The Britannia, Poole

Formerly The Britania, this fine mock-Tudor building is a large town pub tucked away off the main road on a quiet one-way street. It has a small, cramped car park and an even smaller paved garden. Inside, there are two main bars and a restaurant area. The larger bar has a raised area of floor, presumably used as a dance floor at some point, and there is a pool table. It also has a grand open fireplace which was surrounded by stacked logs. The smaller bar is cozier, has a brick fireplace and a barrel pretending to be a table alongside some comfy chairs and a Chesterfield. The restaurant area is named The Westwood Event Rooms (no-one could tell me why) and is available for private hire. On entering, the senses are assaulted with the vilest kind of uncensored gansta rap played at excessive volume. The young barman was an annoying twat, while the customers were exclusively twenty-something dickheads whose Dorset accents had given way to a pseudo-Caribbean whine, and who greeted strangers with snide remarks and childish sneers; one assumes the pub’s name-change was to accommodate their inability to voice four-syllable words which didn’t include ‘mother-’ as a prefix. Free WiFi was available and there were tv screens around. There were two ales on, both Ringwood, and both drastically overpriced for the area. I had a pint of Best which was in reasonable condition. The ambiance was generally uncomfortable, and I have no desire to return as things stand.