The Saxon Horn

Just what London needs - another old-school pub claiming to be a "proper local." The Saxon Horn in London's Rainham district is exactly what you'd expect from the name: a place that probably hasn't seen new upholstery since the actual Saxons roamed these isles. And yet, against my better judgment and professional cynicism, I find myself defending its peculiar charms to the cocktail-sipping masses who wouldn't know authentic character if it spilled warm ale on their designer shoes.

Let's address the elephant in the room - The Saxon Horn isn't pretty. It's the kind of London pub that makes you wonder if the last renovation coincided with the Queen's coronation (the first one). The carpets tell stories that would make a health inspector weep, and the regulars eye newcomers with the sort of suspicion usually reserved for tax collectors and mime artists.

But here's where my carefully cultivated disdain begins to crack: there's something genuinely magnetic about this place. The beer is surprisingly well-kept, and the prices won't force you to remortgage your house - a refreshing change in a city where a pint often costs more than a small car payment. The Saxon Horn maintains that increasingly rare balance of being affordable without making you question your life choices too severely.

The regulars, once they decide you're not an undercover gastropub developer, transform from suspicious sentries into an entertaining cast of characters who could put any Netflix series to shame. They'll share stories that get progressively more outlandish with each round, and honestly, that's worth the price of admission alone. The pub's pool table, while not exactly championship grade, has witnessed enough dramatic matches and friendly wagers to fill a memoir.

What really gets me - and I'm loathe to admit this - is how The Saxon Horn has steadfastly refused to bow to the pressures of gentrification. While every other pub in London seems desperate to transform into a small-plates paradise with artisanal gin flights and deconstructed fish and chips, this place stands as a defiant middle finger to the relentless march of progress. There's something admirable about that, even if the dart board looks like it's been serving as target practice since the Blitz.

The outdoor seating area isn't going to win any garden design awards, but on a mild London evening, it provides a perfectly adequate spot for contemplating life's mysteries or watching the local characters go about their business. The dog-friendly policy means you'll often find a motley crew of four-legged patrons adding to the atmosphere, most of them better behaved than their owners.

For sports enthusiasts, the screens showing football matches might not be 8K ultra-HD, but they work just fine, and the atmosphere during big games is electric. There's something to be said for watching sports in a pub where people actually care about the outcome rather than treating it as background ambiance for their social media photoshoots.

The payment system has grudgingly entered the 21st century - they accept cards and even contactless payments, which seems almost disappointingly modern for a place that otherwise feels pleasantly stuck in time. Though I've noticed some regulars still treat card payments with the same suspicion usually reserved for witchcraft and vegetarian sausage rolls.

Listen, I know what you're thinking - this doesn't sound like the sort of place you'd venture into willingly. But here's the thing: in a London increasingly dominated by cookie-cutter chains and Instagram-bait establishments, The Saxon Horn offers something increasingly rare - authenticity. Yes, it's rough around the edges. Yes, some of the regulars might look like extras from a Guy Ritchie film. And yes, you might want to think twice before investigating the origins of those mysterious ceiling stains.

But if you're tired of London pubs that feel like they were designed by an algorithm, The Saxon Horn provides a refreshing (if slightly sticky) alternative. Find it in Rainham, where it stands as a stubborn reminder of what London pubs used to be. Just don't expect craft cocktails, small plates, or anyone to care about your social media following. Do expect honest pints, characters straight out of central casting, and an experience that, despite my professional obligation to be cynical, I have to admit is worth having at least once. Though you might find yourself, like me, becoming a reluctant regular.