The Bulldog, Bristol

This dreadful town pub dating from the 1930s appears to be moribund. The smaller bar on the left was still open, though to get in we had to negotiate with the nicotine sentries guarding the door, while the larger bar to the right was closed. There is no proper garden, just a litter-strewn paved terrace at the back and some tables on the extended pavement at the front. The locals were hostile, though the barmaid was friendly enough as was the pub dog, disappointingly a Rotweiler. The small bar contained a pool table, and there were several pool trophies gathering dust on a high self, presumably relics of better days that the pub may have seen. There was also a juke box pumping out the most appalling noise imaginable. The optics behind the bar were all empty and there was no draft ale – the best they could manage was Doombar in a bottle, which worked out OK as the glass they gave me was filthy. Even this was less-than-enjoyable as it was freezing cold. This one needs putting to sleep.

Rumoured to be shutting down from talking to someone in a different pub who'd played skittles in there recently.