Paddy Cool-No.22 Molly Malone's

When: Monday March 17th 2014
Where: Molly Malone's, 57 West St., Brighton
I paid: Christ knows

                                   
 *** DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING REVIEW MAYBE RATHER HEAVY ON IRISH STEREOTYPING, THIS IS IN NO WAY INTENDED TO CAUSE OFFENCE. TO BE SURE***

The Irish know how to party. St. Patrick's Day, in honour of Ireland's patron saint, is a globally renowned event where those with ties to the Emerald Isle can proudly show off their heritage with festivals, parades and drinking Guinness until they're sick. Unfortunately, no amount of digging into the Foad family background could turn up even the most spurious of claims to Irish descendancy. I once had a neighbour who shipped over a greyhound from a rescue centre in Cork, but whilst this would probably be enough to earn me consideration for selection to their national football team I was unsure it gave me the right to plaster on a fake shamrock tattoo (and drink Guinness until I was sick). Luckily, my two companions for the day were the genuine article and have Irish blood coursing through their veins (one was born in Brighton, one Lewisham). They assured me that nobody would actually care that I didn't know how to pronounce Taoiseach, let alone spell it, and that I should just tag along for the 'craic'. We chose to head to Molly Malone's, Brighton's self proclaimed 'Authentic' Irish pub (admittedly only after we were told we'd have to queue for over an hour to get into the Fiddler's Elbow round the corner). Normally I would avoid West Street like the plague. Benign enough on this Monday afternoon, at weekend's it transforms into Brighton's version of the wild west (street) where packs of angry young men roam around, eyeballing others and just spoiling for a fight.......still, that's the police for you.

Compulsory idiot in compulsory idiot's hat and shirt

As I've never set foot on Irish soil I can't possibly comment on whether 'Molly's' is a faithful reproduction of a traditional pub or not. Still, it sold Jameson's and the bar staff were busy dishing out those stupid tall Guinness hats from behind the large centrally located bar and this was good enough for me. Irish tricolours bedecked the walls and although it was still early afternoon there was already a good sized crowd in, many sporting clothes in various shades of green (plus the idiot in the Royal Mail shirt). The band were just warming up and my mate wandered over for a chat with them as they did so. He returned sputtering indignantly about the fiddler being born in Ashford and the singer in Surrey, "they're not even bloody Irish!", conveniently overlooking the fact that he himself is always passing himself off as a proud Irishman despite being born in the Royal Sussex. I was enjoying myself too much to point out the slight hypocrisy (let him read about it here). Anyway, it mattered not a jot to me, I wouldn't know an authentic Irish sound if you hit me over the head with a dord (look it up). Genuine or not, the band launched into their set of traditional songs.....'Whiskey in the jar' and erm, the one that sounds a bit like 'Fairytale of New York' but isn't and the one that is practically unintelligible (must've been the Pogues version) other than the "dirty old town......dirrrrrty old town" bit that everyone can join in with. Unfortunately there was no B*Witched, I expect they were saving the good stuff for the bigger crowds in the evening. It's even easy to get the hang of Irish dancing, just jig around a little, stamp your feet and clap your hands. Occasionally I was nearly in time with the music. Under no circumstances though should you emit a loud, "yeeeeehaaah!". This is liable to earn you a stern look from the heavyset bloke at the bar and the withering rebuke, "it's not a fucking barn dance"........that was me told then.

The Mother leprechaun

By now it had gone 6 p.m. and the pub was filling up nicely as people arrived from work. Those that had already been there all afternoon were beginning to show signs of wear and tear and it was clear that if Molly Malone was done with her wheelbarrow on Dublin's broad and narrow streets it could well be put to good use here later carting inebriated punters into the street. I too was beginning to feel the pace having been up fourteen hours and unused to the heady mix of stout and whiskey (and alright, I'm a lightweight). On one slightly unsteady return trip from the toilets I clumsily tripped against a person at the bar who unfortunately turned out to be 'Barn Dance Guy', this earned me another cold stare and a, "no wonder my mail is always being put through the wrong bloody door". It was clear that I'd upset him for reasons unknown, maybe he'd seen through my Plastic Paddy charade. Anyway, it was time to go before I became another statistic of West Street violence. It was a shame because I was enjoying myself, it's true that (faux or not) the Irish like to party and are rightfully proud of their roots. But so are the English! Roll on St. George's day on the erm...umm.....I think it's in April some time?

Richard drowns his sorrows after only coming 7th in a 'Benny from Crossroads' lookalike contest

Dog friendly: nope                                                               Quiz: nope

Food and drink: Good selection of drinks and a menu of good priced traditional pub grub as well as Irish favourites (potatoes).

Entertainment: No pool table or dartboard but there is an underused fruit machine. Live music all year round. Downstairs area available for hire.

Outside seating: None. Those with a taste for violence can pretend to take up smoking, stand outside on West Street on a Saturday night and watch the punches fly.

OVERALL SCORE: 7/10.........Hey, free wooly hats!

Young, free and shingle-No.21 Pebbles on the Port

When: Tuesday February 25th 2014
Where: Pebbles on the Port, Lady Bee Marina, Southwick
I paid: £3:80 for a pint of Kronenbourg

***WARNING: THE FOLLOWING REVIEW HAS BEEN ISSUED WITH AN 18 CERTIFICATE
 OWING TO STRONG LANGUAGE AND EXTREMELY CRAP PHOTOS FROM THE OUTSET***
                                   

dum, dum, dum, dum, thumb

Table for two, sir? No.20- The Cliftonville Inn

When: Wednesday May 15th 2013
Where: The Cliftonville Inn, 98-101 George Street, Hove
I paid: £2.29 for a pint of Godfather's, £6.79 for steak & kidney pudding for erm, two

I'd just spent the last hour at my book club, digesting the joyful 'Night Circus' by Erin Morgenstern. Wrestling with those all important questions such as "how does Isobel serve as a foil to Celia"?, or more pertinently, "what the hell I am doing here"? Face it, you too would need a pint on the way home after suffering through that. Options are limited in this neck of the woods however and I couldn't go to the Slug & Lettuce as I didn't have a sweater to drape around my shoulders. Enter the Cliftonville Inn, a franchise of the much derided Wetherspoons chain. Cheap, cheerful and offering plenty of opportunity for more soul searching,  "a quick pint, or a bite to eat as well"?, or more pertinently, "what the hell am I doing here"?

You know where you are with a Wetherspoons though, there are no surprises. And no frills. A large room filled with rather desperate looking punters with noses that would put Alex Ferguson to shame, putting the world to rights. Most of them look like they've been there a good few hours. Unsurprisingly, I spot a few postmen. Whilst  I'm waiting at the bar, a man named Julian is being refused service from the barman. You've got to go some to be refused service at a Wetherspoons. Julian causes a scene that makes even the hardened drinkers look up from their pints and then he meekly slinks away, compounding his embarrassment by pushing for 30 seconds on the exit door marked 'pull'. I overhear the barman telling his colleague that they'd had to get the paramedics in to treat Julian that morning and he'd only been released from hospital a couple of hours previously. Hardcore. Also a little bit sad.

I'm a fine one to talk about being sad. Despite being a Billy nae Mates I decide to order the arbitrary priced two steak & kidney puddings for £6.79, and eat them myself. All that reading had given me an appetite, I could only hope the food would be easier to digest than 'The Night Circus'. I go through the pretence of waiting for a friend, looking at my watch and playing with my phone but I don't think the staff are fooled. Fortunately they're too kind to say anything and my fellow drinkers are too busy chowing down on their own food or watching the Chelsea game to notice as I wolf the lot. One of the big screen TV's in the pub is showing the football the other is tuned in to a soap opera I don't recognise, possibly EastEnders. As a concession to the fact that most of the punters are of pensionable age and maybe hard of hearing, the subtitles are switched on. That's no use to those that are also blind as a bat however (i.e. me) and I can only speculate as to what they might say (cor blimey Alfie, whatcha fink, is it Shell's baby?). The atmosphere is all quite amiable and I decide to stay for another (pint, not steak & kidney pudding). That's the good thing about a Wetherspoons, at £2.29 a pint, a considerable lightweight such as me could get hammered for under a tenner if I so desired. Sorted.

Dog Friendly: Yes                                       Quiz: No

Food: A large menu, breakfast served from 8 AM, coffee, 2 for 1 deals, probably not the greatest food in the world but for the price you can't complain. Quite a large selection of drinks, from £1.99 a pint (or half by the time most of them have been transported to their destination).

Entertainment: Two fruit machines. A couple of large screen TV's. Sky TV. Watching Julian get barred.

Live Music: None

Outside seating: None, stand and smoke on George Street or handily placed for nipping to Ladbrokes across the way. Decoration in the pub is sparse, tables rather than any comfortable seating and a dubious carpet.

Toilets: Stank

Miscellaneous: Praise for the bar staff who were probably the friendliest yet and turned a blind eye as I demolished two steak & kidney puddings.

OVERALL SCORE: 3.5/10................does exactly what it says on the tin.

Ah, I've got it, accordions! No.19 - The Ranelagh

When: Sunday May 12th 2013
Where: The Ranelagh Arms, 2-3 High Street, Brighton
I paid: £3.60 for a pint of Doom Bar, £3.00 for a Malibu & Coke (not mine!)

Although it's address is officially listed as High Street, the Ranelagh is situated right on the corner with St. James Street and the 'colourful' street life that comes with it. The area has been gentrifed in recent years but is still home to some of the edgier fringes of society and you can always expect to see a mix of unconvincing transvestites, street drinkers, students and the little old dears with their shopping trolleys determinedly battling through the throngs on their way to Morrisons. The street is quiet on this miserable Sunday afternoon though,  as is the pub itself. In fact we are the only customers. I say 'we' as I have been joined by my mate Sara, who came along because "I've nothing better to do", which his hardly a ringing endorsement either for the pub or for my company. We are served by a monumentally bored looking barmaid who at least has the saving grace of having a monumentally impressive chest. The order for a malibu and coke is probably a more common occurence in other nearby establishments but any shame on my part is unfounded as she manages to show almost complete disinterest.

The pub is self proclaimed as Brighton's 'legendary' blues bar although maybe this is only true amongst the blues fraternity. A quick straw poll at work revealed that only a few people were aware of its existence, although as postmen they really can't be expected to know where anything is. It's decorated with posters and  pictures for seminal American bluesmen such as BB King, Howlin Wolf and John Lee Hooker whilst the soundtrack being played behind the bar was heavily blues influenced. The barmaid didn't seem to notice (or more likely didn't care) that it was on a loop of the same five or six songs however and after being there for an hour or so we were starting to feel like were listening to a special blues version of Heart FM. During the brief lull in between songs we had the added bonus of being able to hear disco diva classics being belted out at the Sunday afternoon karaoke of the gay bar down the street. (review pending)

As well as the gig posters there are old guitars on show around the place, as well as the musical instruments that with a few beers and Sunday afternoon lethargy fogging our minds neither of us were able to come up with the name of and  had to settle for 'them squeezie things' (this wasn't a reference to the barmaids chest). On closer inspection, one of the guitars had a small plaque next to it that stated it had been purchased from the estate of Robert Coleman upon his death in 1982. Impressive. If they'd purchased his corpse at the same time and were stashing it in the toilets I wouldn't be surprised, it might explain the smell.

After an hour or so the barmaid was replaced by an older guy who made up for what he lacked in the cleavage department by at least being friendlier and trying to get us interested in upcoming gigs. I like the blues, albeit the more up tempo numbers, the "I lost my job, my dog has just died" variety can become a bit dirge-like after a while. The miserable weather outside and our equally miserable reception didn't help our impressions but I will definitely give it another chance. On a live music night with a few more people in the place it's got potential, even if some of the staff have got the blues.

Dog Friendly: Welcome except when there's live music on     Staff Friendly: No

Outside seating: Small patio area at the side where you can watch a couple of 'locals' brawl over the last can of Special Brew and listen to 'I will survive' being belted out by Lily Savage. Also there is no comfortable seating inside, maybe you have to suffer for the blues and it's just not the same lounging in a leather settee.

Quiz: Nah                                                      Food: Nah

Live Music: Most nights of the week. Blues, folk, rock and Americana predominantly. That's alright then.

Miscellaneous: It smelt like something had died in the toilets, maybe Robert Coleman? Sara thought the fireplace was impressive, I'll take her word for that.

OVERALL SCORE: 6/10.......................Got no place to go (da da da da dah), you should give it a go.

What planet you on? No.18- The Neptune Inn

When: Wednesday May 8th 2013
Where: The Neptune Inn, 10 Victoria Terrace, Hove
I paid: £3.30 for a pint of Harvey's

Quality, down to earth boozer if you ask me. Complete shithole, if you ask Rich Francis. The Neptune is probably always going to divide opinion depending on personal taste. It certainly doesn't look like much, situated in the middle of a scruffy row of shops directly across the road from the smarter Sussex pub. The ongoing work on the buildings exterior doesn't help as the pubs sign is almost completely obscured. Any passing prospective punters could be forgiven for thinking the place was abandoned, if it wasn't for the furtive smokers huddled outside letting their dogs piss on the scaffolding.

Most of the pubs regulars match their surroundings in that both have probably seen better days. Worn and weather-beaten, they could've come straight from a Seasick Steve lookalike competition, and that's just the women. They're all unfailingly friendly though, in the manner of people who've been in there all day and have no plans to be anywhere else in a hurry. Dogs are positively encouraged and it all makes for a nice, relaxed atmosphere. Despite its reputation as a blues pub the barmaid played an eclectic mix of music behind the bar and the entertainment for the evening was watching a Seasick Steve-alike busting a few moves to Rod Stewart's butchering of 'This ole heart of mine'. The walls are covered with posters for previous gigs as well as photos of musicians who have supposedly at one time or another appeared at the pub. Gary Moore I can believe but I have a hard time imagining that Eric Clapton or David Bowie have ever graced the Neptune 'stage'. Regular live music is a staple of the pub though and can attract an enthusiastic audience in the intimate surroundings.

 
I was originally only going to stop for a quick pint but before I knew it a couple of hours had passed (2 pints then!). I would've stayed for longer but the stairs down to the toilets represent quite a precipitous challenge after a few pints. It's just the sort of place I like though, relaxed and friendly. I'd be quite happy if the majority continue to view it as a dump because then it will remain relatively undiscovered and I can continue to enjoy it in peace. I might even start to work on that Seasick Steve beard.      

Dog Friendly: Very                          Food: None advertised.

Outside seating: None. Scaffolding at the front of the building doubles as a dogs toilet, the alley at the side doubles as a humans one.                      

Entertainment: No pool table, dartboard or fruit machine. Small flatscreen TV showing only terrestrial television, no Sky.

Live music: Virtually every night of the week, geared towards blues and jazz. Always free.

OVERALL SCORE: 8.8/10..........I like it, I want to retire here.

It's a yes from me!- No.17 The Seafield

When: Friday 9th November 2012
Where: The Seafield, 150 Church Road, Hove
I paid: £7 for a pint of Fosters and pint of Harveys

I must admit to a few misgivings before tackling The Seafield, having received poor feedback from mates as well as reading a few less than complimentary comments about it online. Furthermore, the pub itself doesn't look particularly inviting from the outside, being rather small and drab. I also find the frosted glass windows a bit off-putting as you're never quite sure what you're getting yourself into before crossing the threshold. On the plus side, once inside this means that any passing acquaintances on the street can't look in and see that you're sad enough to be drinking in The Seafield on a Friday night....This is the kind of ammunition that can be used against you for weeks at Royal Mail.

At least if I was spotted I wouldn't be labelled a sad solo boozer having  roped in my mate Caroline to assist me with the review. Blessed with a keener sense of observation than myself and with a particular talent for spotting 'looky likies' she wasted no time in assessing the handful of fellow bar flies and pointing out that we were sharing a pub with, "him who's just died off of Bargain Hunt" and "a fat, old, Simon Cowell". So erm, Simon Cowell basically. We probably halved the average age of the punters just by walking in but received a  warm welcome from the barmaid, indeed the bar staff remained cheerful throughout our visit, even exchanging high fives with some of the more privileged regulars (obviously as first time visitors we hadn't yet earned one).

The interior of the pub can probably be at best charitably described as 'cosy'. Despite the size, they've managed to squeeze in a couple of comfortable leather sofas with a somewhat superfluous chest of drawers wedged in the corner of the room (they had probably been snapped up for a song by dead Bargain Hunt dude). There's no less than four flatscreen TV's mounted on the walls which is definitely overkill considering even on a Friday evening there was less than a dozen people in the place. Only one of them was being utilised during our visit however, permanently tuned in to a race meeting. Indeed, there's a strong horse racing theme throughout the pub, with the walls adorned with various framed pictures of racehorses and a couple of the punters sat slumped on the sofa with the glazed expressions of someone who's going to have to go home and explain to the wife that the weeks wages might be a bit light due to a poor run of results that afternoon at Kempton. In amongst all the racing paraphernalia there was a lone picture of last years royal wedding and whilst at the bar I was reliably informed by 'Simon Cowell' that Kate Middleton was "worth a shag". So in the unlikely event that the lady who's wed to our future king should ever read this review and then at some point in the future find herself in Hove....she'll know exactly where to come for a bit of action.

So The Seafield isn't nearly as bad as I been led to believe. I can't say that I would feel like spending my whole evening there but to pop in for a pint or two it's fine. Even Caroline said it's the kind of place she could comfortably come on her own without fear of being leched over by the old guys at the bar (fortunately she bears no resemblance to Kate Middleton). Yeah I would come back and who knows, next time I might even have earned that high five.

Dog Friendly: Yes                        Food: No menu, but a chalkboard was offering a pizza for £5.00

Outside areas: Small smoking area at the rear or else smoke out on Church Road under the disapproving gaze of the grannies at the bus stop.

Quiz: None advertised.                 Decor: Wood panelling, scruffy carpet, leather sofas.

Entertainment: 4 flatscreen televisions, quiz machine, touchscreen jukebox largely ignored except for the barmaid with a penchant for 90's Britpop. No dartboard or pool table. A handful of crime books to read.

Miscellaneous: A free bowl of mints on the bar was a nice touch, particularly if you're lucky enough to score with 'Simon Cowell'.

OVERALL SCORE: 5.5........It loses .5 of a mark because Caroline didn't like the ceiling, for reasons that escape me now.

Hove on the rocks, ain't no surprise-No.16 Blue Lagoon Bar

When: Saturday February 25th 2012
Where: The Blue Lagoon Bar, 330 Kingsway, Hove
I paid £3.80 for a pint of Kronenbourg

Ahhh, the Blue Lagoon. The very name for most people conjures up evocative images of palm trees, golden sands, crystal clear waters and mmmmm, Brooke Shields. Probably not some beaten up old B & B/pub on the fringes of Shoreham docks. Still never mind, those with a vivid imagination (or perhaps severe myopia) will find the views of Hove lagoon to the east of the pub a more than capable substitute. Just with added windsurfers, swan shit and other assorted floating detritus thrown in for good measure. And this Blue Lagoon can boast of having some greats of the showbiz world amongst its neighbours. In full view to the south are the rear of the seafront residences of Hove's 'millionaires row', which at one time or another has been called home by the likes of Paul McCartney/Heather Mills (before the acrimonious split), Fatboy/Zoe Ball and erm, Nick Berry (those ITV3 repeats of Heartbeat must pay well!). I'm not sure if there is any truth to the rumours that Sir Paul used to pop in for a quiet pint in between world tours but Heather Mills has definitely been seen legless.

The pub itself is split into two bars. Downstairs is a specialist 'Sports' bar whilst upstairs houses the main 'Sea View' bar and it was here I began my visit. It was quiet for a Saturday despite (or maybe because of) the fact it was karaoke night and a rather desperate sounding host was vainly trying to drum up some interest amongst a bored looking group of locals at the bar and a quieter group of OAPs enjoying dinner in the corner. Being so sparsely populated it is easy to stand out, particularly when you're standing at the bar scrawling in a notepad and less than subtly taking photos, and it wasn't long before I caught the attention of the landlord Al,  who pulled me to one side and politely enquired as to what I was doing. I thought about giving it the big 'Don't you know who I am?' routine, but reasoned that he was hardly likely to offer to keep me in free Kronenbourg all night and take my pick of the barmaids in exchange for a good review in an online blog read by twelve people. Instead, I gave him a vague outline of the blog, wimpily assured him I wouldn't be writing anything unkind and showed him my notes, which fortunately at this point contained nothing that could see me getting kicked out (or in). He still seemed a bit wary but eventually accepted my story and left me to my own devices for the rest of the evening. Maybe it was just my imagination but from that point onwards the bar staff seemed particularly friendly towards me and concerned for my well-being. Or maybe I'm just being cynical and they're like this with all the punters. Anyway, I salute them now.

The karaoke had finally got into full swing during my interrogation and the pensioners had obviously had their inhibitions loosened by a couple of G & T's as they went from sitting reticently in the corner to being unable to leave the bloody thing alone. This microphone monopolisation wasn't going down too well with the locals and I had my pen poised in anticipation of finally reporting on a bit of action.Well it was my sixteenth pub, it was about time I saw a fight. (Un?)fortunately I was spared the sight of flying zimmer frames and dentures as a particularly appalling version of 'Love on the rocks' by Sid saw the disgruntled locals head en masse for the door and into a waiting fleet of taxis. They disappeared into the night, presumably on their way to terrorise the residents of Shoreham. As another glam rock granny got up to belt out 'Don't you want me' (might have been Phil Oakey's sister, Carrie) I decided to follow their lead and that it was probably time to check out the sports bar.

An obvious amount of effort has been put in to the sports bar and it certainly deserved to be busier than three customers and a parrot with tourettes. There's two pool tables, two dartboards, bar billiards, three TV's a Wii and the parrot itself, which sits in a corner and occasionally pipes up with the kind of language that can charitably be described as 'colourful'. Once upon a time it would've made me blush but fourteen years at Royal Mail have hardened my sensibilities and it's nothing now that I don't hear 200 times a day (400 if Gary Bennett's in). What particularly caught my eye though, were the array of old football shirts, scarves and photos that adorn every wall and even the ceiling. Obviously donated by visiting supporters (unless Al had been busy trawling charity shops and eBay), teams were represented from as far away as Berwick Rangers and St. Mirren. As something of a sports memorabilia geek, I spent a happy 45 minutes just studying the photos and shirts and reliving matches from my childhood (back when football was good, not the greed orientated soulless spectacle it is today). Ultimately, the Blue Lagoon probably suffers from its location. Place it in Brighton or even further in to Hove and the place would be packed, particularly on days when the Albion are at home. I must admit it's a lot better than I expected it to be. Al, in the unlikely event that you ever read this, I told you I wouldn't write anything bad.

Dog friendly: No            Parrot friendly: Yep, he is, particularly if you find 'c##t! a term of endearment.

Entertainment: Table football and quiz machine in the Sea View bar, 2 pool tables, 2 dartboards, 3 Tv's showing Sky Sports, ESPN and 3 P.M Saturday Premiership games, a Wii, bar billiards and a potty mouthed parrot in the Sports bar.

Outdoor seating: A small courtyard to the side that unfortunately sits in the middle of a public footpath. On the plus side there's always the off chance of spotting Nick Berry taking a shortcut home.

Food: A large menu freshly cooked on the premises as it caters for B & B guests as well. Reasonable prices. A rather small selection of drinks available. The Harveys was off.

Miscellaneous: Saturdays is karaoke night, Wednesdays play host to the table football league and the pub has been known to put on the odd 'Elvis' night!

OVERALL SCORE: 7.5/10.....pretty good you c**t! (as the parrot might say)