The Tommy Tucker, Fulham, SW6

Corner pub; and although not large inside, it is uncluttered with furniture and feels quite spacious with tall windows on two sides and a high ceiling. Semi-modern in appearance, and the kitchen can be seen through a wide opening directly behind the bar counter. Also has some outdoor tables along both facades. Disappointingly, the cask ales on the pair of handpumps had run out over the weekend, so went for Salt's Alpaca Lypse (£7.00) as the most appealing of the otherwise standard keg selections.

This is a late Victorian pub, originally called the Princess Royal, later the Pelican, the oh-so-funny rhyming slang moniker arriving along with gastrofication in 2015. There’s still a strange smell, probably fish ‘n’ chips emanating from the open kitchen, which along with the heat and noise, is why I don’t like them. The place has been completely stripped back, with a modern pale floor, a modern tall bar with pewter top, held in place by Phillips head screws; all very industrial. Furniture is tubular steel and plywood, the whole ensemble resembling a canteen. Unsurprisingly, acoustics are terrible making conversation very hard. The bar is an offset island affair, with all the taps on the side where there’s limited space between the bar front and rear wall. This wasn’t helped by this being occupied by a large group of drinkers, virtually obscuring the taps, an unused pump, another summoning up Doom. I had to penetrate this gaggle, then retreat to the more spacious section of the bar, hoping to attract the attention of the barman, whose sole preoccupation revolved around chatting to customers. As the only customer at the bar, after my statutory five minutes of being ignored, I walked, the pub garnering an automatic '1'. Even if I had been served, this is by no means a great place.

Our first of the day. Three hand pumps of which our choice of ale had just gone off. There was a strange smell in the air which none of us could identify.