How do you compress more than a decade into two rounds of drinks? You skip lightly over the negative and dull, order a third.
Of course London has dive bars. And why would you choose the sanitised, stylings of a faux dive when you could have the real thing?
Síbín is not the illegal watering hole of your Irish grandpappy, but a high-end shrine to the very legitimate business of whisky
Around the corner a life model disrobes. Behind them old school friends discuss which of their classmates are now wastemen, and which are hench. This must be the place.
There’s a seat in Black Rock that’s the perfect place to sit if you’ve ever dreamed of being a private investigator in a film noir classic. You can recline in your wicker-weaved chair, or rest your forearms on the cold marble table.
Making my own salty sea breeze of a whisky – with a touch of peat smoke, chocolate malt and sherry-soaked machair – at Black Rock.