The Great Southern

Just what London needed - another pub masquerading as a gastropub. The Great Southern sits there in Gipsy Hill, practically begging for attention with its freshly painted facade and carefully curated "local vibes." I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck when a friend insisted we give it a try. But here's the truly irritating part: I might have to eat my words along with their surprisingly decent food.

Let's get one thing straight - The Great Southern isn't reinventing the wheel here. It's a London pub that serves food and drinks, shocking, I know. But somewhere between my third reluctant visit and watching a local regular's dog contentedly sprawled beneath a sun-dappled table, I began to understand its peculiar charm. The space manages that elusive balance between "actually cleaned regularly" and "authentically lived-in" that so many places try and fail to achieve.

The menu prices won't make you choke on your craft beer (though they're not exactly giving it away), but it's the execution that's annoyingly competent. Their Sunday roast - and I say this through gritted teeth - is actually worth queuing for. The meat portions are borderline obscene, and the Yorkshire puddings have that perfect combination of crispy edges and squidgy centers that makes you wonder if they've got someone's grandmother held captive in the kitchen.

Speaking of the drinks - because let's be honest, that's why we're really here - they've managed to maintain a solid selection of local ales alongside the usual suspects. The wine list won't win awards, but it won't make you wince either. And their cocktails? Let's just say I've paid twice as much for worse in Soho.

Live music nights are a thing here, and unlike most pub venues where bands sound like they're playing underwater through a blanket, The Great Southern's setup actually works. Though I'd rather die than admit it in person, I've caught myself tapping my foot more than once.

The crowd is an oddly comfortable mix of local families, sports fans (yes, they show the matches, and no, it doesn't descend into complete chaos), and the occasional lost tourist who's stumbled off the beaten path. Dogs are welcome, which means you'll probably have to endure at least one adorable puppy making eyes at your chips. It's terrible, really.

The outdoor seating area becomes surprisingly tolerable during those three days of actual summer London gets each year. They've even managed to make it work during the other 362 days with decent heating and coverage. And yes, you can actually find street parking nearby, which in London is about as rare as a reasonable rent price.

For groups, they've got these irritatingly well-thought-out spaces that somehow manage to accommodate both the rowdy birthday crowd and the "just catching up" dinner party without either wanting to murder the other. They take reservations too, which is basically sorcery for a London pub.

The service style walks that fine line between attentive and overbearing - they seem to appear exactly when you need them and disappear when you don't. It's almost like they're professionals or something. And they actually remember the regulars' names and drinks, which would be nauseating if it wasn't so genuinely done.

Look, I didn't want to like The Great Southern. London has enough decent pubs, and my cynical heart doesn't need another place to add to the rotation. But here we are. If you must visit - and apparently now I have to recommend that you do - book ahead for Sunday roast, don't expect to find a seat during big matches unless you arrive embarrassingly early, and yes, bring your dog if you have one. They'll probably get better service than you.

The Great Southern has committed the ultimate sin of making me look forward to returning, despite my best efforts to maintain my professional disdain. And isn't that just typical of London - the places you're determined to hate end up becoming your locals. Go on then, give it a try. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming one of those insufferable regulars who knows all the staff by name.