The Flying Machine

Ah yes, The Flying Machine in London - another pub claiming to have risen from its questionable past like a phoenix from the ashes of its own dodgy reputation. Let me guess: new management, fresh paint, and promises of a "proper local" that won't end in a headline-making brawl? Color me skeptical. And yet...

I find myself reluctantly admitting that this transformed tavern in London's landscape has managed to do something rather remarkable: it's actually become pleasant. The kind of pleasant that makes you question your own cynicism, which is deeply annoying for someone in my line of work.

Let's address the elephant in the room - yes, The Flying Machine had a reputation that would make even hardened Londoners raise an eyebrow. But much like that friend who finally got their act together after a questionable decade, this pub has undergone a genuine metamorphosis. The new landlords, Steve and Katie, have pulled off what I previously thought impossible: creating an atmosphere that's both welcoming and authentically local, without a hint of the pretentious gastropub nonsense plaguing so many London establishments.

The first thing that strikes you (metaphorically, thankfully - times have indeed changed) is the genuine warmth of the place. It's the sort of pub where regulars actually pause their conversations to hold the door for newcomers - a small gesture that somehow feels revolutionary in our current era of urban anonymity. The staff remember faces, drink preferences, and even your dog's name, which is either charming or mildly unsettling, depending on your perspective.

Speaking of four-legged patrons, The Flying Machine has become something of a canine social club. Dogs are not merely tolerated but celebrated here, which explains the surprising lack of pristine upholstery. It's a trade-off I'm surprisingly okay with, especially after witnessing the landlord's genuine delight in dispensing treats to furry regulars.

The beer selection won't win any craft brewing awards, but it's well-kept and served at proper temperature - a basic requirement that's surprisingly rare in London these days. The wine list is decidedly unpretentious, offering exactly what you'd expect from a proper pub: serviceable reds, chilled whites, and none of those awkward conversations about notes of elderberry and wet stone.

For sports enthusiasts, they've managed to strike that elusive balance between "showing the match" and "turning into a sports bar." The screens are there when you need them, but they don't dominate the atmosphere. You can actually have a conversation during a game, which feels like some sort of miracle in modern pub culture.

The outdoor seating area isn't going to win any design awards, but it serves its purpose admirably. It's the kind of space where you can while away a summer evening without feeling like you're participating in some sort of Instagram lifestyle shoot. The lack of pretense is, frankly, refreshing.

Payment options have dragged The Flying Machine into the 21st century - they take cards, contactless, and yes, even cash for those still living in 2005. It's a small detail, but one that speaks to the pub's broader philosophy of accommodating everyone without making a fuss about it.

What's particularly noteworthy is how The Flying Machine has managed to maintain its local pub essence while welcoming newcomers. Yes, you might occasionally encounter an American speaking at military volume (sorry, Joshua), but the regulars have largely learned to coexist with the area's changing demographics. It's a delicate balance that most pubs either ignore or handle with all the grace of a drunk elephant.

The Sunday roasts, which I heard about through the grapevine rather than experiencing firsthand (yet), have apparently achieved minor legendary status among the regulars. Given the trajectory of everything else here, I'm begrudgingly optimistic about their quality.

Look, I didn't expect to be writing a largely positive review of The Flying Machine. These sorts of redemption stories usually end up being exercises in disappointment and lowered expectations. But here we are. If you're in this corner of London and seeking a proper pub that balances traditional charm with modern sensibilities, you could do far worse. And yes, that's as close to a glowing recommendation as you're going to get from me. Just don't make me regret sending you there.