19/03/11: You’d think it would be easier to review a bar that I drink at every week… but it turns out, it’s much trickier. You forget you’re getting paid (PITTANCE!) to pay special attention to the crowd, atmosphere and interior. I simply walk in, everyone shouts “Norm” and then sit at the end of the bar as a beer gets plonked in front of me… hang on, is that my life or television? Oh well, me confusing real life with 80s sitcom Cheers doesn’t matter. Last Saturday night was all about celebrating the removal of my ankle tag – and where better than the bar where it’s impossible for everyone to know your name, ‘cos the place is always heaving with hotties. Weekends at The Yard are immense at the moment, but what’s the secret? Is it the fun but relaxed surroundings? The smoking garden and balcony? Personally, I’ve quit the vile smoking habit (I prefer my self-abuse to come from a repetitive cycle of bad relationships, followed by some light self-flogging) but many still love a cheeky toke. The Yard plays a blinder here by providing a cosy, heated space to puff, drink and flirt in the colder months, and also a gorgeous, sun-drenched space in the three weeks of summer we get. Couple it with sexy, friendly staff (is it tops off-o-clock already?) and two ambience-perfect inside spaces, life is good for a bar that shares its name with the Jamaican Patois word for ‘house’. I certainly feel so at home here that I didn’t even remember my own name by the time I left…
57 Rupert St, Soho, W1D 7PL
Words by Lee ‘Mary Tyler Moron’ Dalloway
Photos by Chris ‘hell for pleather’ Jepson
