The Alfred Tennyson, Belgravia, SW1

The last time I was in here was the late summer/early autumn of 1987, when the pub was known by its original name of the Turk’s Head. Back then, it was a dark wood boozer with a frizzy haired no-nonsense Irish landlady. How things have changed and not for the better either. It’s all very white here, walls and panelled ceiling, with a modern herringbone floor with glitterball hanging lamps above. The bar is modern and where I remember it, there’s also a slightly raised snug area to the left or rear, depending on orientation. This is also where I was last drinking but I’m sure it was higher and with balustrades, but I could be wrong. Infuriating mood music played, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of conversation from the crowd of wine-guzzling vertical drinkers, bottles in ice buckets; drinkers to the right (or front) were seated; diners were presumably upstairs. The staff were rushed off their feet and being asked by this party group to take photos of the ensemble which was utterly tiresome. I was seated at the bar and the manager leaned over to issue instructions to staff, but such was the noise of conversation that he essentially shouted right into my ear, which is not something which endears a place to me. Fizz taps included Neck Oil and at £6.50, the most expensive pint I’ve ever bought. It was only then that I noticed a solitary pump dispensing Hammerton’s N1, hidden behind a clutch of arty bottles containing water. I couldn’t wait to leave, making my way to the Star Tavern, which along with the Grenadier and Nag’s Head, deliver quality pub experiences without the poseurs who congregate here.