Department: Music venues

The Horse Hospital

 

My dear friends,

Alas, the fleeting dawn of youth! Gone are the days when a night out in our beloved capital would cause no worse damage than the faint memory of having exposed myself to a parking warden. Sadly, these days my hangover nausea reaches the dizzying lows ordinary mortals only experience when suddenly confronted with a picture of Simon Cowell.

In such dark hours of the soul, one must look to mother nature for a remedy. When, last Thursday, the final pain threshold was crossed, my only recourse was to turn to homeopathy. Inventor Samuel Hahneman’s ingenious method – let like be cured by like – could have earned the house of Romanoff billions, were it not for the permanent cloud of alcoholic vapours that obscured my ancestors’ foresight.

Applying Hahnemann’s highly scientific principle, it was imperative to immediately get pissed again. Luckily, in what can only be described as a meaningful co-incidence, my old friend Billy Chainsaw had remembered to add my humble name to the guest list of that most health-giving of establishments, the Horse Hospital.

 

On arrival, your slightly unsteady author was relieved to notice that the 200 year-old venue has retained the original access ramps designed for the quadruped, complete with herringbone cobbles and hardwood slats to stop tottery hooves from slipping.

Downstairs, relief was soon administered. Behind a partition in the small hall, a kindly and knowledgable bartender immediately recognised the miasm that caused my symptoms and served the necessary remedy in the correct dilution (Ethylene 5C, or to use its pharmaceutical name, Becks 5% ABV).

In the best British tradition, treatment was free and open to all; although I soon found out that this was courtesy not of the NHS but of Bizarre magazine’s CUT!, a monthly film night featuring gory B movies.

 

Bizarre’s presence also went some way towards explaining the barred windows and steel tethering rings on the wall but, with hindsight, these have probably more to do with the old stables than the magazine’s pre-occupation with bondage.

After the screening of Eaters – Rise of the Dead (an extremely graphic and enjoyable experience) and several doses of the natural hop product I felt much better, and ready to face the grindstone of another night’s imbibing.

The Horse Hospital has hosted the best (and worst) of contemporary art, film, literature and music for over 17 years. But, true to the history of this fine venue, it continues to provide a robust cure against that most modern of ailments – ennui.

Your grateful patient

Max Obolensky

CUT! is the monthly film club by Bizarre Magazine. To get onto the guest list, see
http://www.thehorsehospital.com/past/kinokulture-past/cut-free-monthly-film-club-from-bizarre/

 

The Horse Hospital
Colonnade, Bloomsbury
London WC1N 1JD
Tel: 020 7833 3644
Nearest Underground: Russell Square

http://www.thehorsehospital.com

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The Lexington

 

Mes amis,

I have nothing but admiration for my British friends, who, unlike my own people, value their monarch. I must confess, though, that during the Royal Wedding festivities their hysteria proved too much. I found myself siding with that tiny minority of the population who have become weary of Germans masquerading as royalty, and began to think that if I hadn’t been born the whitest of White Russian émigrés, I probably would have made a good bolshevik.

How lucky, then, that on the day in question my old chum Vic Godard invited me to get away from it all and see him and his chamber orchestra perform some classic pieces in the plush surroundings of the Lexington.

Located in the suburbs near King’s Cross, this music pub is the perfect hide-away for the staunch Republican – it is as un-British as Foghorn Leghorn in Stetson and spurs. Downstairs, the designers of the aptly named saloon bar have borrowed heavily from the cat-houses of the Old South but, sadly, stopped short of providing the belles.

The Lexington’s extensive drinks menu cites Abraham Lincoln’s famous tribute to beer brewing, surely his finest sentiment after the abolition of slavery (how disappointing, mes amis, that 150 years on his nation hasn’t quite got to grips with either notion). Be that as it may, the presence of 14 American ‘ales’ is more than compensated for by a fine selection of over 40 Bourbons, some (like the Weller 19-year-old at £55 a shot) so rare that even your favourite Romanoff had to take note (and double-check his credit status).

A short but distinguished cocktail list sticks to stateside favourites such as the Mint Julep and Old Fashioned (not available at busy times due to its truly old-fashioned 12-minute preparation time). Their above-average quality and alcohol content quickly wiped the £8 price tag from the slate of my memory.

The real revelation, however, is the upstairs music venue whose gritty honesty harks back to London’s musical heyday when combos like Department S and Subway Sect plucked their harmonies in front of an enraptured audience – as, indeed, they did on that memorable occasion (Fuck The Royal Wedding – A Night of Treason).

Similar musical titbits can be sampled on a weekly basis, alongside a fine-sounding discotheque downstairs. Further highlights are Sunday’s ‘Hangover Lounge’ (an essential service that should be available on the NHS) and a ‘Rough Trade’ pop quiz on Tuesdays.  Add a spectacular 2.00am closing time on weekdays (extending to a sight-blurring 4.00am at weekends) and this extraordinary pub has gathered enough qualities to truly soften my feelings towards our old cold-war playmates.

I, for one, am sure to become a Lexington regular.

Yours as ever

Max Obolensky

The Lexington
96-98 Pentonville Road
London, N1 9JB
Tel: 020 7837 5371
Nearest Underground: King’s Cross St Pancras, Angel
Opening times: Mon – Thu 3pm – 2am, Fri & Sat 3pm – 4am, Sun 1pm – 12 midnight.

 

 

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