The Plough, East Sheen, SW14

A confused history, this may or may not have been a collection of 15th century farmers’ cottages but may date from the 18th century when this area was all fields. Whatever the provenance – I’d have had this as dating from the 1930s when the surrounding houses went up – it’s now a remote backstreet pub situated amidst a relatively prosperous south-west London backwater, the sort of place where Margo and Jerry Leadbetter would feel at home, with a mustard yellow Triumph Dolomite Sprint parked in the driveway. Seemingly unchanged since the last review and not unlike a hotel bar, the interior exhibits little if any heritage: aside from the welcome presence of a real log fire, the interior is trendy meets pseudo Olde Worlde, with lots of pale wood, white or taupe paint, conventional furniture with banquette window reveal seating with some strategic knickknacks on shelves. Customers at the time of my Saturday 8.45pm visit were predictable, unlike the annoying berk at the next table who insisted on yelling into his phone throughout my stay, before watching noisy YourFace videos; thankfully I was spared seeing dogs eating pig’s ears (£2.00 a pop), which is downright disgusting. There are Fuller’s beers here – unsurprising given the SW postcode – so it was more Neck Oil, £3.75 a half, served by a barmaid festooned with tattoos and piercings, she belying the pub’s upmarket aspirations. With barely any local competition, expect this place to clean up with Mr. Sheen.

Facebook page of The Plough - www.facebook.com

Facebook page of The Plough - www.facebook.com

Official site of The Plough - www.plougheastsheen.co.uk

Official site of The Plough - www.plougheastsheen.co.uk

An attractive looking building in the leafy side streets bordering Sheen and Mortlake, it is very affluent around here and the pub ethos clearly shows this. Obviously foody, thankfully I timed my visit outside of full on eating times but I still didn't feel all that comfortable inside so repaired to the splendid sun trap garden which wraps around both frontages of this corner site. Roses are trained along a terrace and the area is finished with a white picket fence. Inside felt a bit sterile, a J-shaped interior with a tiny intimate booth or snug area at one end. Not much to look at, a stuffed deer head, deer photos and a few books on a shelf. A Tv showed Wimbledon to nobody. Four handpumps, one clipped with London Pride. I asked the young barman twice if there was anything else on but received no response whatsoever, not even an acknowledgement of my question. So I had the Pride, expensive and about passable. Not on my revisit list.