The happy place

Dear readers,

Today we address the vital subject of one's happy place. The place where one can relax, read, enjoy a glass and generally feel the cares of the world wafting away. The place where, in the words of the theme song from Cheers, everyone knows your name, or at least your order. I will make a surprising confession. There are many drinking establishments in London I love dearly: The Seven Stars, The Speaker, The French House and Skylon are among them. But for true relaxation, comfort and warmth, my happy place is none other than part of a chain, All Bar One on Chiswick High Road (from where I write at the moment).

Why is this? I have no brief against chains, unlike some; they are reliable and uniform, generally well-stocked and reasonably priced. I accept, though, that they do not always summon up the blood and stiffen the sinews, nor set the pulse a-racing. Arguably, it is not their job. But I will defend this one.

For starters, the wine list is really pretty good for a high street bar. You can have a bog-standard glass of malbec, or a bottle of Washington State riesling. Very few bottles will cost you more than thirty quid, and you'll get something good for that. There is a fine range of draught beers and lagers (though I accept that it is not a venue for CAMRA types). The food is reasonably good and reasonably priced, if occasionally a bit mimsy. For those who are looking for such things in a bar, the coffee is good and I am told the tea is too (I cannot abide tea - it makes me nauseous).

That's not the real point, though. I come here because it is comfortable. It's spacious, I can usually get "my" table (and am in high dudgeon when I can't), the staff are friendly and will bring me my standard pint(s) of Peroni almost unprompted, there is a wifi connection now, since the refurbishment, and I feel like it is an extension of my living room. If I want to read, or write, or just think, it is a haven from the bustle of everyday life.

(All of this is slightly ironic. When I was flat-hunting before I first moved to London, I came into this very self-same All Bar One after leaving an estate agent, and hated it. Cavernous, with poor service. How times, and people, change.)

All of this says, I think, that happy places are more about people than the places themselves. One very good friend of mine will never be happy too far from The Seven Stars, while another gets misty-eyed at mention of the Wittenham Clumps (which really should be a pub name). I suspect most of us have them, however, and they are to be cherished. And, if you find yourself in Chiswick, pop into All Bar One. But don't sit at my table. I'll be cross.