Shittest pub experiences

[madhair60]

I want to hear about the worst times you've had in pubs. I'd say maybe try to keep it light but fuck it let's wallow. I'd like to know the worst pubs, publicans, and patrons you've entered/seen/met/fucked/been assaulted by.

I nominate The Rathmore Arms in Cambridge. Walked in, the three chaps at the bar stopped talking and glared at us for the entire duration of our Guinness. I realise that this is a poor anecdote but I've led a charmed life.

[Cuellar]

Had a pretty bad pint of John Smiths in what is now The Peacock in St Albans.

[mr. logic]

The Wetherspoons in Victoria Station waiting for my train back to Croydon. Would always end up in an argument on the train.

[Cuellar]

A lacklustre IPA in Big Society, in Oxford

[Norton Canes]

The Lord Ashton in Lancaster, must have been about 20 years ago. Couple of us walked in, and I swear to you, around every single table were sat men wearing identical Victorian frock coats and top hats and as one they all turned round and without saying a word stared at us. Completely freaked us out and we left immediately. 

[BlodwynPig]

luton

[Icehaven]

Pub in Whitby, think it had a Tolkien themed name but I might be getting confused as I went to loads of pubs while I was there. It was a few days before the Halloween goth weekend, which we weren't strictly there for but probably looked a bit like we might have been, and me and my boyfriend at the time were the only people there apart from a gaggle of obvious regulars at the small bar, all doing that thing where they won't move when you want to get served despite the rest of the place being completely empty. When one of them finally deigned to shift so I could order, he asked where we were from, and when I said Birmingham a ripple of sniggers went round the group and one of them said ''You two must be the last white people left there then!" I know pub racists are hardly a rare phenomenon, but you know when you just know you're being goaded, so in the interests of not getting the shit beaten out of us I hurried back to our table suggesting we downed the drinks and left ASAP, which we did. Not been back to Whitby since and it's an otherwise lovely place however I will be checking my trip doesn't coincide with the Klan's AGM next time.

[king_tubby]

Had some dodgy shellfish in an Italian restaurant in Hunter's Bar, Sheffield, and then proceeded to projectile vomit across a surprisingly large area in the Hog's Head on Ecclesall Road at kicking out time.

[jobotic]

Livingstone Arms (The Livvie) in Gillingham, now gone, serving out of date bottles of stout and Fosters. There's some boxing on the TV and the national anthem comes on. Bloke sitting at the bar kicks his bulldog that is laying at his feet, up the arse and shouts "you stand up for the Queen's song, cunt dog!".

Always called the National Anthem "The Queen's Song" and pissed up Top Boys "Cuntdogs" since. 

[dr_christian_troy]

Bar du Vin in Bromley. It was as if the bar on the Titanic was an 1980s-themed locale filled with ghastly colour decoration, watered-down drinks, stinking of bleach and cum, with the ship constantly circling the iceberg but never actually hitting it - bit always that slight feeling that it inevitably would.

My only regret about vomiting outside of the entrance, was not vomiting inside the building as to improve the overall decor and vibe.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

All the awful badly kept pints of Carling drunk aged 17 in the Volunteers which we couldn't complain about as we were after all 17 ffs.

[PowerButchi]

Any pub that sells keg craft beer with a needlessly inflated ABV and tastes of fruits. If you want Lilt, drink fucking Lilt.

[Blue Jam]

The (now-defunct) Blind Poet in Embra. Went in to watch Andy Murray win Wimbledon for the first time. Had one swallow of a really bad pint, got it replaced, then some pub band started setting up their equipment in front of the screen. Asked the bar staff to have a word, they moved it, then one of the miserable old farts petulantly plonked a guitar down right in the middle of the screen. I politely asked him to move it, he went "Ah've got a job to do here, pal" and started blocking the screen with more gear. I said "Come on, Andy Murray might win Wimbledon here!" and he got even more arsey, so I went "Fuck this, you're not exactly Bono mate" and we went round the corner to the (also now-defunct) Meadows Bar to watch Andy Murray lift the trophy, then had a nice chat with some regulars about  Limmy and Jacqueline McCafferty. "Nice pub", we thought, "We'll take our business here from now on".

I then started feeling violently ill. We went home. I knew what was coming, so had a lie down as I waited for the levee to break, then when the moment arrived I ran to the bathroom and puked up that single swally of bad pint, plus more besides. Crap Bono's Revenge.

I think that was the closest thing I have had to proper food poisoning, and I am now hyper-aware of badly-kept beer, and gravitate towards pubs that don't have music licences...

[BlodwynPig]

The Hoppings Pub on Gosforth High Street, now gone and replaced with something artisan.

Told the story here before, so won't repeat.

[kngen]

The Sun Tavern, Bethnal Green Road.

Benches were basically made out of unvarnished plywood, and a bloke was wandering about trying to sell a bunch of knocked off bacon out of a Tesco bag. Bunch of hoodies on bikes outside the side entrance. The phone beside the bar would ring, then one of them would literally ride his bike into the pub, nod at the barman, who would then toss him a small package of something, then he'd return with a 20 quid note a few minutes later.

I was actually quite game for sticking around for a second pint (it was fucking cheap. The bloke actually came out from behind the bar to hand me back the extra fiver I'd paid, because I thought it was usual London prices, rather than being subsidised by the East End drug trade) but my mate got really freaked out by the whole thing and we had to leave. Probably for the best.

Some shithole in Dundee.
Played a gig there and some steamer tried to start on me even before I'd had a chance to put my guitar case down and take my coat off.

Red Lion, Soho, London
Evacuated at gunpoint during the height of IRA bombing campaign in the late 90s. That was pretty mental.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Any pub that sells keg craft beer with a needlessly inflated ABV and tastes of fruits. If you want Lilt, drink fucking Lilt.

So that's most pubs now. Mature.

[seepage]

Place close to Military Road, Colchester - they'd not paid their suppliers so only had tins of supermarket own-brand lager. Angry group of lads chucked oot the nearby Irish pub off for revenge on anything animate/inanimate.  Taken there by father-in-law-to-be so had to stay.

Sunrooms Southend, late nineties. 'nuff said.

[bgmnts]

Probably a spoons in Newport, just bereft of life.
The pubs in the east end of london are surprisingly crap.

[Twit 2]

Met up in Cambridge with some people from a comedy forum. Awful.

[H-O-W-L]

Pub next to where I work. Dead as shite and felt like we'd broken in because there was dust over everything, even the tables. It was eight PM on a Monday, granted, but you'd expect a bit more people in there than me and two colleagues.

[earl_sleek]

Had a pretty bad pint of John Smiths in what is now The Peacock in St Albans.

I've had a couple of crappy evenings there myself, The Mermaid just down the road is much better (or The Cock or Blacksmith Arms the other way up Hatfield Road).

luton

The Bat and Barrel in Luton is probably the worst pub I've ever been in - about two cunts in there besides me & my mate at 9pm on a Saturday night, took over 5 minutes to get served and when we did it tasted like rancid fish. The atmosphere was so bad a pub fight would've improved it. Amazingly I believe it's still open for business despite pubs closing left right and centre.

[idunnosomename]

The pubs in the east end of london are surprisingly crap.

just fucking keg (KEG) and TV with sport on and bald men shouting at each other. seriously. CAMRA need to get a guerrilla ops team over there and sort it out. are these lager boys afraid they'll taste something. just ignorance, really. sad.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Oh shit, yes I remember attempting a solo night out in Trebon, South Bohemia, possibly on a weekday.

Started off OK, a couple of pints in the already winding down taproom of Pivovar Regent - a beautiful brewery, then on to a really good gothic themed, but not tacky, cellar bar called U Certa. A good find for a small town like that. Then, I decided to see if there was anywhere else. Big mistake.

The venue the barmaid in U Certa suggested is closed, in fact it looks like it closed in 1993. I am convinced there will be other venues so take a look around. It takes 15 minutes and I erroneously end up in 2 restaurants and have to back out.

However, after spotting a trusty Kozel sign I wander into the entry way of this sports slanted pub, not knowing what to expect. It was open alright. Fuck knows why, but it was. The stillness as I entered the room still stays with me now. A portentous stillness, that puts a man on edge. Like someone or something will appear from behind a curtain and suck your brains clean the fuck out of your arsehole.

Adding to the eerie calm was the manner in which the furnishings and features had been arranged, with military precision, imprinting a formality that was neither necessary nor desirable. Each chair neatly in its place waiting for a hypothetical inundation of South Bohemia sports fans that will evidently never arrive.

At the bar the tapster and one drunk man slouched, face down on the bar, with a slobbering mouth, almost asleep.

Rather than simply walk straight back out a pang of guilt suddenly strikes me and I find myself ordering a half litre of Kozel, committing to remaining in this atmosphere for at least way more time than any reasonable human would. It is delivered promptly, it's absurdly cheap and pretty tasty.
Then for entertainment or diversion - rather than play darts or pool by myself - I resort to the trusty smartphone, and yes, you guessed it, a data blackout spot.

So I have half an hour of total silence in the company of an unsocial (and definitely non English speaking tapster) and a man who is propped upright and conscious by chin alone.

I sit there casting my eyes over the tragic still scene of this early 80s Czech sports pub, that may have once had a following but was now servicing ghosts and one alcoholic. And me, that night anyway.

All the classic decor you could expect. Beige ceiling tiles, those wretched 2-star hotel chairs with faux velvet upholstery and gold trim. Electronic dart board (power off), and pre-revolution curtain over the entrance (as is common in Czechia in old boozers, so men can see if a venue is worth exposing to the sensitive eyes of their lady women), TV (power off).

I cannot communicate with either human, nor the outside world. It's me, a beer and this rictus boozer that time forgot.

Trebon is quite remote and totally beautiful. It feels far from home but on nights like that I'd have taken a Spoons. England is a reliable country when you're after somewhere with a bit of Nightlife in the sticks, good or bad.

[finnquark]

I nominate The Rathmore Arms in Cambridge. Walked in, the three chaps at the bar stopped talking and glared at us for the entire duration of our Guinness. I realise that this is a poor anecdote but I've led a charmed life.

That's a shame as this is in my top three places in town. Somehow the landlady knew my name the first time I went drinking in there.

[madhair60]

That's a shame as this is in my top three places in town. Somehow the landlady knew my name the first time I went drinking in there.

Long time ago mate, might be good now!

[finnquark]

Long time ago mate, might be good now!

I'll be in there from 2.30 on Sunday watching the hurling, come on down for a pint.

[Birdie]

I wish we had pubs in Wellington.. We have bars. They aren't the same.

The concept of being able to have a drink and hold a conversation seems alien to these places. It's the same with a lot of cafes too. They just blast music out all the time and you can't get away from it.  Who wants to be shouting and straining all the time?

Shit experience? Could be the date who turned out to have four teeth, could be the white supremecist, take your pick.

[PowerButchi]

So that's most pubs now. Mature.

No, but pubs like that are the ones I've had most shit experiences in, and as someone who's been in a pub for one reason or another 6 days out of 7 for the past 16 years or so I know the ones I dislike.

It's those.

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

I wish we had pubs in Wellington..

Little Beer Quarter looks very publike (and pretty good)

[Birdie]

Little Beer Quarter looks very publike (and pretty good)

It's trying hard but it's not the Rovers Return is it?

I should check it out just to see if it's possible to hear my companion talk.

Edit: it's a 7 minute walk from my office- I will check it out!