Marquis of Wellington, Bermondsey, SE1

A popular estate-type pub, very lively on the Sunday evening when I turned up. It's the World Cup Final, of course, but people are filling nearly every space on the tables all around the outside. There's a group of three hand pumps on entering (opposite the underpass beneath the railway) but just one cider and one beer on. The latter set me back £3.70 for a half, but it has to be said that it's very good indeed (Brockley Pale 4.1%), and the perfect antidote for the very strong, very complex and downright gorgeous imperial stout at the previous pub.

Situated in a none too prepossessing location, this dates from 1839, but was rebuilt in the 1930s and was until recently, something of a rather portentous affair, according to JAQPTIO; I can well believe it. It has though, gone markedly downhill since Moby ventured out here. Painted tedious smoky blue outside and inn, the interior is slightly industrialised and basic, with metal trunking over the bar. It was very full, with highly lubricated young people, one young man and women doing highly vocal impressions of gorillas, all crowding and jostling at the bar. The left half had a fair assortment of squawking women, most of them going gaga over some women’s small dog, which forced itself on me on leaving, me not going gaga. The pub wasn’t that full, though felt it and despite this, service was very slow. On entering I had noticed just the three pulls now, dispensing Doom, Ghost Ship, the standout being Hackney Pale Ale, all with tags reading ‘coming soon’ – or so I thought, on ordering a half of yet more Neck Oil (£3.10) from the right bar, I retreated to the relative calm at left, to prop up the bar, only to notice that the tags actually gave tasting notes. This is really quite a poor place, not worth the effort.