The Mount, Corfe Mullen

Without doubt the worst Pub I’ve ever had the displeasure to visit!

I first entered the Mount when I was about 15. Myself and my Mum had been out somewhere and being local decided, on a whim and being hungry, to purchase and consume a sandwich at the Mount. Not a challenging or daunting experience you would presume, wrong! The pub was run-down and had the feel of a building that had never seen love nor care. We approached the counter, amidst the least friendly stare I have ever witnessed from a publican and asked if we could order. In a grumpy miserable tone the utterly soulless being mumbled ‘can’t serve minors in the bar. Hav’ to come next door’. By next door what it meant was to walk around a partition wall to the other side of the exact same counter! Thus, we politely obliged this ludicrous request and now in the ‘correct’ location to order food we asked if they had any sandwiches? Sandwiches; two slices of bread with some sort of food stuff placed in between. They provide the staple diet for lunchtimes across the planet and are widely available at Pubs. ‘Nah’ the beast replied, seemingly chewing the cud. That was it! That was their ‘wide selection of ‘food’ and their top notch public relations, what a pleasant experience!

The 2nd time I entered the Mount was not down to my personal choice. A friend had decided that we would meet up there having never been before…mistake! We entered, a party of about 6-7 people, and sat down around a table opposite the unwelcoming stares of a few typical regulars (of the ‘I hate all the nig**rs that have taken our jobs’, ‘I hate rich people’, ‘I hate the government’, ‘pass me a fag love’ ‘I’d luv to bang her’ type of regular scumbags that you get in these types of crappy, chav focused, commoner pubs). Nonetheless, ignoring these breathing humanoid vegetables, we proceeded to order 3-4 pints and sat back down. Now, I actually don’t drink, and neither were a couple of others in our group that night and thus we didn’t order ourselves anything. As such over waddled one of the beasts that apparently ran this so called Pub to utter the most unbelievable words I have ever heard come from a publicans lips ‘Are you going to av’ a drink or wha’? ‘Ow would you feel if I came in ta your livin’ room and just sat down?’…excuse me what? What did you just say to us? You own a pub you fu***ng cretinous being, a PUB, a PUBLIC HOUSE! My house is not a pub you total idiot, so I would be pretty annoyed, but yours is a pub, or at least it claims to be. Not to mention that if I and the other non-drinkers weren’t there (in their nearly empty pub) then they wouldn’t have had the £20 that they made off the people that were in fact drinking. This logic was of course beyond the grasp of this reject of evolution and as such we stood up and left in disgust.

Thankfully that was the last ever time I will ever have had to suffer this pub as it is now a nursery. However, I feel that a posthumous review was needed to register that I am joyfully dancing on the grave of this ‘Public’ House; a den of degraded and miserable half-wits that greeted their ‘customers’ with as much warmth and feeling as a kick in the crotch and a spit in the face!

10 May 2013 13:26