Londoners tend not to visit their locals very often. They go to pubs in town near work. Or travel all the way up the northern line to a pub that's supposed to be cool, because it's Amy Winehouse's local. Which is a pity, because locals need the support of, well, locals. No-one is going to take a trip across town to sit in a pub with a shabby carpet, and listen to three old men arguing about who died first out of Jim and dirty Mick for entertainment. That's why locals rely on their locals to survive, and liven them up a bit. And basically, where would all the old blokes end up without them? In your favourite gastro pub (shame on you). Or pissing up the wall of your flat while balancing a White Lightning on your doorknob or knocker. That's why it's important to preserve your local boozer.
So it was this community spirit, which directed us to our local on Friday night. Hootananny's is the former Hobgoblin with a celtic makeover, serving superb Thai food, apparently. A celtic-themed pub. It's what Brixton's been crying out for. Hmmm. But it makes up for it at the weekend when the pipes and fiddles take on a Jamaican flavour, becoming a double bass and brass section. Friday night is billed as Ska night, although we were questioning that particular promotion as we entered to an old black lady singing some soul classic out of tune. Yet the glass collector assured us that the Ska band were indeed on in an hour, so we told the barman not to cancel our order after all.
It was as if we'd stepped into a community hall as the lady then began to talk about her coaching of the dance troop, with cheers from their family and friends. And it was a community us locals at least, knew nothing about. Her coaching appeared to consist of teaching nubile 16 year-old girls how to gyrate in a contemporary urban dance style, whilst wearing velour white tracksuits. Let's just say, it was better than her singing. Next up in this showcase of Effra road talent we had two black guys, one strumming a guitar wearing black, and the other plucking a double bass wearing white in what seemed to be a strange homage to good and evil. The music on the other hand, wasn't particularly either. The evening picked up though, when two Rastas played a brilliant reggae rendition of 'Yesterday'. Only in Brixton can you rely on the night being saved by two Rastas. We were beginning to feel at home.
When the Ska band came on, the atmosphere was buzzing, and almost everyone got up on their feet to dance haphazardly to the offbeat rhythm. And by the time the band had finished, we'd met and danced with about a dozen of our neighbours. And I'd become best friends with an old Jamaican guy called Nathan, who had a big cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eye as he twirled me around on the dancefloor. Time approached, so we all finished our drinks and anecdotes of the local chicken shop, and hugged goodbye - as if we'd known each other for years. You can't get that magic from a boozer in town. Now I only hope my gut reaction isn't to quickly cross the road when I see any of them coming down the street.
Now as you've (obviously) realised the importance of your local, check out this website to see how you can help preserve it. savetheboozer.blogspot.com
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