Annie's Freehouse

Just what London needs - another "authentic" Irish pub. Annie's Freehouse in Finchley Central had me rolling my eyes before I even walked through the door. Shop conversion turned watering hole? Please. I've seen enough of these pop up across North London to last several lifetimes.

And yet... damn it all if this little spot hasn't wormed its way into my cold, cynical heart. While the exterior does nothing to dispel initial skepticism (seriously, who approved that signage?), stepping inside Annie's Freehouse feels like discovering a secret that Finchley's been keeping from the rest of us.

Let's talk about the Guinness, because we must. At under a fiver a pint - a genuine miracle in today's London - I was prepared for something that would make Dublin weep. Instead, I got what might be the best pint north of the Thames. The pour is nothing short of ceremonial, and they'll even bring it to your table, as if they're actually proud of their product. The audacity of competence in 2025.

The space itself is deceptive. What could have been another soulless conversion actually manages to nail that elusive "proper pub" atmosphere. Yes, there's Irish memorabilia on the walls, but it stops mercifully short of leprechaun territory. The traditional carpet (which somehow works) and cozy corners create the kind of environment that makes you forget you're sitting in what used to be a shop.

The locals - often the make-or-break element of any neighborhood pub - have mastered that rare art of being simultaneously welcoming and completely unconcerned with your presence. It's a delicate balance that most London pubs get horrifically wrong, either drowning you in forced bonhomie or treating you like an unwanted colonial invader.

Sport features heavily on the tellies, but unlike many places where it dominates the atmosphere, Annie's Freehouse maintains its dignity. You can watch the match without feeling like you're in a betting shop, or ignore it entirely without being branded a heretic. The multiple screens are positioned thoughtfully - something I didn't think I'd ever praise a pub for, but here we are.

Live music nights add another layer to the place's character, though I approached these with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental work. Surprisingly, they manage to avoid the usual tragic pub entertainment trap. The acoustics actually work, and they book acts that understand the difference between background atmosphere and assault with a deadly weapon.

The service deserves special mention, if only because it's so unexpectedly genuine. The staff remember faces, drinks, and manage to be chatty without being intrusive - a skill set apparently rarer than unicorn sightings in London's pub scene. They've mastered that fine line between professional and personal that makes regulars out of skeptics.

Let's address the practicalities: yes, there's outdoor seating (though why you'd choose to sit outside in Finchley is beyond me), they're dog-friendly (and the dogs that frequent are surprisingly well-behaved), and they take cards (including contactless, welcome to the 21st century). No food beyond bar snacks, but honestly, that's probably for the best. Some pubs should know their limitations.

Here's the truly irritating part - I've found myself making excuses to return to Annie's Freehouse. "I'm in the area" (I wasn't). "Just stopping by for one" (narrator: it wasn't one). The place has that indefinable quality that makes you want to bring friends, then secretly hope they don't like it so it can remain your discovery.

For those seeking Annie's Freehouse in London's vastness, you'll find it near Finchley Central tube. And while part of me wants to maintain my critic's distance and find fault with its simple, unpretentious approach to pub life, I can't. It's everything a local should be, without trying too hard to be anything at all. Go there. Just don't tell them I sent you - I have a reputation to maintain.