Wishing Well Chingford

Just what Chingford needed - another London pub with a whimsical name that promises more than it delivers. The Wishing Well in Chingford initially struck me as yet another tired boozer clinging to life in the capital's outer reaches. But like that one friend who won't shut up about their CrossFit transformation, this place has annoyingly managed to prove me wrong.

Let's address the elephant in the room - it's a proper old-school pub that hasn't surrendered to the gastro-revolution sweeping London. No artisanal sourdough pizzas or deconstructed fish and chips here, thank heaven. The Wishing Well Chingford maintains its dignity with surprisingly well-kept beer at prices that make you wonder if you've accidentally time-traveled back to 2010. Under £3 for a pint of Fosters? In London? I had to check my receipt twice.

The interior is exactly what you'd expect from a traditional London pub, which is to say it's dark enough to hide a multitude of sins but somehow manages to feel oddly welcoming. The worn wooden floors have probably absorbed enough spilled beer to fuel a small brewery, and the bar stools have witnessed enough drama to fill a Netflix series. Yet there's something undeniably charming about it all - like that slightly shabby uncle who always has the best stories at family gatherings.

What's particularly irritating is how the place manages to nail the increasingly rare art of being a proper community pub. The regulars - and there are many - don't give you the small-town horror movie stare when you walk in. Instead, you're more likely to find yourself drawn into a heated debate about football or inadvertently joining someone's birthday celebrations. The staff, who clearly didn't get the memo about London service being necessarily aloof, actually seem to enjoy their jobs. It's unsettling.

The live music nights are a pleasant surprise, though I'm reluctant to admit it. Unlike the usual pub bands that make you wish you'd stayed home, the acts here are actually decent. The sound system isn't trying to blow out your eardrums, and you can still hold a conversation without developing laryngitis. It's almost as if someone actually thought this through.

For those brave souls venturing out with four-legged friends, the Wishing Well Chingford is dog-friendly, though your pooch might get less attention than the regulars' pets who've achieved near-celebrity status. The outdoor seating area, while not exactly the Riviera, provides a decent enough spot for summer drinking, assuming London remembers what sunshine is this year.

Sports fans will find themselves well-served here, with multiple screens showing whatever match is on. Unlike some places where watching football feels like an endurance test in discomfort, they've actually positioned the TVs so you can see them without developing a permanent neck condition. Revolutionary, I know.

The payment system has dragged itself into the 21st century, accepting cards, contactless, and - for those still living in 2005 - cash. Though watching someone try to pay by NFC in a traditional pub feels somewhat like seeing your grandmother on TikTok - technically possible but somehow wrong.

Look, I didn't want to like the Wishing Well Chingford. It would have been easier to dismiss it as just another London pub slowly fading into irrelevance. But against my better judgment, and despite my carefully cultivated cynicism, I find myself returning. Maybe it's the honest prices in a city that seems determined to bankrupt its residents. Perhaps it's the staff who remember your usual order without making a show of it. Or it could be the simple fact that in a city of increasingly sterile, Instagram-ready venues, this place remains stubbornly, wonderfully real.

If you're in this corner of London and fancy a proper pub experience without the pretense (or the Zone 1 prices), the Wishing Well Chingford is worth your time. Just don't blame me when you find yourself becoming one of those regulars you swore you'd never be. I'm still in denial about it myself.