HALL OF SHAME: JAN'S BAR

by Dave Hynes

EDINBURGH

Well this part of Leith, despite its proximity to the Shore, is absolutely dog poo and nowhere encompasses this contrast more than Jan’s Bar- the doggiest of little canine droppings, urinating on Maritime Street to mark its territory of criminal activity and stake its claim as probably even more uninviting than The Marksman.

I don’t think Jan’s Bar is Dutch and I think you would probably be killed if you wore anything distinctly orange in Leith, but there is something continental about it- like the punters attitude for waiting in a queue for the busy toilets and the fact the barman only serves you once he’s certain he’s exhausted all chances of coitus with the underage teens.

I’d recommend taking a few vaccinations before you go, there is a five inch nail on the toilet seat covered in blood for a start. They were changing the barrels when I went in and I think I heard the yelps of the last Health and Safety officer as he was rolled over by one of them in the cellar. For a start it is an ugly pub for ugly people. Particularly unfriendly by day it turns into a no-holds barred pub for drunken fights by night. Average life expectancy in this pub rarely runs beyond twenty minutes and I think it would be cavalier to ask the punters if they could tone it down a bit to hear the forthcoming forecast for test match at Lord's. I saw an incredible array of battle wounds in this dive and a particularly impressive scar running down the left cheek of a big boy delicately balancing on his stool. It sounded like ‘feck yous’ but I think I heard him murmur something about the difficulties of attributing the information society its post-manufacturing niche given the delicacies of our postmodern environment.