The Greyhound | Peckham

Big pub bonanza season is back. Crash. Bang. Wallop!

Temperatures have dropped, and so have our prices, £4 pints, £6 margs, and a packet of scampi fries, we know how to treat you. The score is, pints, pizza, and enough DJs up top to request your cheesiest, worst of the worst tracks and get rejected in front of all your mates every Friday and Saturday. Cram it all in until your silly, boring New Year’s resolution affirmations kick in. Regret it never.

Anyway, the sun’s bailed on us, Dorothy, we’re not in summer anymore. Jackets on, jackets off, cosy corners to chinwag, spilling drinks, “’round on me,” “you owe me one,” nightlight buses home, it’s what we live for, ain’t it? Do it over and over until your heart and headache’s content.

Doors wide open. 4pm on Fridays, 12pm on Saturdays. Come in looking like a prime socialite, leave looking like a bone-idle Flintstone. Yabadabadooooo!

See you on the paisley-patterned seats or on the hardwood, whatever your tipple.

Arrrtttt by @ashleigh_beddow

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