One hell of a headache

The Wandsworth Bridge Tavern was cold, the lighting headachey and flat, the gas had not yet been switched on to give the blandly tasteful bar the heat of its four or so open fires. A man at the next table expectorated in an unreconstructed old-geezer-inaboozer sort of a way. Open fires that don't work on a filthy November day? We felt chilly and cheated. The dull, abstract art on the walls gave off no warmth. Bad Harriet went off on one. 'This is not a gastropub,' she said, her formidable aggression coming to the fore. 'This,' she said, prodding her exceedingly dry macaroni and cauliflower cheese that lacked both cauliflower and cheese, 'This is pub grub. And why is it served with gravy? Macaroni cheese and gravy?' It was appalling.

We had kicked off with a starter of onion soup, which was OK - a dark, sweet, fruity liquid that tasted somewhat of Branston Pickle, with the correct round of baguette floating in it, but it was chewy, not crunchy, about to go soggy, and topped with tasteless cheddar, not gooey, funky Gruyère. 'It's your responsibility, Spicer, to expose all these crap places calling themselves gastropubs,' said the Bad H.

I whimpered. The lady that runs the place, Michelle, is really nice, a bit hyperactive and bonkers, granted, and with an annoying, very flat, hard waist on display above her leather jeans - but a characterful, batty, colourful bona fide landlady sort, who was flitting round the bar chatting away 10 to the dozen. She had cooked our food herself because she had just lost a chef.

Her macaroni cheese was utter crap, but Prada Elaine's shredded lamb shepherd's piewas a proper bit of nosh --pub grub, mind' - and only £6.95 - a big portion of slithery lamb shank (bone out) cooked under mash and served with a tomatoey meaty gravy. My bubble and squeak gratinee with a freerange fried egg was a classic of my Granny's description of something wrong that sort of goes right in a kitchen-supper sort of a way. It was a 'tasty mess'- cheese, sprouts, spud, mashed, fried.

As we left there was a solitary old lady taking a break from her pint, and bopping to the Magaluf-style house playing. You don't see that at the Hope And Anchor or The Ebury. My heart nearly burst with the pathos.

Wandsworth Bridge Tavern
360 Wandsworth Bridge Road, SW6