let's talk about the Guinness, because we must. At a fiver a pint (a rare reasonable price point in this increasingly expensive city), it's poured with the kind of care that suggests someone behind the bar actually gives a damn. I've had enough badly-pulled pints in London to fill the Thames, but here, they seem to understand that proper technique isn't just for show. The place has three dartboards. Three. Not tucked away in some dark corner as an afterthought, but prominently displayed like the sporting shrine they are. The collection of trophies lining the shelves isn't for show either - this is clearly a pub where people come to play, and play seriously. There's something refreshingly honest about that. You'd expect a pub of this vintage (established 1856, when it was known as The Prince of Wales) to rest on its historical laurels, but Nolan's manages to balance its heritage with contemporary relevance. Yes, there's a fish tank behind the bar - because of course there is - but it somehow works alongside the multiple screens showing live sports without feeling like a theme park version of an Irish pub. The regulars here aren't playing at being pub-goers; they're just people who've found their local. Students mingle with old-timers, and surprisingly, it doesn't feel forced. The landlady's welcome isn't the practiced hospitality of a chain establishment but the genuine warmth of someone who actually enjoys what they do. (I know, I was shocked too.) What you won't find here is craft beer experimentation or a gastropub menu trying to reinvent the wheel. The beer selection is decidedly mainstream, focusing on familiar keg offerings rather than obscure ales. And while there's no proper food menu, the basic bar snacks serve their purpose well enough. Sometimes, knowing exactly what you are - and aren't - is the greatest form of authenticity. The location, just a stone's throw from Nine Elms tube station, makes it dangerously convenient for an impromptu pint. The building itself is something of an oddity - a long, detached structure that stands apart from its neighbors, much like the pub's stance in London's drinking landscape. Is it perfect? Of course not. The glasses could be cleaner, and yes, there's apparently a cat wandering around (allergy sufferers, you've been warned). The mixed drinks won't win any mixology awards, and if you're seeking craft beer innovation, you're in the wrong place entirely. But here's the thing - Nolan's in London isn't trying to be the next big thing or your Instagram backdrop. It's content being what it is: a proper pub where you can actually hear yourself think (most of the time), play a decent game of darts, watch the match without having to book a table three weeks in advance, and enjoy a well-pulled pint that won't require a mortgage extension. Against my better judgment and every cynical bone in my body, I have to recommend this place. Whether you're in the area or need to make a special trip to SW8, Nolan's offers something increasingly rare in London - an honest pub experience that values substance over style. Just don't all rush there at once. Some of us cynics have grown quite fond of having a reliable spot for a proper pint.

Just what London needs - another Irish pub masquerading as a neighborhood haunt. The Shawl Harrow in South Harrow had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. These places are usually as authentic as a leprechaun riding a unicorn through Piccadilly Circus. And yet... I hate to admit it, but there's something genuinely charming about this compact corner of London's endless sprawl. Maybe it's the way the regulars barely looked up from their pints when I walked in, too engrossed in their football banter to bother with the usual "tourist once-over." Or perhaps it's how the bartender remembered my drink order on my second visit - a small gesture that shouldn't impress me, but somehow does in our age of automated everything. The Shawl Harrow isn't trying to reinvent the wheel, and that's precisely what makes it work. The Guinness pulls are proper - with that perfect dome and cascade that takes the full 119.5 seconds (yes, I timed it, because I'm that kind of insufferable). At £4.20 a pint, it's practically charitable by London standards. I've paid twice that in Central for half the quality and none of the atmosphere. Speaking of atmosphere, the place manages to thread that delicate needle between cozy and cramped. The interior is snug enough that you'll become intimately familiar with your neighbor's football opinions whether you want to or not. But unlike some London pubs where you need to be a contortionist to reach the bar, The Shawl Harrow's layout somehow works. The serving hatch to the outdoor area is a stroke of genius I didn't know I needed in my life until now. They don't serve food, which would normally be a strike against any pub. But in a refreshing twist of pragmatism, they let you bring in whatever you fancy from the surrounding takeaways. It's like they're saying, "We know what we're good at, and it's pouring drinks, not pretending to be a gastropub." There's something admirably honest about that. The outdoor seating area is more of a gesture than a garden - one lonely plant doesn't quite constitute landscaping. But the heaters make it a surprisingly comfortable spot for year-round smoking or just escaping the sometimes intense atmosphere during big matches. And trust me, during Premier League games, this place transforms into something special. The energy is electric, though you might want to check which team's supporters typically gather here before choosing your jersey. Live music appears regularly, though the compact space means you'll feel like you're practically part of the band. I've seen everything from traditional Irish sessions to local musicians who probably thought they were playing Wembley. The acoustics aren't exactly Abbey Road, but after a few pints, everyone sounds like U2 anyway. The staff deserve special mention, if only because they've mastered that rare art of being simultaneously attentive and completely unfussy. They're there when you need them, invisible when you don't, and somehow manage to remember not just your drink but your name, making you feel like a regular even if you're not. For those concerned about practical matters: yes, there's a proper bathroom (a luxury not all London pubs can claim), they take cards (including contactless), and it's surprisingly accessible by public transport. The proximity to South Harrow station means you can actually get home after last orders without selling a kidney for an Uber. Look, I didn't want to like The Shawl Harrow. London has enough Irish pubs to fill a small Irish city. But there's an undeniable authenticity here that's becoming increasingly rare in our capital's homogenized drinking scene. It's not trying to be the next big thing or attract the Instagram crowd. It's simply being what it is - a proper local pub that happens to serve one of the best pints of Guinness south of Dublin. If you're tired of London's pretentious craft beer temples and overpriced theme pubs, do yourself a favor and spend an evening at The Shawl Harrow. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming a regular. Some of us are already too far gone to be saved.