Fox on the Hill - JD Wetherspoon

Ah yes, the Fox on the Hill in London, another Wetherspoons establishment gracing our fair city with its predictably wallet-friendly presence. I approached this Denmark Hill outpost with the same enthusiasm I reserve for dental appointments, yet found myself reluctantly adding it to my "actually not terrible" list. And trust me, that's not a list I update often.

Let's address the elephant in the room - it's a Spoons. If you're expecting white-glove service and sommelier recommendations, you've spectacularly missed the point. However, what sets this particular Fox on the Hill apart from its London brethren is its rather impressive real estate portfolio. The building itself has the architectural charm of a Victorian grandmother's parlor, complete with leaded windows that wouldn't look out of place in a cathedral. Someone clearly splashed out before Tim Martin got his hands on it.

The outdoor space is where this place truly distinguishes itself from the typical sticky-floored Wetherspoons experience. Two gardens - yes, you read that correctly - offer an escape from the interior's occasionally chaotic atmosphere. The front garden, with its actual grass (a miracle in London), provides a civilized spot for day drinking that doesn't make you feel like you're doing something wrong with your life. The rear garden, meanwhile, even includes covered areas for those inevitable moments when British weather remembers its job description.

Inside, it's a sprawling labyrinth of seating areas, including a conservatory that somehow manages to be both grand and slightly disheveled, like a formerly prestigious academy that's now offering discount driving lessons. The interior's size is both a blessing and a curse - you'll likely find a seat, but your drink might develop separation anxiety during its journey from the bar.

Speaking of drinks, they're exactly what you'd expect from Wetherspoons - priced so reasonably you'll double-check your bill, served in glasses that eventually get collected (though perhaps not as promptly as one might hope). The beer selection is surprisingly decent, and if you're after a pitcher of something violently colored and suspiciously sweet, you've come to the right place.

The food menu is the same novel-length document you'll find in any Wetherspoons across the kingdom. It's not going to win any Michelin stars, but when you're paying less for a burger and a pint than you would for a single craft beer in Shoreditch, it seems churlish to complain. The breakfast, I must admit through gritted teeth, offers remarkable value for money, especially considering London's typically extortionate morning fare.

What truly sets the Fox on the Hill apart from other London pubs is its democratic appeal. On any given day, you'll find an impressive cross-section of society: students stretching their loans, locals enjoying post-work pints, families taking advantage of the kid-friendly menu, and the occasional lost tourist who wandered in expecting a traditional English pub experience and got something far more authentically British.

The parking situation (free - a word rarely associated with London) is another unexpected bonus, though I'm slightly concerned that advertising this fact might destroy this delicate ecosystem. The payment options are thoroughly modern - they accept everything from contactless to good old-fashioned cash, though the app ordering system seems to operate on its own mysterious timeline.

Look, I'm as surprised as anyone to be writing something approaching a positive review of a Wetherspoons in London. The Fox on the Hill has no right to be as decent as it is. The combination of generous outdoor space, historic architecture, and prices that seem to have missed the memo about London inflation makes it irritatingly difficult to dismiss.

If you find yourself in Denmark Hill and in need of reasonably priced refreshment, you could do worse - and in London, you could do much more expensively. Just don't blame me if you end up adding it to your regular rotation. I certainly won't admit how often I find myself back there, appreciating its flawed but undeniable charms.