The Bull

Just what London needs - another pub called The Bull. Because apparently, the city's other 437 establishments with bovine-inspired names weren't quite enough to quench our collective thirst. And yet, here I am, grudgingly admitting that this particular Bull might actually be worth the visit. God help me.

Look, I wanted to hate it. I really did. Walking in with my carefully cultivated skepticism, I was ready to dismiss The Bull London as just another middling boozer trading on its location and the fact that Brits will drink anywhere with a functioning tap system. But somewhere between the surprisingly well-kept ales and the genuinely hospitable atmosphere, my cynicism began to crack like the perfect crust on a proper pork scratching.

First, let's address the elephant (or rather, the bull) in the room - the ambiance. While other London pubs seem determined to either preserve their Victorian grime as some sort of historical homage or transform into sterile, Instagram-ready gin parlors, The Bull has somehow managed to strike that elusive sweet spot between traditional charm and basic hygiene. The wood is appropriately worn but actually cleaned, and the brass fittings shine without looking like they've been polished by an overeager museum curator.

The beer selection, I must confess, is frustratingly good. A rotating cast of local craft brews shares space with perfectly maintained traditional ales, and they've somehow managed to train their staff to pour a proper pint without making it look like a religious ceremony. The prices won't make you feel like you've stumbled into a city banker's expense account, but they're not suspiciously cheap either. It's the kind of place where you can order three rounds before your inner accountant starts crying.

Their food menu - and I can't believe I'm saying this - actually deserves attention. While many London pubs seem to think a bag of crisps and a microwaved pie constitute a culinary offering, The Bull's kitchen appears to be operated by people who have not only heard of food but might actually enjoy eating it. The portions are generous without being American-tourist excessive, and the quality suggests someone in the back knows which end of a knife to hold.

The pool table isn't sticky, the dart board hasn't been used as target practice for anything other than darts, and - miracle of miracles - the bathrooms don't require a hazmat suit to enter. They've even managed to install outdoor seating that doesn't feel like you're dining in a smoking area from 1995.

For sports enthusiasts (or those trapped in relationships with them), the screens are positioned so you can actually see them without developing a neck condition, and they show matches without the volume drowning out all possibility of conversation. It's almost as if someone put actual thought into the layout.

Speaking of layout, they've somehow mastered the dark art of maintaining separate areas for different crowds without making anyone feel like they've been relegated to the kid's table at a wedding. The bar area bustles with appropriate pub energy, while the dining section allows for actual conversations that don't require shouting.

Payment is mercifully modern - they accept cards, contactless, and yes, actual money for those still living in 2010. The parking situation is typically London (read: challenging but not impossible), with paid options nearby for those brave enough to drive in the city.

Here's the truly irritating part - The Bull London has managed to retain its proper pub character while adapting to modern expectations. It's the kind of place where you can bring your boss for a working lunch, your mates for a Saturday match, or your slightly posh aunt who still thinks all pubs are like something out of a Dickens novel.

Fine. I admit it. The Bull has earned its place in London's admittedly oversaturated pub scene. If you find yourself in the area and in need of a pint, decent food, and an atmosphere that won't make you question your life choices, you could do far worse. And believe me, I've done far worse. Book a table if you're planning to eat - apparently, other people have discovered it too. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.