My epitaph will read "mangled at the Belvedere".
One would also hope there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house. No wait that's dry whistle. At my funeral the bar tab will never run out! We can dream when we are drunk can't we?
I spent last Friday night here, at the Belvedere, post-treasure-hunt drinks; post-post-work drinks; post-post-post beer pong (which I lost) celebrating the end of term - not school, work - in a private function room resplendent in its frugality.
Indeed it was like the sparse matrix had opened a portal and sucked up any notion of furniture, decoration or even decorum (for that matter).
My first drink was a 1-tequila a 2-tequila a 3-tequila floor, and then it all went downhill from there till the tab ran out and then we were kicked out. Literally; not figuratively. Boot to bum, bum to pavement!
[Sidebar] Didn't we all have one of those "just turned 18 parties", where you had a night on the Tequila's (Pepe Lopez or that awful urine doppleganger Cuervo) and ever since, even years or decades later you still can't touch the stuff?
I found my lifelong cure in New Orleans after a night on the Silver Patron had me hangoverless![End sidebar]
So, the Belvedere. Pretty small downstairs, pretty small upstairs. Nice balcony, but mind the scaffolding (they are renovating). Like the atmosphere, like the staff and like the style - It's a little different than the standard inner city pub. Not too suity, not too hipster, but goldilocks!
My sanity? Well, that's in the post (or is that past?) read more