COMPTONS OF SOHO

26/10/12: The end of the working week usually results in one thing at QX Towers, and that’s getting ourselves sandwiched between the exposed hairy chest of a gruff bear and the beefy pins of a more athletic rugby type.

And this time we are not discussing the strange sexual practices of the in-house gimps/cleaning staff that (frequently) result in sexual harassment lawsuits. (They don’t work for us any more, we replaced them with underpaid immigrant labour long ago in order to support the struggling economies of Eastern Europe. But we digress…)

Our journalistic endeavors last Friday found us propping up the buns, sorry the bar, of the grand dame of central London, Comptons, for a night of beer swigging and vodka guzzling.

A proper pub in the heart of Soho, those who haven’t given Comptons a try are missing out on a true legend and world-class gay venue right in the heart of London’s colourful, homosexually-charged West End village.

Crowds at Comptons are no new sight, and last week was no exception as we squeezed our svelte figures <ahem> through the capacity crowds and attempted to flirt rather unsuccessful with more than one of the horny bar studs.

Note to self: a plunging neckline does not a free round of tequilas deserve. As Lee Harris delivered a suitably thumping blend of house tuneage from the DJ booth, we slipped up the grand staircase in typical Joan Collins a-la Dynasty swagger (minus shoulder pads, #ShowingOurAge) where a plethora of the buff, the butch and, yes, even the beautiful packed out the first floor bar.

Respectable drink prices, an insanely sociable and massively friendly crowd, slap-bang in the middle of busy, noisy, faceless London? Yes, please, thank you very muchly… We love us some Comptons.

51-53 Old Compton Street, Soho, W1D 6HN
Words by Cliff Joannou