Ship Inn, The

This is a strange combination of country pub and urban fringe riverside. Yes, there's a cement works alongside, but nobody seems very concerned about it, and the other qualities of the place seem to be considered far more important. Inside the décor and general setting is of a traditional London pub that has been given a mild makeover, the sort of place that will keep almost everybody happy. Whilst food is available within during the winter, at the first hint of spring, call of the cuckoo, or frisson of warmth depending on your whim, the barbecue in the garden is flashed up and all the old favourites become available, minus the obligatory charcoal so traditionally bestowed by those whose capabilities are no match for their aspirations.

The matching bar has been described as colonial, hardly a very tactful piece of descriptive writing given the current change of population in London, but hey! why should we care when nobody at The Ship seems in the slightest bit bothered? The sunken garden is renowned for its ability to restore the frazzled soul, yes, frizzled even, and there's a verandah on which to sit, presumably wearing your white topee and sipping a gin sling.

As to the cuisine, there really isn't one. An easy marriage between bistro, brasserie and barbecue, whilst it may sound like a run-down firm of solicitors, probably describes it best. A place of great fun and hilarity, total informality with decent food, and a generous range of drinks. The Ship? Oh, yes, moored on the river alongside the pub. Perhaps they decided to transport the cement by road.