Can I pretend that Molly and I stumbled across The Old Serg by chance last Wednesday when we decided, quite spontaneously, to go out for a much overdue glass of wine?
Ok, I'll come clean. I've probably had more pints of beer in this pub than any other pub in London, and certainly more shots of Black Sambucas, Jager bombs, Lochness monsters and Crazy Cowboys. It's a stone's throw from Molly's flat where I've lived for 18 months, en route to GJ's, and a central hub for several of my friends from different walks of life who now live in the area.
Yes, it's an identikit Youngs pub, yes it appeals to people you'd probably rather not drink with (doesn't even matter who 'you' are, there'll be someone else there you don't like the look of, although I actually think this makes it a pretty inclusive kinda place), and yes it's too busy when the football or rugby's on. But I really don't care; the truth is the pub just wouldn't work if people came from far and wide to drink there, and I'm sure I'd move on if they did.
If the Old Serg was a pregnant celebrity, it would be Charlotte Church: too Young, too brash, busy in stops and starts, not really very cool when you think about it, but great fun and ultimately inconsequential.
I suppose if I was retiring on Garratt Lane I'd care more, and I'm sure that Gavin Henson cares immensely about Char, but right here, right now, it's a good time pub for a good time girl.
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