It’s a bar the size of a shoebox, with nary enough space to swing a cat and more fruit drinks on one menu than should be allowed. And yet it all magically works.
Decorations run as far as two huge rolls of butcher’s paper. One has the drinks menu on it (an ever-changing list of whatever’s delicious and fresh on the day – they make a certain amount of drinks, and when they’re gone, they’re gone). The other sheet is a sort of drinks honour roll where you can buy a cocktail for an absent friend. Their name goes on the sheet of paper along with the name of the drink, available for collection any time. A lot of people seem to have ‘Black Cock’ written next to their names. It’s probably the dirtiest Thai whiskey you can get your hands on and smells like a damp sock drawer. Our missing friend should be happy with their Dirty Shirley Temple.