Be a Star on Portobello

Occasionally you have to sympathise with bar entrepreneurs: they spend millions launching their fashionable new drinking space, and then, six weeks after the celebrity-sprinkled opening, the bridge-and-tunnel set has encamped, and all the pop stars and hipsters have returned to their usual haunts. It must be so galling.

Of course, they'll claim that this was the plan (launch, law of diminishing exclusivity, relaunch), but you know that, secretly, they are livid not to be glad-handing Robbie Williams every night - particularly if he's in the Duke & Dustman down the road. The locus classicus for this must be Notting Hill - specifically the Portobello Star, a small, unassuming market-traders' pub that manages to attract interesting local celebrities (Albarn, Williams, Strummer), boho, media and arty types and top boys aplenty. The explanation may be inverted snobbery or sheer contrariness, but the fact remains that the Star is a pleasant, no-nonsense boozer where you won't be forced to eat arugula, listen to office conversations or exchange pleasantries with automaton staff.

Instead, you can take or leave their plastic-wrapped toasties or cockles-in-a-crisp-bag, listen to the Clash on the jukebox, or chat with the extremely nice landlady, Theresa, all the while congratulating yourself on your unpretentiousness and street cred - before high-tailing it to the Met Bar at closing-time.