St Andrews
Dave Hynes
Formally The Gin House it has now changed name, but i'm afraid it is just as bad as i remembered, possibly worse- which speaks volumes for the I.Q levels of the so-called renovators. Its new orientation sees it marketed as, quell supris, a trendy wine bar/ funky discotheque paying too much for four fat bast*rds to guard the entrance and having a strict policy of only letting c*nts in.
Beautiful barmaids, food by day, and a large extension area downstairs are the new features but most impressive is the novel grandiose upstairs area, making it possible to perv on cleavage and drip semen into the pints of the last vestiges of King George VII’s gene pool. In many ways the piece de resistance of the St Andrews pub ethos, which in concise summation, is to have a potentially really good joint considering the affluent demographic, the stupendously fit birds, the student vibe and the execution of a Gattuso slide tackle that would even make the Italian stallion cringe. Could be/should be/why the f*ck isn’t it any good?
Who knows. Anyway, it’s a massive dollop of slimey poo which perpetuates itself through the wallets of some of the biggest fanny-faced Aryan/Oxbridge/Devil’s rejects who like to frequent here, I think they call it ‘Old Sarum’ or something to discuss whether there is anybody on earth who, as a collective, might steal their crown as really massive tw*ts. Achieves the ‘bad pub award’ with consummate ease.
If it rules anything, i would hate to think what the roost was like.
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