The Bell, Hounslow

Well how does one normally start a tragedy. We look at the work of Sir William Shakespeare. Pick a play.. go on, you choose. Fine i'll pick for you. Romeo and Juliet. So you know whats going on in a nutshell; 2 motherfuckers can't be together due to family differences till in the end they both die by stupid means and no one lives happily ever after.

Replace the 2 protagonists of romeo and juliet with 'the bell' pub and the concept of 'making money'. Trying to marry those two abstract ideals together is like trying to overcome the density differences between oil and water. Buxton and Extra virgin olive oil arent the best of friends.. and neither are the tills to the customers.

Now we touch upon the true problem with this pub. When running a business, you want to a) acknowledge that you will have a diverse array of customers (especially in a place as culturally diverse as Hounslow) and b) have some basic level of respect for human beings that can see past the crusty exterior of a shambles you call a pub to give you 4 quid to drink a pint there.

The Landlady has neither heard of common sense, nor has she the self respect to befriend her customers that dont show their faces there every waking moment. An alcoholic nymphomatic with a libido of an 18 year old virgin in a prom party, the lady, (I assume her name is Candy) can not run her lipstick straight from one side of her face to the other due to her parkinsons, let alone run a fucking pub.

I have read some of the previous comments and I have been to the Bell to investigate... only to discover the words people have spoken of this place are more than myth... they are reality! The smell of stale salt n vinegar crisps haunts the senses and the smell of low- IQ British males rots the nasal cavity like fish in a barrel. Commonly overcharging customers for a Fosters that is 90% soapy water and 10% lady juice, I can safely say the worst pint I have ever had was in The Bell.

For the safety of you, your family, your unborn grandchildren, your dog and your dog's bitches, stay away from The Bell, for when you leave the post-traumatic stress disorder will make you shed your wallets for HOURS of therapy.

Dont make the same mistake I did.

Be wise, drink nice.

23 Jun 2015 23:41