No. 80 Number Fifteen

This isn’t a traditional pub – it was opened in the 1990s as an Oirish bar at the height of that particular fashion, but has since had the Oirishness extracted, to be replaced by, well, nothing really. It’s massive and was completely empty when we arrived, apart from a world-weary, half-cut, half mad, middle-aged couple who’d obviously just had a row and were sitting there staring at each other. Good atmosphere all round. Real ale isn’t served, so we drank tasteless brownkeg of some description and left. I wouldn’t say this place is bad – just sort of ‘ersatz’ and nondescript. Probably does all it’s trade at the weekends and on race days.