Sydenham pubs

Large, slightly soiled, and to all appearances family-run Young's pub. The surprisingly spacious dark wood interior is split into several rooms, populated variously by the pool playing yoof, friendly locals, and the football crowd. Can get a bit too much during the Friday night disco, but the swing nights on Sundays and the general cheerful atmosphere on week nights and weekend afternoons make for a decent boozer. The big screen football is kept to one side of the bar, so those wishing to drink in peace have some space to themselves. Gordon Ramsay has so much to answer for. Not just his attempt to play himself as the rugged alpha male of cookery, a sort of Charlton Heston with bovine eyes and Portillo-esque soft wavy hair, but also his inane and cartoonish hatred of vegetarianism. His assertion that the only good food once had legs and shat in a field simply serves to illustrate his limited grasp of the finer subtleties of the art, as any good Indian cook from a roadside cafe upwards will be able to tell him. In the way of all simplistic and inaccurate ideas, this one seems to be spreading with the speed and virulence of Japanese Knotweed. It seems to take particular root in the Napoleon-complex cuisine of the upstart gastropub, that curious and desperate little creature struggling for a fantasy market of white wine drinking marketing execs and groovy middle-to-high-income young Telegraph readers, who spend their holidays in Tuscany and like to think they're sophisticated because they learnt some big words about economics at university. Exclusion is the key, and if the upstart gastropub can offer a menu reeking of a form of false sophistication - one way being through expense, another by limiting your choice to purely carnivorous meals - then, so the idea goes, this rarefied form of exclusion - a cosy little club - will charm its prospective punters into believing they are the chosen ones, the exclusive and sophisticated elite. Another box on the way to Ivy status ticked, and another gold star from Ramsay earned. That this whole bag of twaddle should have parked its arse in Lower Sydenham, just a stone's throw from the legendary Two Half's (sic), says much about the gulf between pretension and tawdry reality. Designed by the same bloke who did the ill-fated Crystal Palace, this colossal beast of a Young's pub pretty much does it all. At the entrance is a boozy, very cosy bar for the regulars, with a neat snug tucked off to one side, while down a set of steps is a larger, wood-panelled, slightly more upmarket no-smoking area for food, families, large parties etc. On top of that is a generous patio and beer garden, with a wood nearby that seems to have stayed untouched since the last ice age receded. Huge hills (for London) and a feeling to the area that's not overly removed from Shimla in India provide an added weirdness factor. Food is okay, if not very vegetarian-friendly, and the beers are the usual Youngs/Wells blah. Well worth the adventure of getting there. Pub with nearly 300 years of history, and extensions built on to its extensions. Apparently once a bastion of live jazz and comedy, an ill-advised refit has exterminated all traces of the past in an attempt to go all lounge and modern. The result, whilst a total dog's dinner of Ikea-lite pine, seems to have brought in a diverse range of drinkers, and the various rooms, levels and extensions fill with local wildlife of all ages on a Friday and Saturday night. Not much in the way of decent beer, and the cheap food is variable to say the least, but there is something egalitarian about the place that I rather like. Shows sport on a variety of screens and occasionally hosts a karaoke night that, according to reports, is more like the slaughter of the firstborn than a cheery attempt at making music. Not reviewed yet.

Want to review it? No frills, no ales but plenty of lager and televised football. Minimalist not in a trendy sort of way, but just because it can’t be bothered about things like decorations. Popular post-work, pre-dinner location for Sydenham’s hardened boozers. Known for holding the occasional lock-in. Everything you need to know is amply summarised by the name. A couple of facts. The Windmill has not been a Wetherspoons for years and you don't get teenagers in there. Having moved from 'up north' 2 years ago I can say this a decent pub. Decent ale (in the good beer guide), good food at a reasonable price (try the Thai menu) and music at weekends. I agree not the prettiest of pubs but the regulars are great.

P.S. No the landlord didn't bribe me and at the moment the Woodman is shut. More or less opposite the Woodman, this Wetherspoons was used as a second date location for my neighbours and me. More disastrous than our first date. Unless you want underage drinkers, OAPs whiling away the hours and their pensions, and a soulless, albeit cheap, bar, don't go there. As we entered this run of the mill SE London pub, we quickly realised our mistake. In contrast to the spring evening outside, the atmosphere (and decor) in the pub was sombre. We had stumbled in on a wake. But in true Irish fashion, the barmaid welcomed us into the (ample) bosom of her hostelry in true Carry On style. In our new surroundings, dark wood mixed with traditional pub carpets and the pool table in the back (being used as a temporary buffet table) we nursed our pint of standard bitter, gin and tonic and lime and soda. This was a first date between me and my new neighbours. It was awkward and did not lead immediately to a second date. But I have been back since to sample the concrete beer garden, complete with rotting tables. But if you want a friendly SE London Irish atmosphere, a quick game of pool, Sky Sports and karaoke on a Sunday, you wouldn't go far wrong with the Woodman.

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