The Lord Nelson, Brentford

Just what West London needed - another gastropub claiming to be the spiritual successor to ye olde traditional boozer. The Lord Nelson in Brentford had me rolling my eyes before I even crossed the threshold. These places are always the same: stripped wooden floors, craft beer pretensions, and a "locally-sourced" menu that costs twice what your grandfather paid for his pie and mash.

But damn it all if The Lord Nelson hasn't managed to charm even my cold, cynical heart.

Perhaps it was the way the evening sun streamed through those imposingly tall Victorian windows, casting an almost magical glow across the bar's polished brass fixtures. Or maybe it was the refreshingly unpretentious welcome from staff who actually seemed to enjoy their jobs (a rarity in London these days). Whatever cosmic alignment occurred, I found myself reluctantly warming to the place before I'd even ordered a drink.

Speaking of drinks - and I can't believe I'm saying this - but their beer selection is actually impressive. Not in that insufferable craft-beer-bro way where everything's a triple-hopped-cucumber-infused-nightmare, but in a thoughtful curation that ranges from perfectly kept cask ales to interesting guest taps that won't make your wallet weep. The wine list isn't trying to win awards, but it's solid and sensibly priced. A pleasant surprise in an era where many London pubs seem to think we all got massive pay rises while I wasn't looking.

The covered garden deserves special mention, if only because it manages to avoid the "plastic furniture graveyard" aesthetic that plagues so many London pub gardens. Instead, it's rather lovely - particularly when they've got live music on, which happens regularly enough to be reliable but not so often it becomes annoying.

Let's talk food, shall we? The Sunday roast (because let's be honest, that's how you judge a proper London pub) is... irritatingly good. The Yorkshire puddings are exactly what they should be - proudly risen and crispy-yet-soft in all the right places. The roast potatoes actually taste of something other than oil. And the portions? Generated by someone who understands that Sunday lunch should fuel you through to Monday morning.

The regular menu maintains the standard, though I'm loathe to admit it. They've managed to walk that fine line between "pub grub" and "restaurant quality" without falling into the trap of serving tiny portions on massive plates. Yes, you'll pay more than at your local Wetherspoons, but unlike Spoons, you won't need to Google the ingredients to identify what you're eating.

Dog owners, bring your four-legged friends - they're welcome here, and the staff actually seem pleased to see them rather than merely tolerating their presence. Sports fans, you can catch the match without the place turning into a rowdy betting shop. And families? Well, they've somehow managed to make the place child-friendly without letting it become a nursery with a liquor license.

The parking situation is surprisingly decent for London, with free street parking nearby - though good luck finding a spot during a Brentford FC home game. They take cards, including contactless, which is just as well because you'll likely want to stay longer than your initial cash withdrawal would allow.

Here's the real kicker about The Lord Nelson in Brentford - it's become one of those places I find myself suggesting when friends ask for pub recommendations, despite my best efforts to maintain my curmudgeonly reputation. It's not perfect (nowhere is), but it's got that indefinable quality that makes you want to return. Maybe it's the way they've preserved the soul of a proper pub while quietly upgrading everything else. Or perhaps I'm just getting soft in my old age.

Go ahead, visit The Lord Nelson. Watch me surrender my last shred of cynicism and tell you it's worth your time. Just don't expect me to admit it in person - I've got a reputation to maintain, after all.