The Island Queen, Islington

I visited the Island Queen as part of a crawl the other Saturday night (09/01/10) and it has to go down as one of my all-time worst pub experiences.

I�d visited previously and been a little disappointed, but was willing to forget this, as my drinking buddies were all keen to go. And so we gambolled in from the icy wastes of the evening, full of the joys of late winter, to pitch ourselves towards the bar through a crowd of the usual try-hard thirty-something Islingtonites clad in novelty t-shirts, ripped jeans, beanie hats and ironic �taches.

Two of our party � myself and one of the girls � stood at the front of the bar for a period of just shy of half an hour, being completely ignored by the ambling and disinterested bar staff, who proceeded to serve a good five or six people who�d arrived after us, as slowly as it is possible without actually ceasing to move entirely � actually quite a feat.

When it was near-on impossible to ignore us any longer (I was dressed as a Mexican labourer pleading to get taken on the landscaping van and was jumping up and down on a pogo stick, holding up a sign saying PLEASE SERVE ME, HOMBRE � WE�RE SO VERY THIRSTY), I kicked off proceedings with a hearty greeting to the barman and a request for three pints of bitter and a couple of imported lagers.

The chap (who, incidentally bore a fleeting resemblance to an elongated and �tacheless Manuel of Fawlty Towers fame) poured our lagers V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y� He then told us that the bitter we wanted had gone and offered us the other one on tap. He then poured a single pint of this one, only to inform us that this barrel had also gone... As there was no other bitter on, we ordered two Sierra Nevadas. One incredibly slow pint of this beverage later, he then told us in a fairly off-hand manner that he could not serve us any more draught beer because �the gas has gone�, not even muttering so much as a cursory apology�

Losing the will to live by this point we settled for a couple of bottles and a lime and soda, just as we noticed that the barman next to him was in the process of pouring two pints of an adjacent beer for another customer�

Admittedly ranting amongst ourselves just a little by this stage, we cut a swathe through the hordes of loudly braying Islingtonites and trotted upstairs� After one of us nearly broke his ankle on a bit of beading that had come loose from the stairs, we were pleased to find the upstairs room was looking a little empty� only to discover it had been reserved for a birthday from about two hours earlier.

We then deduced that we had stepped into the middle of one of those scenarios in which the birthday boy has invited all 400 people from his Facebook friendlist (including the smart and pretty young secretary from work he�s been trying to boff unsuccessfully for the past 18 months), and only his brother and a desperate sociopath he vaguely remembers from primary school have turned up to celebrate with him. The three of them brooded darkly in the corner until they noticed us, whereupon they sprang into action, taking up as much of the floorspace as they could muster with their undernourished frames. Needless to say they grunted their refusal at us when we politely asked if we could borrow one of the five empty tables for 20 minutes or so.

And so, feeling increasingly jaded and misanthropic, we trotted down the staircase, nearly breaking our necks on the loose beading and went outside. We said our hellos to the castrato brass monkeys who were having a cheeky fag on the pavement and supped our drinks, feeling almost at peace for the first time since we had arrived� And then, just as we had had the reckless temerity to relax for a moment, up popped our feckless barman to inform us that we couldn�t drink outside after ten� Given that we had reached the bar at around 9.05pm, I felt like glassing him on the spot. (Though I didn�t, gentle reader � especially if the police ask you any questions.)

In short, it�s a tragedy that such a lovely-looking boozer can provide such a terribly unwelcoming atmosphere and unenjoyable drinking experience.

You won�t be surprised to hear that I won�t be going back.

18 Jan 2010 13:39