Muswell Hill pubs

Closed pending a refurbishment Ah, Muswell Hill. Back in the Nineteenth Century, the village (as it was then) was built on leased church lands, and the church specified that it would have no pubs. There has, of course, been a large change in Muswell Hill's fortunes since, with a whole slew of pubs arriving on the scene, and most notoriously one of the local churches being transformed into a particularly hideous O'Neill's. Just upwind of Highgate, and home to Ken Loach and other arty lefties, one expects Muswell Hill to be full of Public Sector Parents with articulate, precocious children. Instead, I discover a bunch of sports-casual youth applying their talents to beating up a litter bin. Oh. Hastening past this new spectator sport I enter the rather undistinguished-looking John Baird (the pub, that is, not the man). Wooden panelling, yellow walls smeared with tobacco-coloured varnish and the usual pub paraphernalia are all present and correct. The clientele seems to consist of some of the above-mentioned Public Sector Parents, some work parties, a drunken bunch of time-ravaged oldies and yet more sports casual youth, roving about in a big pack hitting the slot machines, sitting down for five minutes, getting up again to hit a different quiz machine, sitting down, arguing, getting up again and altogether acting like a bunch of growth-hormone-burgers and E-Number-soft-drink imbibing ADHD three year olds. They occasionally look outside at the kids beating up the litter bin, a sort of longing look in their eyes. Ignoring their merry-go-round, I imbibe a pint of beer (okay) and a truly horrendous bottle of wine, that was cheap for wine but expensive for the vinegar it truly was. It does food and I think shows sport, but is so totally negligible a pub that it would be better to rove further abroad in search of your entertainment. Unless, of course, you like kicking in litter bins.

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