The Ship

Ah yes, The Ship in London - another pub claiming to be the heart and soul of Plumstead Common. Just what this city needs: one more watering hole pretending it's not just another spot for locals to drown their sorrows while watching football on slightly outdated flat-screens. And yet...

I found myself returning to this place more times than I care to admit. Maybe it's the unexpectedly well-maintained pool tables (a rarity in London pubs where most feel like they've survived multiple wars), or perhaps it's the strange charm of a venue that somehow manages to be both predictable and surprising at the same time.

Let's address the elephant in the room - the prices. Yes, some regulars moan about paying £5.50 for a single and mixer, apparently shocked that London drink prices have finally reached the outer boroughs. But honestly, in a city where a pint can cost you the equivalent of a small car payment, The Ship's prices sit comfortably in the "well, it could be worse" category. And at least they pour proper measures, unlike some establishments where you need a magnifying glass to spot the spirit in your glass.

The beer selection deserves a reluctant nod of approval. While you won't find any obscure craft ales that were blessed by Trappist monks on a full moon, the keg offerings are kept in surprisingly good nick. It's refreshing to order a pint that doesn't taste like it's been sitting in the lines since the last royal coronation.

What really got me, though, was the atmosphere. The Ship manages to pull off that increasingly rare feat of being a proper local without feeling like you've wandered into someone's private club where everyone stops talking when you walk in. The live music nights - which I approached with the enthusiasm of a cat being taken to the vet - turned out to be genuinely entertaining. Who knew?

Dog owners, rejoice (I suppose). Your four-legged friends are welcome here, and often seem more sociable than some of the regulars. There's something oddly charming about watching a German Shepherd mix daintily stepping around bar stools while its owner argues about last night's match results.

The outdoor seating area, while not exactly the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, provides a decent enough spot for those brave souls who insist on drinking al fresco in London's perpetually uncertain weather. It's particularly pleasant during those three and a half days of summer we get each year.

For sports enthusiasts (or those trapped in relationships with them), The Ship does deliver. Multiple screens ensure you won't miss any crucial moments, though you might miss your train home after getting caught up in the surprisingly passionate crowd during big matches. The sound system actually works - a miracle in London pub terms - meaning you can hear the commentary without it sounding like it's being filtered through a Victorian gramophone.

Now, about those steps to the ladies' room that some have mentioned - yes, they're treacherous enough to make a mountain goat nervous. Consider it part of the adventure, or better yet, time your visits before the evening's third round kicks in.

Look, I'm not saying The Ship is going to win any international awards for revolutionary pub concepts. But in a city increasingly populated by soulless chain pubs and "craft beer experiences" where bartenders lecture you about hop varieties for 20 minutes, there's something refreshingly honest about this place. It knows what it is - a proper London pub with just enough modern touches to keep it relevant.

Here's the real kicker: despite my professional obligation to be cynical, The Ship has somehow become my go-to spot when I'm in this part of London. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome, or maybe it's because they've managed to strike that elusive balance between traditional pub and contemporary bar that so many others get wrong.

So fine, I'll say it - The Ship in London is worth your time. Whether you're a local looking for a reliable local, or a visitor wanting to experience a proper London pub without the tourist trap nonsense, drop anchor here for a few hours. Just watch that step to the loo, and don't blame me if you end up making it your regular spot. I certainly won't admit how often I find myself there.