Hog in the Pound (Bond Street)

Babe (Babe - Pig in The City)

One of the best things about being able to talk, is the ability to order a good pint.

Sure, being able to converse and socialise with a variety of different species would appear initially, to be a great asset. But to be honest, since discovering the ‘gift of the gab’, so to speak, I’ve realised that I’m really not a great ‘People Pig’, and that to my mind, speech is over-rated.

When I’m not keeping my head down in sh*t, I like to keep it down in sh*t boozers, and I don’t want any chit-chat to distract me.

As far as I am concerned, talking is for those with nothing to say.

If fact, since we are going down the honesty route. I’d have to tell you, that I appreciate a pint, whether it be a good, a bad or a f*cking mediocre one. I’ll drink any old swill as long as there’s a (booze) percentage in it for me. And,….I’ll drink this shit in absolutely any dump that is close to hand. Especially if the other punters and staff, leave me to my own devices.

Snaffling around for solo pints in London’s impersonal West End, is what I enjoy best. And it’s recently struck me that,.. the more convenient a pub is,..the more impersonal it invariably becomes. Suits me just fine; doesn’t matter a jot, (the popularity of the place) as far as I am concerned,….as long as I can get served.

‘A shit-hole for a shit-swine’ is what I always say. You can’t deny what you are.

‘King Shit-hole of London’ if you ask me? Well, it’s gotta be the aptly named Hog in the Pound, just outside Bond Street tube. Jesus, what a tip!

Modelled on a Parisian Café, updated and chav-styled by a raving crack-head, staffed by the UN, and patronised by tourists, shoppers and the provincial clueless,…this truly is a melting pot of crap. A real sh*t soup. Nice.
Like I say, I don’t care about the quality of the pints or the clientele. I just want a convenient solitary pint, and fast.

‘I sty with my pink piggy eye, something beginning with D?’

That’s it,…’Dump’. Here’s another, in the form of a ditty....

‘What do you do, If you have to do a poo, in an English city boozer?’

That’s right,…hold your nose, bring your own (toilet) paper, hover over the seat (if you are lucky enough to have one), get the job done quick, and hold the door shut with any available free limb. Wicked.

Using the toilets for a 'number 2', in a London pub is a bit like playing a game, which is a disgusting hybrid of Twister and Russian Roulette!.....Number of players you say? Well, ‘Unlimited’ I guess,...depending on how many people try the door, whilst you’re on the throne.

All this however, is not any issue for me, I know. It’s all just fyi. But it does make me laugh, just exactly 'what' people will put up with ‘toilet-wise’ in England.

Whenever ‘I’ need to use the toilet in The Hog and the Pound, I usually just ‘go’, wherever I happen to be snaffling around at the time, and then crack on with the boozing in hand. For everyone else in the Hog in the Pound,.. it is however, a different matter!

Everyone loves a Western don’t they.....?

Picture John Wayne coming through the saloon doors and into the bar,…an iconic Western moment,...........

Well,...go take a dump in the Hong in the Pound, the next time that you are boozing in the area and you’ll feel exactly like John Wayne, at the entrance to the saloon. Well,..almost 'exactly',..except you’ll be there with your trouser round your ankles, getting drenched in piss, nervously eyeing the other people in the toilet over the top of the door.

If you’re ever in this situation, then take time out, to read a message that the manager has kindly left you, on the opposite wall,………

The Hog and Pound off Bond Street – where they really know how to treat their livestock….Take it from Me,...Babe. It's right up my alley. Oink Oink.

Babe’s rating for the Hog in the Pound – 10/10

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  “,….. Why didn’t they live to be 100?Huh? Well, they woz running round all day, hunting mammoths, eating berries,..rumping their little hearts out. No boozing or smoking. They must have been fit as fiddles. Yer Neanderthalls……….I’ll tell you why, it’s … Continue reading →