Rest In Peace

Pubs come and go, so here we highlight some of the pubs that we have reviewed in the past but are no longer with us.

The Burnell Arms, High Street North, East Ham, E12 6SJ

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Then: Cavernous. Dark ceilings loom in the gloom, diners sit in huge antechambers, people mutter to each other in Punjabi and Urdu as they sit in a side room bigger than most whole pubs watching the football. A small boy makes incessant farting noises with a whoopee cushion. Whole areas are closed off. Later, I notice it has some kind of dodgy club attached. Friday nights may be a riot, but sundays are steeped in sephulcral solipsism Now: Now boarded up, with no apparent sign that anything is going to happen to it at all.

The Crown, 223 Grove Road, Victoria Park, E3 5SN

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Then: This establishment stands in one of the East End's finest locations. It occupies a fine old building overlooking the Crown Gate of Victoria Park. Although this is a gastropub, they still take alcohol very seriously. All the insipid mainstream beers have been shunned in favour of their delicious organic cousins; 'St Peter's Organic Bitter' and 'Freedom' lager among the many highlights at the bar. A pint here is more expensive than the average boozer, but some things are worth paying good money for. Though we didn't sample any of the food on offer this time, it did all look rather tempting. The original Victoriana has been stripped out and replaced by a not altogether unpleasant combination of bare wood and dark walls. The flickering candlelight pierces the gloom and creates a reassuringly brooding yet relaxed atmosphere; at least it did for a while. As you might have already noticed, this pub belongs to that other Bethnal Green; a world of wealthy young professionals, fine wine and drizzled olive oil. In the space of half an hour the tranquil atmosphere was shattered by an invasion of shrieking young "oafettes" whose voices could be heard all the way from Chalfont and Latimer. Oh dear. Now: Like the Norwegan Blue Parrot it has demised and it is no more. Unlike the Norwegan Blue Parrot rumour has it that it will be reincarnated as a tapas bar.

Extra Time, 1 Long Lane, EC1A 9HA

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Then: Although my office is virtually next door to this place, I have made every conceivable effort to avoid going in. As you walk past the door you can feel a noticeable thinning of the atmosphere as any conversation in the pub is extinguished by the banks of telephone screens above the bar. I finally succumbed after being promised free beer on the company and I thought it would be rude not to accept. The ground floor bar was populated by young office workers. The women were discussing the day's office politics while the men were gazing slack-jawed at the sport on the telly. The downstairs bar resembled a youth club: pool tables, table football and bad music whose 'highlights' included Bucks Fizz and the Spice Girls. The beer is of the mass produced variety and its only use is to wash down the microwaved offerings from the kitchen. If you must come here to watch sport just pray it doesn't run into extra time. Now: This place has never really turned over good business. It limped on for a few months after being re-named as Masque Bar, but has now finally died. I can't help thinking that my review hastened its demise. A branch of Pret a Manger now sits in its place.

The Green Man, Plashet Grove, E6 1DA

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Then: A pub shaped like a flying 'V', more exciting from the outside than within, but a decent enough place to while away an afternoon. TV screens are liberally scattered through parts of the interior like stardust, although these can be avoided if you wish a quiet pint. Very busy post-match environment, but otherwise pleasingly bustling yet not overwhelming. A friendly crowd. Food, football. Now: Wrenched from this life by the grabbing hands of a property developer. Sadly missed. Gone, but not forgotten.

The King and Keys, Fleet Street, EC4A 2BJ

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Then: It may be in the shadow of its more famous neighbour Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, but with authentic flagstone floors and a Harry Potter-esque chest of drawers behind the bar, this place oozes character. There has been a pub here since the 16th Century, but more recently it was a popular meeting place for photojournalists working for the Daily Telegraph next door. The newspapers have now moved away and nowadays clientele consist of local office workers and the odd tourist. The range of beers on offer is small, but probably adequate for most punters. Lagers, Guinness and Tetley Bitter feature. The London Pride priced at 2.60 a pint was obviously well-kept. If the company of friends becomes boring there is a juke box and a solitary fruit machine at the back. One note of caution. Toilets downstairs are accessed by staircases with very low ceilings. Remember to duck - I didn't - Ow! Now: Closed for good back in July. Apparently the company have sold the leasehold for the property. It's a shame since it used to be an old journalists' boozer back in the day when Fleet Street was still occupied by the papers

The Old House at Home, Watney Street, E1 2QE

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Then: Shadwell is not known for its quality drinking holes. Most seem to exude a minging dodgyness that repels even the thirstiest punter. I had heard that the local fire brigade drink at this particular hostelry and I decided that I could probably survive a pub review visit without getting knifed. This small Victorian pub lies conveniently close to Shadwell DLR and tube stations and next door to a pie and mash shop - very East End. On entering, the well worn exterior gives way to a mock tudor extravaganza of fake half timbers and wattle/daub walls. Tasteful - not. The pub was filled with old cockneys who had chosen not to "emigrate" to the wilds of Essex in the 60s. They seemed a friendly enough bunch, as did the staff who were probably just pleased to see a younger person come in for a drink. A model gypsy caravan driven by a leprechaun peeps out between the optics. This is a truly bizarre spectacle. I eye my pint suspiciously, looking for signs that someone has spiked it with some hallucinogenic drug. No, the model caravan is real; as are the two football scarves suspended behind the bar: Man U and Hibs. Oh. All this on the borders of Hammer and Gooner-land. Very odd. The beer was fairly run-of-the-mill, although they did have Ridley's bitter. Pubs like this in the East End will be gone in 20 years time. All the old locals will have died or moved away and most young people around here do not drink for religious reasons. This one could survive if it is tastefully redecorated and they introduce some more interesting beers. Its proximity to public transport could be the key to its survival as long as it looks to the future without alienating its loyal local custom. Now: Boarded up and facing an uncertain future. Given the location I don't hold out much hope for this one.

The Windmill, Windmill Street, W1P 1HF

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Then: The towerblock that this pub is part of is currently undergoing a refit of monstrous proportions. Enormous chunks of the front have been demolished, and the builders seem to be ripping the building apart floor by floor. Impressively, this does not seem to bother the Windmill one bit. Surrounded by scaffolding and almost invisible, the building above it being turned into mangled concrete superstructure, its business as usual in the pub. Even more surreal, the interior is half 1970s trendy pub cool, half crap 1980s refit, and a wholly pathetic attempt at the traditional pub look. Hideous spotlight things beam from the ceiling, highlighting everyones bad skin. Thousands of TVs show the football, winking at the unwary drinker from unexpected angles. It serves some kind of food, probably fake. Psychedelic bad pub experience ahoy! It is worth visiting, mostly in the hope that some part of the towerblock will collapse into the pub during drinking hours, but also because, fundamentally, it is just a really weird place. Now: In a bizarre reversal of banks turning into "trendy wine bars", this pub has been turned into the arse end of a Natwest Bank. All indication that there was ever a pub here has been obliterated.

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