The Lord Nelson

Just what London needs - another pub named after some long-dead naval hero. The Lord Nelson in London's maze of backstreets initially struck me as yet another tired tribute to Britain's maritime past, complete with the obligatory portrait of the one-armed admiral himself probably gathering dust somewhere above the bar. But damn it all if this place hasn't somehow wormed its way into my cynical heart.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Lord Nelson isn't trying to be your Instagram-worthy gastropub with deconstructed fish and chips served on vintage ship wheels. Thank god for that. Instead, it's doing something far more radical in modern London: being an actual proper pub. The kind where you can hear yourself think and don't have to remortgage your house for a pint.

The first crack in my professional skepticism appeared when I noticed the little things. An almost obsessive collection of quirky salt and pepper shakers dots the tables - the kind of eccentric touch that makes you realize someone actually cares about this place. It's like finding out your stern history teacher collects rubber ducks. You can't help but warm to it.

The beer selection at The Lord Nelson hits that sweet spot between pretentious craft brewery showcase and sad-three-taps-of-generic-lager affair. The cask ales are kept with the kind of attention usually reserved for newborn babies or prize orchids. And while the prices won't make your wallet weep (a increasingly rare mercy in London), they're charging enough to suggest they're actually paying their staff.

The outdoor seating area is another reluctant triumph. While many London pubs treat their outdoor space like an afterthought - a couple of wobbly tables wedged between the bins and someone's parked Prius - The Lord Nelson has created something rather lovely. As dusk falls, the lighting transforms it into something almost magical. I hate that I'm using the word magical to describe a pub garden, but here we are.

Inside, it's refreshingly free of the artificial "ye olde pub" costume that so many London boozers don these days like embarrassing fancy dress. The space feels lived-in rather than designed, comfortable rather than curated. The regulars - and yes, there are actual regulars, another endangered species in London - give the place the kind of atmosphere you can't manufacture, no matter how many vintage brewery mirrors you hang on the walls.

What's particularly infuriating is how genuinely friendly everyone is. The staff remember faces, engage in actual conversation, and seem to genuinely enjoy being there. In an era where many London pubs feel like they're staffed by aspiring actors practicing their "sorry, card machine's down" monologues, it's distressingly refreshing.

For those wondering about facilities - yes, there's a loo, and no, it doesn't look like a crime scene. They take cards (including contactless, welcome to the 21st century), and - in a move that feels almost radical for London - they welcome dogs. Real dogs, not just the designer puppies that fit in handbags.

Look, I wanted to dismiss The Lord Nelson as just another London pub trading on naval nostalgia. But like its namesake, it's proven itself surprisingly capable of winning against the odds. In a city where genuine local pubs are becoming as rare as affordable housing, it stands as a stubborn reminder of what we risk losing.

If you're in the area and fancy a pint in a pub that remembers what pubs are actually for, The Lord Nelson in London deserves your custom. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but you might want to bring your camera - those salt and pepper shakers are oddly photogenic. Just don't tell them I sent you. I have a reputation to maintain.