The Bricklayers Arms

Set back from the Thames close to where the Boat Race begins, and tucked down an unprepossessing cul-de-sac opposite a red-brick housing estate. Granted, it's not the best start. It's a pub, plain and staggeringly simple, that hails the real ale with much gusto and little consideration for anything else. Dating back to 1826, the oldest boozer in Putney, the main bar décor is pretty much as it was.

Bona-fide bric-a-brac adorns the walls, stark pine tables wobble on the threadbare floor and a real coal fire rumbles away beneath a pair of headless antlers. Beyond the wonky wooden joists, the annexe is an incongruous addition with a disco mirror, chairs drenched in tapestry and a raftered roof shaped like an upturned boat. Design-schizophrenia continues outside with an L-shaped terrace decked in wrought-iron furniture. Yes, it looks pretty bonkers.

There's not much in the way of entertainment. No fruit machines, no music, no food (apart from a roast on a Sunday), no television and no distraction from the task at hand: drinking. Apart from, that is, bar skittles perched on a converted Singer Treadle table, and shove ha'penny.

The beer is why you come here. Named 'Greater London Pub of the Year 2007' by the Campaign for Real Ale, it prides itself on an unswerving dedication to the glorious ales of Timothy Taylor. You can get Landlord everywhere nowadays, but this is the sole London pub to serve Taylor's lesser-known gems on hand-pull. Golden Pride, Dark Mild, Ram Tam and Best Bitter: they're all here and kept in immaculate condition. The pub also acts as a middle man between the brewery and Madonna- the brewery's most famous fan. When the 'Materi-ale Girl' is gasping for a drop, the Bricklayers Arms dispatches a case, quick as you like, to Ritchie's gaff.

The regulars are beer-boffins, flat-capped proprietors of free bus passes, and clued-up locals who can keep a secret. Fulham footy fans pop in during match days.
Ben McFarland

Time Out Issue 1955: February 6-12 2008

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