The problem with the unknown is very much its unknowableness. Which is a pity because if there was one thing that hit me as I walked through the doors of the Marylebone Tup was its sameyness. It was a pub trying to be an All Bar One, it was a pub which was embaressed of its pub trappings. It was – frankly – not very nice.
It was pretty packed when I turned up with a mainly casual crowd and we had snared a large table which was a good thing. The first thing I was told though by Cabbage was that the bitter was awful. Now I had not been planning to have a pint of Pedigree, but frankly his report did not surprise me. As I waited a very long time for my pint of Kronenbourg I was able to note that the Tup had all seven flavours of Bacardi Breezer – surely a particularly bad sign (I have never seen this in any other pub). A boisterous office party were drowning out what there was of the music and whilst the company was good the stripped pine and bright red walls felt oppressive.
Football came on, and was turned up much louder than the music had been. It all became a bit shouty. I switched to the Eminem’s but one came back with tequilla in it. Bar staff looked good, were generally bemused and pints were costing ‘2.60. To be in an area with plenty of nice pubs suggested that this had tried to distance itself from that and dumb down. Oddly the pub got pretty full for the football, all media workers getting out at half past eight braying. The standard of punter coversation is summed up by the fact that they were pretty much still on the Harry Potter vs Lord Of The Rings topic.
The only good point about the pub I felt, the only character it had, was in its pub dog. Or in this case a pub wolf, more than large enough for me to ride as a steed. But none of this was good enough to dispell the general feeling that yet again I had stumbled into a poorly thought out attempt at a boozer. If you asked me again to sup at the Tup – I’d rather not.