This place is a dying breed– a rough, old-man pub in a neighbourhood where everyone seems to know everyone else. Full disclosure– I sing at this pub every now and again on a Sunday afternoon(come check us out, we’re called Charlie Smith and friends!) and I’ve got a certain love for unpretentious pubs like this. The beer is cold and reasonably priced, their bistro in the back is always busy and the food, although I’ve never tasted it, looks astoundingly good for how much it costs. The staff are gruff but friendly once you’ve beamed them a smile and said«Thank you» after being served your schooner. They only get dinged a star through no fault of their own– the place always has two or three pisshead junkies who loudly insist you play their favorite obscure Metallica song or mumble gibberish at the stage whilst dribbling beer down their fronts. But hey, you can’t say the place hasn’t got character. For an outsider, they’ve made me feel right at home.