The Nags Head’s interior is what happens when a antique shop gets drunk and vomits on a pub. You’ve got mismatched chairs, dusty bottles behind the bar, and a ceiling so low that anyone over six feet tall walks like a penguin—and you will crack your skull on a beam at least twice. It’s a rite of passage.
The locals are an eclectic tribe: off-duty butlers, eccentric artists, and a few old coves who have been sitting on the same stool since before the internet. Nobody cares who you are—you could be the King of England or a guy who sells novelty socks, and you’ll get the same welcoming grunt from the barman.
Nags Head, London • whatpub.com
And the dogs. Oh, the dogs. You’ll see more well-behaved hounds here than at Crufts. One golden retriever actually has a regular chair near the fire, and if you sit in it, the regulars will stare at you until you apologize and move.
The Gents’ Toilet: A Horror Story
Let’s address the elephant in the room—or rather, the absurdly tiny toilet. The men’s lavatory is a legendary nightmare. It’s so compact that you have to open the door, pivot sideways, and pray you don’t accidentally elbow the urinal. I’m convinced it was designed by a sadistic Victorian who hated people.
One review online said it feels like “using the loo inside a coffin.” This is not an exaggeration. You will touch a wall with both shoulders at the same time. Consider it a bonding experience with every man who has ever visited.
