“Me mother was a Swan,” said a Cork voice behind me at the bar in The Kingsland (37 Kingsland High Street, E8 2JS). I looked round, but I couldn’t pick out any more of the dialogue from the group of Irishmen who, like most people I’ve ever seen in Cork bars, were drinking lager rather than stout.
I was of course waiting for a pint of Guinness. Besides, when I’m drinking, I prefer to pretend I’m Scottish, not Irish (unless I’m in Scotland, of course, where people understand my Fenland dourness in the same way they appreciate a bottle of Buckfast wrapped up in a copy of the Sunday Post).
That’s the thing about The Kingsland. It’s ever so familiar, yet melded together in a slightly different way than what I’m used to.
Sure, it’s friendly enough. The Guinness is good, and reminds me of the stuff I used to get in Edinburgh’s Scruffy Murphy’s, when its Dublin-brewed stout was a selling point. The pork scratchings are of the exact same brand I used to eat in the Mirrlees Blackstone factory club, where I drank Abbot Ale at 90-odd pence per pint and watched ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway?’ whilst thinking John Sessions was funny and Josie Lawrence tried. Too. Hard.
And the Kingsland’s got the right smell. I’m not sure what it is, but it first hit me in a pub in Aberdeen, just up near King’s College. Which in turn reminded of the barber’s shop I used to go to when I was eight – the one where I’d ask for a parting and come out with a bowl.
But best of all, The Kingsland loves its punters. You’ll see notices inviting you to mourn or celebrate with the locals, near or departed. You’ll hear talk that doesn’t concern you, but is musical to listen to. And when you drink your stout, and you head to the quieter part of the pub, you’ll look at the sleeping man in the corner and think to yourself:
“I remember Mrs Swan. Surely it can’t have been the same one?”

This challenge is obvious from the moment you walk in. “What I love about this place,” I overheard one man say to his companion as I settled down with a half of Leffe, “is the feeling that you’re stepping into a different era. I love to sit here and pretend I’m part of Dickensian London.”

So I tried pretending I was part of Dickensian London. It was easy. Even anachronisms like the framed film poster for En Légitime Defense (1958) didn’t ruin the illusion. But the feeling was more one of a 19th-century dining club, far removed from the vicious tap rooms of Oliver Twist in which people wrangled with “might and main”.

As my mind wandered, I realised that the décor inspires all sorts of fantasies. I looked at some prints of sailing ships, and was transported to Captain Jack Aubrey’s cabin aboard HMS Sophie. I examined the charming wood panelling that lines the bottom room, and imagined it full of country folk back from a hard day’s hunting.

“That wood panelling,” emailed the editor of E8 shortly afterwards, keen that one of his favourite bits wasn’t left out of the review, “comes from a bank in the city”. (“You may,” he added, “or you may not ‘ it’s entirely up to you ‘ wish to mention that The Dove was also one of the first venues to have an anti-racist, anti-sexist and anti-homophobic policy, and was the first place to have a non-smoking bar”).

So what is The Dove’s true character? I was just beginning to come to my own conclusions when two friends arrived. “Do you remember the old staircase?” said one. “Remember to mention the toilets,” added the other. “Don’t forget that so-and-so was…” began the first, launching into a very funny and slightly off-colour story.

With so many fond memories attached to it, I can only recommend you head to The Dove and start creating some of your own. And as the pub also has one of the widest selections of Belgian beers in the country, plenty of real ales, a good wine list, excellent food and friendly staff, you’ll find no hardship in the task.

w: www.belgianbars.com

So I did: and I drank most of those imaginary pints in the Pub on the Park (19 Martello Street, E8 3PE), which I’d stare down at with ardour as we pulled into London Fields station. My body might have been travelling towards a cluttered desk in Bethnal Green, but in my mind I was blowing the froth off a jug of Adnams.

For all these reasons, it was a relief when I finally visited the pub and discovered that, although it was slightly different to what I had fantasised, it was really rather good. I first went there to celebrate the leaving of a former colleague (without him); and since then the place has become a familiar old friend.

So what makes it special? Many people would point to its location, nestled on the edge of London Fields, which makes it an attractive watering hole for people heading to Broadway Market, or returning from a swim at the Lido, or playing games in the park. And ‘ yes ‘ this is a great advantage, especially during the busy summer months. But what I love about the place is that it’s not one of those pubs that tries to be everything to all people, but instead has the self-assurance and tolerance to welcome all of us, whether we want to laze away an afternoon, meet friends, hold quiet meetings, celebrate something, bring the family or relax with a book.

It manages to do this by giving you a combination of good service, plenty of space (inside and out) and a broad, un-gimmicky range of drinks: lager, real ale, wheat beers, Belgian beers, bottled beers, wines, spirits, cocktails and much more. There are plants at the windows, and a posy of real flowers at each table. You can sit in a pew, a chair or a sofa. You can pop 20p in a machine for a handful of jellybeans or pistachio nuts. And whilst you don’t begrudge the pub its crowded, summer days, you’ll come to treasure those quiet, early spring afternoons when you were welcomed there peacefully to do your own thing.

Falling in love with a pub like this is easy if you imagine you have been invited into a family home. Quietly admire what is good: the stunning and original circular bar; the warm and friendly service; the expertly-used pool table; the satellite TV that, almost uniquely, manages to be both watchable and unobtrusive. And above all, listen and learn from the people for whom the pub is part of daily life.

It’s worth it. Stay an hour or two and you’ll see a true cross section of the local people, from the young men dropping in for an afternoon pint or two, to the girl passing through after school to wish her relative a happy birthday. There’s laughter, there’s wit and there’s very little grumbling.

That’s not to say there aren’t rules. There are: and they are rigorously and quickly enforced. Rule number one insists you keep your hands to yourself. Rule number two is to leave gracefully the minute you’re caught breaking rule one. The final rule is a complete ban on demanding your rights when you’re being thrown out, because the most important right of all belongs to those who want to enjoy a peaceful pint. We’ll drink to that.