You just can’t say no to some Tiki Tiki
It would appear that I have complete disregard for my golden rules, for yet again I’ve ended up south of the river. I keep south of the river friends, not because they're sligthly dim and good drinkers, but rather because I feel its like doing a good deed everyday, and one day the government will introduce some form of tax credit for us for putting up with them. This weekend, however, I have good reason – a good friend’s birthday.
We started at what must be one of the quaintest pubs in London, the Prince of Wales on Clever Square – a quiet conservation area seemingly detached from the modern world right by the permanently grid-locked Kennington Road. What makes this place different, it that in place of those stuffy private gardens you find in Kensington squares, here you find a gravel patch more akin to the those in dusty old French villages. But, again, instead of old men with guts the size of small planets, here you find a young crowd of city professionals playing petanque with their pint or G&T in their hand.
Like the gin and tonic, legendary nights are made in great pairings. We started with the calm Prince but upon last orders then moved onto the buzzing South London Pacific Bar – or to you and me – Tiki Tiki. Decked from head to toe in bamboo and Easter Island statues this place is so naff, it’s off the hook! Dancing, and crooning along, to Michael Jackson and the like, some very beautiful boys and girls drink down some of the best cocktails this side of the Channel – including the lethal lager-rita, a margherita in a tall glass topped off with a bottle of Sol. I’m a robust drinker, but even those floor me within minutes!
However, the best measure for determining a great bar – their policy on when to chuck people out. In this place, if you’re caught even blinking slowly you’re out, falling asleep practically leads to an outright ban! One bouncer was once overheard saying 'you're not coming in - you look too tired to party hard'. Now, I had been pre-warned of this ruthless policy, so knowing my susceptibility to the sleeps after one to many lager-ritas, I quietly toddled off home to the North whilst the sun crawled over the horizon.