I am sitting here at a table that I have sat at a few times before, but it feels different this time. You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this, but I’ve had excuses to be here. Number 1, they have Sky Sports 3D, making it the regular for watching 6 Nations and Liverpool FC games when I lived up the road. Secondly, it is the most convenient place to meet my brother before his commute home. Granted, I could have taken better advantage of the latter over the last two years, but that’s why I’m here this time. Indeed I am joining him on the joyful Friday commute back to Hampshire to see my niece. Back to the Slug. They’ve done it up. Not so as to scare away the midday train station regulars and assorted transients of Battersea, but I am surprised by the general standard of punter in here today. Now that I’m looking around, I notice other things. It’s Friday next to the busiest train station in Britain and the floor is clean. And the tables. (Get’s up to have a gander) And the bar. Right, a quick look through the kitchen hatch. Clean and Odourless. What on earth the fuck is going on? My bro arrives in time to insult me for drinking a glass of white wine “like a girl”. Which brings me on to the next point. I can’t see a beer that I’d actually enjoy drinking, especially now Peroni has turned to piss, but this place offers up a few really reasonably-priced glasses of wine. I am drinking the more than tolerable (there have been better vintages) Kleine Zalze Chenin Blanc. There’s a strong Constellation presence (rarely promising) but they’ve managed to pick wheat from the chaff. There’s a delicious line-up of proper fizz at seductive prices, and despite this pub being full, I have enough space to swing a giraffe. I’m coming back.

Footnote. My sister in law couldn’t join us because she ripped her cruciate on New Years Eve, dancing to Jump Around by House of Pain. The irony.