The Spotted Dog Rip

Sadly, I discovered The Spotted Dog a few weeks before it closed, something which I am still weeping into my porridge about.
The place was the size of the whale in the Natural History Museum, and probably with the same dampness, darkness crumbling paint on the inside.
A strange lil animal was the Dog, I think plenty of trendy boozers would have paid good money to have such a convincing «distressed looked».
A bit like an old man’s pub squatted in by travllers and pool obssesives, with a — too unashamed to be a guilty pleasure — rock-​orientated jukebox, with Guns ‘n’ Roses guaranteed (several times over).
The next door club «Sindrome» was equally as unashamed and in staRk contrast to a fashionista/​more-​obscure-​than-​thou style of club (although i suppose even those clubs DO have their own charm — by «charm» I mainly mean attractive flitty things clued up on Vice Magazine’s music recommendations).
The closing night was probably the strangest pub experience I have had… with drinks prices seeming to go down throughout the night in stages, drunk folk slumped across the bar… I must admit I was quite excited by the atmosphere of an imminent apocalypse… on second thoughts… perhaps that was just me getting carried away with the sinking whale analogy.
Imagine the bit in the appalling disaster film «Deep Impact» but the wave being made of tequila shots.
:(