The Bull's Head*

Generally speaking, I am saddened by the decline of the pub. In pubs up and down the country, I have had some of the best lunchtimes and evenings of my life.

I am not, to be clear, a habitual lunchtime boozer but, for example, when the Minx and I are away, I love a pub lunch. And, given how much I enjoy the company of friends, pubs have most commonly been the venue for those pleasingly regular occasions when I meet up with them.

Many pubs have closed but even those that remain have in most cases been stripped of their traditional charms. A good case in point would be The Plough pub, at the end of the road where I grew up in South London. Dating back to the fifteenth century, it's a beautiful place which has over the years declined to the point where its bar is now little more than a waiting area for a Miller and Carter Steakhouse**.

I mention all this to set the stage for my absolute delight, this evening, upon entering The Bull's Head near Piccadilly Station. The Minx and I had walked into town where we were meeting Abi and the miniMinx, who had preferred to take the train from Salford to meet us before we went all for dinner at Freight Island.

"Shall we try here?" the Minx had suggested when we arrived in Piccadilly and thus we enjoyed a very happy half hour in the pub before heading on to dinner, to celebrate the miniMinx's results (two Merits and a Distinction). I'm already looking forward to going back.

*I have, on behalf of The Bull's Head and myself, unilaterally decided that we will agree to disagree over the apostrophe.
**Although, to be fair, I haven't been there for at least two years.