The Centurion Inn, Bath

I’d really wanted to come away from here being able to say ‘Nice one, Centurion’, but sadly the opposite is true.  It was dire.  A real toilet whose denizens are a good advert for crucifixion – though that’s too good for many of them.  The building is a rather carbuncular 1960s architectural wet dream, concrete and hard angles which clash with the contours of the surrounding ground but chime nicely with the broken glass, litter and vehicle detritus scattered around it.  It more resembled Sarajevo in 1995 than 21st Century Bath.  Inside, once we managed to worm our way past the drunken idiots blocking the door, we found three main drinking areas crammed full of sweaty morons trying to fight their way past each other to the bar or elsewhere whilst screaming maniacally at one another.  Human conversation was impossible due to the excessively loud spewing out of The Archies’s ‘Sugar, Sugar’ from the entertainment machine, and even when we managed to attract the attention of a barmaid, shouting failed to deliver an effective message.  In any case there was no real ale; we were offered megakeg lager or bottled Doombar.  We then had to push and shove our way out past the locals acting like haemorrhoids and blocking our passage.   If I never come to this pub again it will be too soon.