Pubs are one of the best of British inventions to 'go global': up there with the internet and concentration camps, in my humbles. The Swan and Edgar is no exception.
A bit poncey for some, not quite poncy enough for others, I was introduced to this particular London boozer by my friend Stuart, co-coordinator that day of a fine stag do for my friend Alex. The pub was good then and it was even better the other week, starter as it was for one of those 'just the one drink' meet ups turned into a mild session that ended up with Spanish dancing at 1am, drinks aloft.
This is a great pub for many reasons: I like the sign - it has a beagle with a cravat on it. This is good. I like how they don't really piss about on their website (although a map probably wouldn't really go amiss, chaps). It's as small and unfussy as the place itself. Most of all I like how they like words. The pelmet (that's not the word, but go with me) above the bar is made out of hardbacks. The bar itself is formed out of paperbacks, all stacked up side-on. Books are scattered about too, as are papier mache-styled chairs to perch on. They've even got scrabble floor tiling in the lavvies. Marvellous. |
| The bar, badly shot |
Oh, and there was a shiny metallic green mini outside that day. Like a nose piercing on the Mona Lisa in that bit of Marylebone, but it seemed to fit well. No jukebox, smelt a bit of drains at one point and there was no fit barman but you can't have it all. 
