Bell (Cannon Street)

Colonel George Taylor (Planet of the Apes)

“Get your stinking paws off me, you dirty ape!”

The men who sent us on this journey are long since dead and gone. The earth has aged hundreds of years while we seem hardly to have aged at all. At least that’s what it feels like in The Bell, which claims to be the city’s oldest small pub. In an ever-changing world thank God for something to cling on to. Chalk up another victory for the human spirit. Doesn’t it make you misty?

It’s the year 3978 (2000 years after my excellent film was made) and The Bell still hasn’t changed. It took a strong stance on change and refused to move with the times. I admire it for that. The prices of pints have moved with the times though. I guess some things will always be the same. There’s a big Wetherspoon’s nearby that has cheap pints for £2 something, but somehow The Bell always manages to draw me back like a magnet. Like the gravity that pulled me back down to Earth again when my spaceship had the whole damn universe to choose from. But yes, The Bell feels like home. And home is where I’ve been trying to get back to for as long as I can remember.

The Bell has been around since The Fire of London (which started down the road in Pudding Lane). After all, progress isn’t always for the better is it? Look at what happened to us with the apes. And look at us now with all these new-fangled bars. Sometimes it’s best to stick with the old ways. Old fashioned things. Like pinstripe suits and Savoy Cabbage.

All the bitters here are well kept. The Landlord is the best of the bunch at £3.15. Avoid the waspish Harvey’s Sussex. The Red Car “Guest Ale” has been a guest in this house a long time, ever since I can remember. It’s a good pint but it has outstayed its welcome now. Watch out for the barmaid who gives you a shandy-ish pint when you ask for a Top. Not that I drink Tops.

The three barmaids do a good job but apart from them this is quite a male environment. If a female walked in here the patrons would think she was something that fell out of a tree. But that’s no bother to me because I prefer apes now. And maybe that’s why this place suits me down to the ground. It’s like going back in time to the old days. Cave man times. I’m a bit of a Neanderthal myself. A man’s man if you like. Unlike Cornelius, by the way. Not a man’s man.

I’m dressed in my loincloth but everyone else in this pub is wearing suits. Mind you … some of these City stiffs might look good as statues in the Great Hall of the Zaius Musuem. Frozen in time with glass eyes. Pickled in their own juices of LBV and pear armagnac. Stuffed on foie gras and cheese wheels.

Here I go again. Always seeing the worst in everything. Don’t mind me, I’m just a grumpy old man that likes to tell it how he sees it. Might do you some good if you listened long enough.

By the way, some sawdust or straw on the floor wouldn’t be amiss in this place. To remind me of the labs where I first met Dr Zira. Her putting me in a cage to mate with Nova was a touch of simian kindness that I should have taken advantage of. I don’t think I’ll get a better chance in The Bell.

I suppose if you want to mate with someone in this area then you can always try The Britannia down the road with its glittering spinning ball after 9pm. You get a lower class of primate in there that’s for sure. The Forbidden Zone I call it. God damn those damn dirty apes. Or maybe you’d prefer the soulless Fine Line. Do apes have souls? Or perhaps you’d care to cross the road from here to the All Bar One. It’s a madhouse! It’s a madhouse!

Look at what the world has done to itself. We turned it all to dust. Sometimes I think we’re the one’s retro-evolving, not the apes: God damn it all to hell. All this nihilistic talk… I can’t leave it alone… we’re in a pub with more character in one of its wooden panels than a whole street of All Bar Ones so let’s drink and be merry.

By the way, have you ever noticed how the intelligent chimpanzees (Dr Zira, in particular) bear a striking resemblance to William Devane, the Secretary of State in 24? You remember? Audrey Raine’s father. Brilliant isn’t it. You’ll never see Devane in the same way. I told you… stick with me you might learn something.

One last item… I’m not one for eating much because I’ve gotten used to compo space rations. They may not serve dauphinois potatoes in here but the Cheese Ploughmans is something else. You’ll have some interesting dreams tonight if you can polish off the kilo of Neal’s Yard Extra Mature that they serve up. It’s almost like a joke portion but it makes a refreshing change. Refreshing like the rock pool I swam in with Howard before they shot him dead in the cornfields. God damn those apes.

The Pork Scratchings here for a quid aren’t bad either. If you can stomach pigs. Like I say, I prefer apes. Eating them, that is… the son’s a bitches.

As I stand in this city lane it feels like I never really went away. This place feels comforting and somehow right. Like having a welcome mat outside your front door or sitting on your couch after a Sunday Roast. I’ve finally come home. And perhaps that’s the biggest complement that you can give a pub – that it feels like home. One day I hope you’ll join me outside for a cigarette (which is where everyone seems to hang out here). Prop your pint on the low rail, but watch you don’t flick ash into it.

But hold on... wait a minute... I’m looking through the Victorian glass panes into the inside of the pub… isn’t that the Minister of Science Dr Zaius that I see standing at the bar drinking a brandy in his orange leather jacket? Now that’s what I call old school.

Dr Zira is just around the corner, with a totally different outlook,....

Taylor's rating for The Bell - 9 / 10

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