The Windsor

Just what South London needs - another Victorian-era pub claiming to be an "authentic local." The Windsor in London sits defiantly on the Old Kent Road like some architectural holdout from the 1860s, back when this stretch apparently boasted 37 pubs. Now it's one of only two survivors, which should tell you something about either its resilience or sheer stubbornness.

I wanted to hate it. Really, I did. The Millwall flag draped prominently behind the bar seemed to be daring me to find fault. The carpet in the raised seating area has probably witnessed more spilled pints than I've had hot dinners. And yet...

There's something undeniably charming about a London pub that hasn't surrendered to the gastropub revolution or succumbed to the siren song of exposed brick and artisanal gin menus. The Windsor maintains its dignity with traditional decor that stops just short of theme-park-pub territory - think patterned wallpaper, deep red paneling, and historical prints that don't look like they were ordered in bulk from Pub Decor R Us.

Let's talk about the prices because they're honestly ridiculous - in a good way. In an era when London pubs regularly charge the equivalent of a small mortgage for a pint, The Windsor feels like a temporal anomaly. Sub-£4 Cruzcampo? In this economy? I checked my receipt three times, convinced there must be some catch, like perhaps I'd accidentally stepped through a time portal to 2010.

The service carries none of the weary resignation you might expect from a traditional boozer. Instead, the staff manage that rare balance of being genuinely friendly without veering into American-style overeagerness. They know their regulars by name and welcome newcomers with equal warmth, which is no small feat in a Millwall-friendly establishment.

Speaking of football, yes, it's a sports pub. But unlike many of its ilk, The Windsor doesn't make you feel like you're intruding on a private club meeting if you're not wearing team colors. The screens are sensibly positioned and - praise be - actually muted during racing, with '80s classics providing a surprisingly pleasant soundtrack instead.

The pool table isn't just for show, and the bar snacks aren't those sad packets of crisps that have been sitting there since the last World Cup. They've even managed to maintain a decent selection of cask ales alongside the usual suspects - three real ales that actually taste like someone knows how to keep them properly.

For those brave souls venturing out in London's more clement weather (all three days of it), there's a handful of benches out front. They're not trying to be a beer garden - just honest-to-goodness seats where you can watch the world hurry by along the Old Kent Road while enjoying your suspiciously affordable pint.

The layout deserves special mention - spacious without feeling empty, cozy without being cramped. The boarded floor has probably absorbed enough stories to fill a library, and somehow the mix of seating options makes sense, like it evolved organically rather than being planned by a committee with a PowerPoint presentation on "optimal pub ergonomics."

Look, I'm not saying The Windsor in London is going to win any awards for innovation or feature in glossy magazines about the city's cutting-edge drinking establishments. What I am saying - and it pains my cynical heart to admit this - is that it's exactly the kind of pub we're always complaining doesn't exist anymore: unpretentious, genuinely local, and inexplicably affordable.

If you're in SE15 and looking for a proper pub that hasn't forgotten what that actually means, The Windsor is worth your time. Just don't all rush there at once and ruin it. Some things in London deserve to stay exactly as they are, even if that means keeping the carpet that's old enough to order its own pint.