Gun (Coldharbour)

Big Chris (Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels)

Unlike me, change never went and ‘urt no one. Way I see it, fings are bound to move on; nuffing ever stays the same forever, no matter ‘ow comfortable it feels.

Pubs change - and it's the same wiv people, innit.

Take me. I’m a cockney geezer through and through. In me yoof, I ‘ad a few scrapes, smashed the odd ‘ead in a car door and got stuck-in with the lads on the terraces. So what!

I’m a different man now. Grown up ‘aven’t I. That phota of me with a pair of shooters wrapped ‘round me swede? Well that’s the old Vinny … I mean Big Chris. Nowadays, I’m a regular family man, dotin’ on me kids, buyin’ the missus a bunch of flahs on ‘er birthday. That sort of fing.

* Pony and trap – she’ll dance in yer lap *

What about the shooters? Oh yeah, don’t get me wrong I still love ‘em – but these days I’m on a different kind of hit. After 20 pints of wife-beater, there’s nuffing I like more than a few Sambuca shooters before dragging me arse ‘ome.

Real guns though, well they’re the ‘scourge of society’ ain’t they? I read all about it in the Sun last week. Keep ‘em for decoration, that’s my motto.

That’s why I like this gaff. It’s like a gangster’s museum – liquid shooters behind the bar – but dozens of the barrel variety ‘anging safely over the bleedin’ walls! T’riffic!

* Dog and bone – on yer bike Livingstone *

Back in the day, of course, when this was a proper east end boozer, the shooters woulda been hidden under coats, not on display for all and sundry. The place was rough as f***ing ‘ouses, I can tell you.

But it's changed too. It's gone and got all upmarket. I fink they call it a gastro pub. Blimey! 

* Apples and pears – cheaper bus fares *

You probably won’t ‘ear a single cockerney accent in ‘ere at lunchtimes. It’s all journalists and the like, posh ones too. I see ‘em ‘olding their copies of the Independent, with their smart suits and lah-di-dah views on immigration.

And sometimes there ain’t a sole inside the bar neither; all the punters are sittin' on the terrace, staring at Mr Blair's big, f***ing white elephant-dome over the Thames, eating plates of fish at seventeen quid a time, while talking bollocks.

* Rub a dub dub – gastro kills pub *

Don’t get me wrong. Poncey people don’t make this a bad boozer. In fact, they make me laugh, don’t they. And if they’re willing to pay  over the  odds, well that’s their bleedin’ lookout.

* Plates of meat – Sesame Street *

Mind you, I do have one complaint about The Gun. You might not get shot, but you could die waiting to get served. Ha ha ha. Service is shocking!

Don’t let that put you off though. It's still well worth a visit, in my ‘umble view. But take my advice if you’re a proper local from Canning Tahn; be patient and drink shooters in here. Don’t bring one.

* Over-rated sobriety - Multi-cultural society *

Cheers!


Big Chris’s rating for the Gun – 7 / 10

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• Natural Selection,..

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