Paddington pubs

It's in railway station pubs that the humdrum surface of the world peels back to reveal the hideous void underneath. Our carefully constructed narrations of self shatter under the pressure of relentless, awful funk lite from the 1980s; our desperate illusions of spirituality and sentience burst in the lunar atmosphere, revealing nothing within; meaning withers before the dreadful absurdity and fake jollity of the surroundings, as affronting an idea as a giant baboon's arse at a Savoy tea party. There are unfortunately no mad bishops present, nor bears, only oh-so-lonely men slumped in front of the soundless TVs nursing pints of flat bitter, and the occasional salaciously flirting work 'colleagues' hovering depressingly between restraint and full-on action. A solitary barmaid stands lost behind the bar, looking bored. It isn't even that this place is so bad: Fullers have put in their usual effort, creating the appearance of a half-decent boozer, with all the mod-cons of food, sport and decent beer. Ultimately, however, it is doomed by what it is: a place where people wait unwillingly, somewhere defined only by transience. At 9.30 on a Monday night it is a window onto the inner bleakness and profound meaninglessness of the world. The mood it induced in me lasted for my entire rail journey, only lifting when I got to Cardiff Station at 1.30am and discovered that they have, possibly uniquely, a "Platform 0". Suddenly, meaningless absurdity didn't seem so depressing anymore. Utterly rocking and super-shabby pub close to the bright lights and bubbling hookah of Edgeware Road. Unchanged since the grimy fug of the 1970s, this boasts flesh-coloured walls, copper tables, a magnificent juke box and a giant brass stag's head on the floor by the toilets. Sky TV, lock-ins, fun. Not reviewed yet.

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