THE only time I have really fancied nipping in for a swift one here, is when I have crawled by it in St Albans Roads' Greenroute inspired snarl-ups. What the hell, I had 20 minutes to kill.

When I walked in, I thought I had accidentally fallen upon the Hertfordshire tobacco rolling championships. Four old men stood poised at the bar with Rizlas and strands of baccy in hand. Ready, steady, roll...

When the excitement of the big match died down, other burning issues of the day were debated at length.

"Trade isn't what it used to be," one old codger observed. "No, not like it used to be," came the response from his equally astute companion after pondering the proposition at length. Then, more silence.

There seems to be some sort of energy vacuum in the White Lion. Everything here, and everybody, seems to be old and tired. Even the young people.

I did try to look for something positive. The brass ornaments were interesting and red leather-effect furniture tidy. But I couldn't help thinking they were from another age.

Next to the lounge, the public bar has a pool table, darts, gaming machine and pretty full trophy cabinet. But no customers.

The next time I get stuck in St Albans Road traffic I won't wish I could stop for a swift one in the White Lion. I just couldn't take the excitement.

FA

July 18, 2002 15:00