The Rising Sun

Just what London needs - another pub with delusions of grandeur. The Rising Sun in London initially struck me as yet another watering hole trying desperately to be all things to all people. Pool tables? Check. Karaoke nights? Obviously. The standard-issue setup had me rolling my eyes before I'd even crossed the threshold.

But damn it all if this place hasn't wormed its way into my cynical heart like a persistent ear worm you eventually catch yourself humming. While the exterior screams "generic London pub," the interior tells a different story - one that's refreshingly honest about what it is and isn't trying to be.

Let's address the elephant in the room: the somewhat chaotic pricing structure. One minute you're paying £4.80 for a pint, the next it's £6, and the explanations for the difference are about as consistent as British weather. Yet somehow, this very inconsistency feels authentically London - a city where you might pay £15 for a cocktail in one postcode and find a pint for under a fiver in the next.

The pool tables deserve special mention, and I can't believe I'm about to write this with genuine enthusiasm. They're actually... properly maintained. I know, shocking. In a city where most pub pool tables have more dips and bumps than a Victorian cobblestone street, finding tables that actually allow for skilled play feels like stumbling upon a unicorn wearing a bowler hat.

The live music situation is where things get interesting. The karaoke lineup (Friday through Monday, because why follow conventional weekend patterns?) leans heavily toward Bollywood numbers. It's not what you'd expect from a traditional London pub, and that's precisely what makes it work. There's something gloriously unpretentious about a place that doesn't try to force-feed you the same tired playlist of British pub classics.

The staff... well, they're a mixed bag. Some will treat you like long-lost family, while others might make you feel like you've just tracked mud across their freshly mopped floors. But isn't that just perfectly London? The city itself oscillates between warm embrace and cold shoulder, and The Rising Sun merely reflects its host city's bipolar personality.

Speaking of personality, the pub's atmosphere manages to thread the needle between "proper boozer" and modern gathering spot. The payment options are thoroughly 21st century (they take everything from contactless to cards), yet the soul of the place remains defiantly old school. It's open until midnight most days, stretching to 2 AM on Fridays and Saturdays for those whose decision-making abilities deteriorate as the night progresses.

For sports fans (you poor, optimistic souls), there's decent viewing setup. Though watching England's inevitable penalty shootout defeats might be less painful here than in more expensive establishments, if only because you'll have spent less on drowning your sorrows.

The drinks selection sits comfortably in the middle range - not so cheap you'll question the source, not so expensive you'll need to remortgage your flat in Clapham. They serve beer (obviously), wine (adequately), and cocktails (bravely). The lack of pretension in their offerings is actually refreshing in a city where some bars expect you to appreciate the "notes of displaced woodland fairy tears" in their gin and tonics.

Look, I didn't expect to end up defending The Rising Sun. It's the kind of London pub that shouldn't work on paper - a mishmash of elements that sounds like it was conceived by a committee trying to appeal to everyone. But much like that friend who's a bit rough around the edges but always comes through when you need them, this place has an undeniable charm.

If you're in London and seeking a pub that offers a genuine slice of the city's evolving character - where Bollywood meets billiards, where the pricing is as unpredictable as the service, but where the overall experience somehow adds up to more than the sum of its parts - The Rising Sun might just be your spot. Just don't come expecting craft beer flights or artisanal bar snacks. Come for what it is: a surprisingly endearing London pub that's stubbornly doing its own thing. And god help me, I think I respect it for that.