Pint of 45

The Bunker

2013-05-24T14:26:00.000+01:00

60-61 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]

The Bunker is, ostensibly, a sports bar. But in both name and presentation it's more like a fortified compound in which to take shelter from the impending apocalypse. (Otherwise known as a Saturday night on St Mary Street.)

It does a fine line in beverages that no one has ever heard of. Indeed, Backyard Retro sounds more like some sort of seizure-inducing moonshine than it does a legitimate lager-based product.

We order two pints of Backyard Retro.

The 'sports' aspect of proceedings comprises some darts on the telly (which, let's be honest, is a game not a sport) and the fact that there is enough open space to accommodate gymnastic floor routines.

Which is, it transpires, what those two kilted blokes on the right are limbering up for.

The gymnastics judges go on to have a rather heated discussion about scores at the bar. It's a close call but, in the end, Kilted Bloke #2 gets the nod and is through to next week's live final.

Incongruously, there's a collection of photos on the wall of former wrestler Bret 'Hit Man' Hart. Nothing like being able to gaze at a greasy-haired man clad in pink Lycra while supping your pint.

There's also a photo of Paula Radcliffe shitting herself.

They've thoughtfully created a little waiting area outside the loos. It doubles as a good place for a quiet lie-down if you've overdone it on the moonshine.

This is The Blue Room.

What happens in The Blue Room stays in The Blue Room.

Mordaith

2013-03-10T14:23:00.000Z

8-16 Park Place, Cardiff [map]

Hmmm… anywhere that houses large speakers on the outside suggests it's the sort of boozer that isn't really for us. After all, it's not as if they're going to be pumping out, let's say, the new Nick Cave album, is it?

All this is forgotten though as soon as we establish that there's no queue whatsoever at the bar and that two pints of Beck's can be obtained for a paltry £3.50.

For somewhere that sounds as if it's located just east of Gondor, there's a refreshing lack of orcs (well, aside for the one in the middle of the shot gazing listlessly at the football and wondering why it doesn't involve people attacking each other with war hammers).

Also, we're fairly certain that plasma screens haven't reached Middle-earth yet. So well done Mordaith for confounding expectations on that front.

The pattern on the carpet is ideal for impromptu games of Twister, as the bloke on the right is about to demonstrate. Unfortunately, he puts his back out in the process and has to be stretchered off the premises 10 minutes later.

Varsity

2013-01-27T13:00:00.000Z

199-201 Richmond Road, Roath [map]

It's taken us a while to get round to doing this branch of Varsity. Probably because each time we're about to go in, we're sidetracked by either the dance studio above or the Indian restaurant to the left.

Or both, as happened on one particularly memorable day last autumn. Suffice to say, don't ever attempt to perform an extended Louie Spence-inspired routine having just consumed a tandoori mixed grill.

Tempting as the offer of a full English breakfast for £1.99 sounds, it's a price point that does force you to consider the provenance of cut-price sausages - a thought process that is, frankly, best avoided. We play it safe and stick with the booze.

My notes for Varsity read, in their entirety, "Cheap. Students."

But we like the place - there's a sprightly atmosphere and, if you're on the batter, the fact of Brains coming at £1.79 a pint is (quite literally) staggering news. Five-and-a-half pints for under a tenner!

We figure at those prices, we might as well go for it and order 22 pints of the stuff.

Some time later, The Photographer - arrows fan that he is - decides that he really fancies a round of killer.

Fortunately, a vigilant member of staff sees him lurching across the room towards the gaming area and promptly confiscates the darts, fearing that the contest's name may prove to be all too accurate.

Handily, they've built a special bar for the exclusive use of patrons who are so hammered they are unable to remain upright. Which may or may not have come in handy for The Photographer - I couldn't possibly comment.

Ffynnon Wen

2013-01-04T12:52:00.000Z

Thornhill Road, Thornhill [map]

It's like two pubs in one, the Ffynnon Wen (which, according to Google Translate, means 'Ffynnon Wen' in English - thanks Google).

The first bit you get to is like an extravagant bungalow.

And then there's this cottagey section, which dates from the 17th century. The bollard by the entrance doesn't really add to the period charm but there you go.

We head to the bar to once again put our livers on the line. A word of advice: you really need to watch out for that beam.

It's difficult to tell as much from this photo but it's actually only just over 5ft high. Forget to duck in time (easily done if you're well on your way to being blootered - as we inevitably are) and it'll take your head clean off.

The Wen is big on food - as you can tell by the generous array of wicker baskets full of dressings and the like.

That said, we're advocates of sauces being supplied in squeezy bottles as opposed to individual sachets, which only create a large amount of condiment-based admin when really you want to be tucking straight into your burger and chips.

They're just about to close this area for some sort of private function. Whatever's taking place, we're certain that condiment-based admin will be involved.

Bunk House

2012-12-12T02:12:00.003Z

94 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]

Plenty going on at number 94. Although surely the correct order of events should be: "Bar. Boogie. Beds." Doing the 'beds' bit first makes no sense at all.

Sticking with tradition then, we begin proceedings by heading to said bar.

Where we're joined by a man in a kilt, who appears resolutely nonplussed by the luridly coloured, miniature seating arrangement to his right. Or, indeed, the carnival of bunting and fairy lights above.

To be honest, we imagined that the 'beds' mentioned on the sign was an allusion to there being - let's say, for the sake of argument - some sort of hostel upstairs, perhaps comprising a few dorms predominantly aimed at backpackers.

But no, how wrong we are. Turns out it refers to the fact that there's a trio of beds directly opposite the bar. Which is just fucking weird.

Actually, this one's as much a chaise longue as it is a bed. Although such a description is probably a bit wordy to fit above the entrance.

Also, "Three beds (one of which is quite like a chaise longue). Bar. Boogie," just doesn't have the same ring to it.

This bloke's as baffled by the whole bed situation as we are.

More kilted fellows, determinedly supping lager and checking their mobiles.

Presumably in a bid to distract themselves from the fact that they're sitting under a tasselled yellow parasol that's adjacent to an antique sideboard draped in Cath Kidston fabric.

The cause of - and solution to - all life's ills. (Well, most of them.)

We've read the entire thing and can confirm that nothing of any merit has ever been written on this blackboard.

Christ, imagine passing out on one of those beds and then waking up to this the next morning with a hangover.

The Andrew Buchan

2012-11-25T13:14:00.001Z

29 Albany Road, Roath [map]

We know what you're thinking. "That is one weird pub. It almost looks as if it used to be a video rental store or something." And you'd be right. It is a weird pub and it used to be a video rental store (Choices, to be precise).

It's operated by Rhymney Brewery - this is the firm's first hostelry in Cardiff. So, in addition to your Strongbows and Carlsbergs, you've got the well-priced delights (£2.45 a pint till 5pm) of the baldly-named Rhymney Bitter, Rhymney Dark, Rhymney Export et al.

Although whether transporting something from Blaenavon to Roath really constitutes 'export' remains to be seen.

There's something about the place that makes it feel like a set, as if the walls might start wobbling at any moment. It's like a display at The Ideal Pub Exhibition, suggests The Photographer, in a rare moment of clarity.

Possibly the most melancholic photo we've ever posted.

When the gaff first opened, if you sat at one of the high tables in the window, it was like being in a boozy goldfish bowl - albeit one with an excellent view of Albany Appliances over the road.

They've since added some frosting to the windows though (see outside shot, top) to make the whole experience marginally less odd.

Frosting or otherwise, this fella's still keeping a close eye on proceedings.

Wouldn't it be great if they fed the chimney from that wood-burner into the back of its head in order to pump smoke out its mouth? Now that would draw punters in, surely: "Come and enjoy a pint while marvelling at Albany Road's famous smoke-belching moose!"

Talking of smoke belching, this is the smoking area. I am actually lost for words.

The Castle Arms

2012-10-29T23:57:00.000Z

Castle Street, Cardiff [map]

The Castle Arms, tucked below the Angel Hotel, has been shut for years but was reopened for two nights only during this year's Swn Festival. They must have known we were coming.

We head inside furtively, the staircase down into the gloom not really made any more inviting by the presence of a single Swn-branded balloon.

Man, is this guy pleased to see us. He's been stuck here since the place was last open about a decade ago, having survived the intervening years on a diet of KP nuts, Malibu and extremely pickled eggs.

To be honest, he's as surprised as anyone to learn that there's an indie disco taking place here tonight.

His bar skills haven't deserted him though - like riding a bike, you never forget how to pull a pint - and a round of Carlsbergs is swiftly dispensed.

We are unable to deny the fact that a disused, underground pub soundtracked by mid-period Pulp is not, for most folk, the obvious destination for a Saturday night out.

We have no idea who these people are. The Photographer just starts taking snapshots of them on the basis that even if the bloke nearest us does object to having his picture taken, he's wearing such tight trousers that he lacks the necessary freedom of movement to do anything about it.

Revolución de Cuba

2012-10-18T12:35:00.000+01:00

The Friary, Cardiff [map]

What better way to commemorate an armed revolt that took place on a Caribbean island in the 1950s than with a themed drinks emporium in the centre of the Welsh capital?

It's billed as a 'rum bar'. Or, as we used to call them back in the day, a 'rough pub'.

Despite this, the staff are, in fact, pretty friendly. Indeed, rather than being told, "I don't really think this is your sort of place, lads," in a threatening tone by the barman, he instead cheerily alerts us to the cocktail offers.

The whole thing is done with a lot more panache than Bar Cuba (now The Live Lounge), which used to be over the road.

It's spacious without giving the impression that you're sitting in a huge warehouse that just happens to be full of mismatched furniture and random signs in Spanish.

Although those sofas are so low that if you get carried away with the cheap cocktails, you have pretty much zero chance of subsequently resuming a vertical base.

The aesthetic is let down somewhat by the fact of the flooring being more Carpetright than Cuba, but there you go.

There's live music on Friday and Saturday nights, when they also hand out trilbies and false moustaches to enable punters to complete the, erm, look. They must be Havana laugh.

Nine Giants

2012-09-12T21:02:00.000+01:00

Thornhill Road, Rhiwbina [map]

Don't even think about trying to sneak into the Nine Giants unobserved. There are so many security cameras on the go, it's like entering the Big Brother house.

Except here you're more likely to spot someone you recognise.

Forget, for a moment, about the none-more-exciting news of being able to purchase a chicken wings sharer with Reggae Reggae Sauce for £5.99.

Focus, instead, on the far more significant fact of us having inadvertently captured a crime in progress: the pilfering - in broad daylight! - of the charity box from the bar. What sort of a heel would do such a thing?

If anyone recognises those thieving fingers, please contact South Wales Police immediately. The safe return of a couple of quid in small change, a few low-denomination foreign coins and some bits of fluff depends on it.

Behind the bar. Just goes to show: working in a pub's not all glamour, after all.

This is the more dining-orientated section, which is given the well-lit, thoughtfully shot photographic treatment it so richly deserves.

And the side in which the proper boozing takes place.

It's populated by pissheads half-watching some sort of sporting activity on the telly (of which they barely understand the rules), in between downing pints, indulging in some light bickering and resolutely failing to eat a proper meal in case it inhibits their appetite for subsequent ales. And that's just us.

One of the problems of going to the pub on a regular basis with The Photographer is that, like a small child, he requires constant entertainment. Luckily, this grabbing machine keeps him quiet for five minutes.

The outside bit. You've got to admire the optimism of whoever erected those huge parasols.

Less optimistic is the person who decided to clamp each of the chairs to the floor with a steel bracket. Mind you, shame they didn't think to do the same thing with that charity box.

Steam Bar

2012-09-05T22:48:00.000+01:00

The Friary, Cardiff [map]

We'd really rather not but we're obliged to visit the Steam Bar for the sake of completism. It's a bit like going to the dentist: just because you know it's coming doesn't make it any less painful.

We trudge to the bar reluctantly, like condemned men to the gallows.

It's worse than we thought. Not worse than death, obviously. Come on: let's get some perspective here, people.

But this is clearly no place for thirsty barflies in urgent need of reasonably priced brews.

We quickly learn that of the four - four! - draught beers, both the Beck's and Brains Smooth are off. As a result, we grudgingly make do with two pints of Stella, the total cost of which is a staggering £9.20.

On second thoughts, it does feel like a small death.

The bar's attached to the Hilton and predominantly seems to serve hotel guests on their way out to find somewhere else that offers a wider range of drinks at more competitive prices. (Not that difficult, to be honest.)

Presumably, it's this reliance on a wholly transient clientele that also explains why no one has felt the need to update the decor in about 15 years.

Although nothing can justify hanging a large black-and-white photo of Pat Butcher on the wall.

The upper seating area. Looks like they're having about as good a time as we are.

Next!

The Deri Inn

2012-08-24T14:31:00.000+01:00

Heol-Y-Deri, Rhiwbina [map]

Pure class, this joint. If the Farrow & Ball-esque paint job doesn't give it away, then the understated signage and artfully wonky hedge surely do.

It's The Photographer's round. So eager is he for a drink that he approaches the bar like Groucho Marx chasing a pretty waitress.

He initially panics at the apparent lack of lager-based products but calms down when it's explained to him that they're tucked away on the right. Foster's is ordered and all is right with the world.

Although a subsequent pint of Otley smells a bit like hair.

Still giddy with Olympic fever, The Photographer decides to set up an impromptu long jump competition in front of the bar with a few of the regulars.

Incredibly, given that he's about six pints in, he wins handily by clearing a massive eight metres, landing just beyond those chairs in the distance.

(Turns out that attempting the high jump when you're pissed is less of a good idea, as Ivan Ukhov demonstrates here.)

The locals are, unsurprisingly, dumbfounded by the sporting prowess they've just witnessed.

On the one hand, this elegant display of books looks dead classy. On the other hand, at the top of the pile is a biography of Victoria Beckham.

Deluxe smoking shed. You can even get these in Argos now.

Back inside and there's a formal dining area down one end.

We're not massively impressed by the menu though.

The Butchers Arms

2012-08-12T13:51:00.002+01:00

22 Heol-Y-Felin, Rhiwbina [map]

There's something of the gothic about The Butchers Arms (widely referred to as Ye Olde Butchers Arms but we're sticking with what it says on the front of the building).

The fact that an outside banner advertises a farmers' market only increases our sense of dread.

We're not wine drinkers but anywhere that has merlot on tap is clearly our kind of place. Ordering a pint of the stuff does, however, tend to be frowned upon, we discover.

Between what's on draft (they even have Coors Light, possibly the most pointlessly tasteless beer ever conceived - and that's coming from Foster's drinkers) and contained in the outsize fridges, there's a wide enough range of tipples to keep everyone happy.

Watch out for those oddly generic-looking bottles of the vodka on the middle shelf, though. Not that we're suggesting they were bought off some dodgy bloke operating out of lock-up in a Grangetown back street, you understand. It just looks as if they were.

This is very much a pub for people who wear cagoules, it would seem.

Ah yes, the classic Cardiff City memorabilia/posh nuts display.

There's quite a lot of information to take in from those little blackboards. "Every Thursday Quiz Nite & Pizza & Pint Night!!!" enthuses the one on the left. Wow, Thursdays sound amazing, you think.

But keep reading and you'll learn that "Sunday Night is also Quiz Night, with Mike." Clearly, the locals love a quiz. Although we are left wondering quite what the difference is between a quiz nite and a quiz night.

The pub offers a handy crèche service, enabling you to leave your teenage children in the play area (equipped with a pool table, telly and fruit machine) for a few hours, supervised by Mike, seen here on the right.

The crèche is closed on Sunday evenings though as Mike, as we have just learnt, is busy running the quiz.

On the rare occasions we come across a pub with a piano in it, I'm always tempted to a have a quick tinkle. And after that, I sometimes play the piano.

Ahem. I'll get my cagoule.

The Pendragon

2012-07-17T22:23:00.002+01:00

Excalibur Drive, Thornhill [map]

The Pendragon is not so much a pub with a car park as a car park with a pub.

After narrowly avoiding being run over by a reversing Honda Civic, we make it to the entrance.

What we're presented with looks less like a barrelhouse than it does a high-end doctor's surgery. Although the idea of being able to have a pint while you're waiting to see your GP is quite appealing.

Pretty standard stuff at the bar: an assortment of drinks from Brains and various multinational conglomerates, some charity collection boxes, a selection of nuts, a barmaid doing the hokey cokey.

This end of the pub is a veritable fun house, with its gaming machines, pool table and large telly excreting sport.

It's still not enough stimulation for that bloke on the right though, who's adding to the sensory overload by playing Fruit Ninja on his phone. After all, no trip to the boozer is complete without the creation of a virtual fruit salad with a katana, right?

No takers today for the cabana or beer garden - although people are probably put off by the fact that a significant part of the outside area appears to be a cordoned-off crime scene. The sort of thing that's enough to put anyone off their SA.

The Three Horse Shoes

2012-06-25T12:58:00.001+01:00

Merthyr Road, Birchgrove [map]

It's a pub. It's a very damp picnic area next to a main road. It appears to be flogging The Famous Five for £3.95 (although we're fairly certain that selling children is illegal - even in Birchgrove).

And it doesn't have a full complement of horse shoes.

We've never understood why pubs have little shelving units displaying their bottled beers. Is the fact that you're trying to shift the utterly foul Budweiser really so incredible that you have to put it on a plinth?

(No. In case you were wondering.)

"Proper food. Proper prices," proclaim the menus. The sort of utterly meaningless marketese that's enough to drive anyone to bibulousness.

Another food-related note: you can tell they're absolutely mental here as they serve roast dinners on days of the week other than Sunday.

With this sort of experimental approach to cooking, it's only a matter of time until they're drumming up nitro poached aperitifs and snail porridge.

Never trust a cash machine in a pub. Even The Photographer has never been so desperate for a pint that he's been prepared to pay the inevitable £2.75 surcharge.

The bar goes on forever.

You can't quite tell as much from this photo but walking its entire length takes about 12 days: going from one end to the other is like trying to hike Offa's Dyke, albeit with greater opportunity to partake in gassy American lagers and roast dinners along the way.

Kiwis

2012-05-14T23:00:00.000+01:00

55 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]

You may remember that we last paid Kiwis a visit in July. Back then, it was still in its original home at the wrong end of Wyndham Arcade.

But look at it now in its new location that straddles both the arcade and St Mary Street. Hasn't it scrubbed up well?

These days it's all big TV screens, glass lampshades, pale wood, shiny beer taps and Asahi, although you can buy Carling for £2 a pint, which is more in keeping with the Kiwis of old.

The clientele doesn't seem to have changed at all though. Which does make you wonder if they're just so pissed they haven't even noticed that the gaff has moved.

The Photographer (today played by British character actor Tom Wilkinson) is accosted by this chap (as himself), who insists on having his photo taken for the blog. We're happy to oblige.

We take a pew down the far end, opposite the disabled toilet (the main loos are downstairs). Turns out there's a bloke who's been locked in it by his prankster mates. A member of the bar staff eventually has to come and rescue him. Never a dull moment.

Indeed, although there's been a shift both geographically and aesthetically, Kiwis still has a sense of rough-edged charm. Despite its best efforts, it remains eminently unfashionable - always the sign of a good booze parlour, if you ask us.

The New Inn

2012-04-27T13:25:00.000+01:00

67 Caerphilly Road, Birchgrove [map]

What the hey? This is what happens when town planners return from lengthy liquid lunches and confuse the placement of the local pub with the location of the double-glazing showroom.

In this instance, a compromise was reached by combining the two.

Swift delivery of lager by friendly bar staff. Note the Deal of the Week, which offers two bottles of VS Mix (presumably some form of low-grade WKD clone) for £3.50.

Take your pick from lemon, cherry or, erm, blue flavours. What exactly does 'blue' taste of - a chlorinated swimming pool? We opt against finding out.

That's the weekly shop done, then: 240 tea bags, 50 economy sausages, some lemons and a large tub of Clover. No idea what the deal is with those flags, by the way.

Good to see a pool table with plenty of room around it. Nothing worse than accidentally cueing someone in the testicles while attempting to break.

Oh god, The Photographer's trying to be all arty again. That's all we need.

Look up and it's like one of those spiked ceilings that gradually lowers towards the floor in a bid to comprehensively impale the hero in a 1980s action movie.

We don't fancy being spiked, so make our escape to the conservatory area at the front of the pub. Where we're strangely overcome by an urge to buy some new uPVC windows.

Buffalo Bar

2012-04-07T11:08:00.007+01:00

11 Windsor Place, Cardiff [map]

There's always plenty going on at the Buffalo. When we roll up, various bands are in the process of loading in for a gig that's taking place upstairs.

That bloke on the left appears to be having a full-on brawl with his guitar amp - and losing.

To the bar, where 'Cocktails & Dreams' are on offer. And to think our ambitions extend only to a couple of pints.

There's something particularly pleasing about the symmetry of the shelving unit displaying the spirits.

Just to the left of it, you may notice there's a blackboard flaunting a panini menu. We've checked, and no one in the history of drinking has ever decided half-way through a big night out that they quite fancy a lightly toasted Italian bread stuffed with brie.

It's all a bit knowingly hip but, then, so are we. It's like our natural habitat. Ahem.

Squint a bit and this could be your gran's front room, just with added Stella 4.

You can imagine the conversation.

Smoker to non-smoker: "Do you fancy sitting outside?"

Non-smoker: "Not really. It's a bit cold and I think it's starting to rain."

Smoker, utterly oblivious to what's just been said: "Great, see you out there."

Non-smoker: "Er…"

The Birchgrove

2012-03-18T11:18:00.011Z

1-3 Birchgrove Road, Birchgrove [map]

It may look as if The Photographer has invested in some form of fisheye lens in order to take this shot. But there's no trickery involved here: this is just what The Birch looks like.

Everything's leaning in at such a weird angle that it's like a Brains-fuelled supernova that's about to collapse in on itself and create a tiny black hole in the middle of Birchgrove. Which will certainly be confusing for anyone trying to drive out of Cardiff on the A469.

We risk cosmic annihilation and venture inside, where our bravery is rewarded with two chilled pints of Foster's.

On a separate note, what exactly has been going on to cause the large scuff mark on that pole? It's as if it's some sort of scratching post for pissheads.

Bear right when you go in and you'll enter this extensive lounge area, which has a particular focus on serving food.

The Photographer insists I make some sort of amusing remark about the fact that the fish tank is adjacent to the specials board but, frankly, I can't be bothered.

Through to the other bar section where, you feel, the real drinking action takes place. Note telly in corner decanting a few bloody rounds of pugilism, surely the only appropriate weekday afternoon viewing in a pub that's populated exclusively by blokes.

If, after a few pints, you fancy getting involved in a bit of sporting action yourself, boxing is actually rather frowned upon (come on, this isn't the Royal Oak).

But there is a dartboard and, perhaps more excitingly, this skittle alley - which also doubles as the venue for dwarf throwing contests on the third Sunday of every month.

The Aneurin Bevan

2012-03-04T11:37:00.001Z

Caerphilly Road, Birchgrove [map]

Here's an idea that seems not so much too good to be true as too true to be good: a branch of Wetherspoon marooned on the Caerphilly Road roundabout at the north end of the Gabalfa flyover that's only accessible by a subway.

It sounds like some sort of Ballardian hellscape come to life - albeit one in which you can purchase a beer and burger for £4.99.

There is some irony in naming an outpost of a chain of pubs known for shifting cheap booze by the gallon after the founder of the NHS.

The main bar area. The usual high tables, fruit machine, brown carpet and, at the far end, a large telly spewing out the BBC News Channel.

Through a door and there's this funny little side room. Not many takers, to be honest.

Into the main space (which, oddly, has no bar of its own), where one couple has clearly decided to make an afternoon of watching live coverage of John Prescott giving evidence to the Leveson inquiry. Well, it gets you out the house, doesn't it?

But if Leveson isn't quite for you, there's always the opportunity to catch up with a spot of Samuel Pepys instead.

"I was in mighty pain all night long of the winde griping of my belly and making of me shit often and vomit too, which is a thing not usual with me," he wrote in July 1666. "But this I impute to the milke that I drank after so much beer."

We know the feeling.

Varsity

2012-02-04T15:44:00.000Z

Greyfriars Road, Cardiff [map]

After an extended winter vacation (largely spent skiing in Aspen, thanks for asking), we’re back on the Cardiff bar scene.

And where better to kick things off than in the delightful milieu of, erm, Varsity?

The customary panorama of lagers starting with C on tap: Carling, Carlsberg and, rounding out the unholy trinity, Coors. Be very suspicious of anyone who ever orders a pint of Coors.

More intriguing is the hulking pump on the left bearing a clip that reads 'Dirty Tackle', beneath which is daubed 'Coming Soon'. It's not entirely clear whether this constitutes a promise or a threat.

The seating options are many and varied, and even include evidence of a recent game of musical chairs.

Note also disco ball, presumably there in an optimistic bid to bring a touch of glamour to the place.

The Photographer, arrows fan that he is, heads straight for the dartboards.

For the record, we'd like to point out to whoever scrawled those house rules on the wall that the plural of dart is darts. Not dart's.

We finally settle in a corner from where we're afforded this view of the, um, action.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, we realise that something is horribly wrong. To wit: what the hell is going on with those tables straddling two different heights of floor?

The Photographer goes in for a closer look.

Whoever came up with the concept of sawing the legs off one side of these tables to allow them to be half on/half off the stage is evidently some sort of Coors-drinking joker.

Blackweir Tavern

2011-12-20T16:24:00.012Z

35 North Road, Maindy [map]

Blackweir Tavern looks not so much like a pub as an entire housing estate. We haven't seen this much red brick since the last episode of Brookside.

As you can see from that blackboard on the left, there's plenty going on. We're particularly taken with the idea of the Curry Pit on Thursdays for £5.95 - we imagine it's much like a children's ball pool, just with added spices. A balti pool, if you will.

Unfortunately, closer inspection of the sign reveals that it actually reads Curry + Pint.

There's a reassuring familiarity about the bar area - until we spot an inverted cross on the flag draped across the ceiling. Odd, we think.

It does everything, this place: food, fruit machines…

… pool (no winner stays on, mind)…

… televised sports…

… board games…

… decking…

… even a Wii tournament (albeit on a hitherto unannounced date).

But despite the abundance of possible distractions, our minds keep wandering back to that inverted cross.

We ask around and discover that the hostelry is, in fact, a front for the south Wales headquarters of the Church of Satan. You don't want to know what they get up to in the beer cellar on Friday nights.

Ahem. We are, of course, joking. It's actually Thursday nights - just after the curry.

Cwtch Mawr

2011-11-08T22:52:00.006Z

10 Cathedral Road, Pontcanna [map]

Cwtch Mawr (Welsh for the nauseatingly twee 'big cuddle') is part of boutique hotel Jolyon's. Posh, innit?

For some reason, The Photographer is particularly thrilled by the prospect of a pint of McEwan's.

It's not much of a drink, to be honest, but it did inspire this memorable 1980s TV advert. So that's good.

Shit me, look at the size of that jar of olives. It's as if we've had an alcoholic blackout and ended up in Wally's Deli by mistake.

Actually, this is a bit like sitting in the drawing room of some grand country house. Albeit one that happens to have three different types of lager on tap.

A doorway with the words The Writing Room above it leads into this idiosyncratic little corner, home to the ugliest seats in Pontcanna.

Head down those steps on the left and you'll wend your way to the hotel reception.

Any temporary accommodation in which you're obliged to go through a bar in order to reach your room is all right by us.

Chapter

2011-10-30T12:07:00.009Z

Market Road, Canton [map]

We're at arts centre Chapter for the end-of-term prize-giving extravaganza that is the Wales Blog Awards.

Turns out we don't walk away with a gong (well, a sheet of paper in a clip frame) but we do guzzle about three bottles of complimentary Prosecco sparkling wine on the way out - so, on balance, it's still a pretty successful evening.

But before we're called into the assembly hall upstairs, we head into the large bar/canteen. It's busy for a school night but we're served sharpish.

Bar staff in action. Note large bucket, which is presumably there for the benefit of punters who overdo it on the sparkling wine front.

It's too brightly lit for our tastes but that does mean you can get a good look at the Elizabeth McDonald paintings. And we're all for a bit of art with our Amstel.

Various exotic beverages are also available at this pop-up beer festival bar. Although given that everything is priced at an astonishing £4.50 a pint, we decide against further investigation.

The view from our table. There are as many people having their tea as there are drinking booze, so it's not really somewhere to get especially inebriated.

Yet more seating round the corner.

Turns out that if you want to tip one of those tables on its side and roll it down the entire length of the room while chanting absurdist slogans, everyone just assumes it's a piece of performance art and lets you get on with it.

Chiquito

2011-10-22T10:18:00.002+01:00

Old Brewery Quarter, Cardiff [map]

Chiquito - the only Mexican restaurant in Cardiff named after an Abba song.

It's in that funny downstairs bit in the Old Brewery Quarter and, handily, has a separate entrance (on the right) that leads straight into the bar area.

And here it is. Small but perfectly formed. But there's nothing particularly Mexican going on, aside from the fact that the word 'Margaritas' is daubed on the mirror.

It's largely been garnished with Generic Bar Fittings, just with a focus on earthy tones and the odd stripy blanket.

A selection of pots and some sort of illuminated stick arrangement. Illuminated sticks are very on-trend this season, we hear.

For those of you who don't speak Spanish, this translates as 'Caballeros'.

The most hilariously useless seating layout we've ever seen. In order to sit in either of the two chairs against the wall, presumably you have to hurdle over the table in front of them.

Easier said than done when you're carrying two pints of lager, a fistful of luminous vodka shots and a packet of dry roasted peanuts.

O'Neill's

2011-10-03T13:31:00.000+01:00

85-87 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]

Oh, O'Neill's (or, as their URL suggests, One Ills). It's never really a prospect that fills your heart with joy.

But whichever branch you visit (Cardiff or otherwise), you always know what you're going to get - essentially a hostelry from Dublin's Temple Bar fed through a chain pub-shaped filter.

Following the kind of high-level negotiations that would give Kofi Annan a tension headache, we secure ourselves two pints of particularly gaseous lager.

This is possibly Cardiff's brownest pub.

That aside, the place is rocking a 2:1 ratio of tomato sauce bottles to tables. (The sort of grassroots statistic that the ONS tends to overlook, for some reason.)

De rigueur Guinness-related ephemera.

View from the upper level. Which is much the same as the lower level, except about 18 inches higher up.

Craic addicts getting their fix.

We're all for a good pub booth but this is ridiculous - a seating arrangement that's so self-assured it's decided it's capable of accommodating about 12 people at once.

Which is not so much a pub booth as a Travelodge booking gone horribly wrong.