The far-flung district of Canons Park is the least-visited stop on the Jubilee Line. It turns out there might be a reason for this.
OVER 21’S. NO HATS. SMART DRESS.
Such was the welcome that greeted us at Moranos, a bar which boldly eschews any apostrophe in its name, a la Canons Park itself. We were several years over the age-limit and mercifully hatless. But our dress was on the casual side of smart. I mentally prepared myself for the shame of being turned away at pub number one. Coyly breaching the threshold, we made it across to the bar, ordered some coronas and continued our way out back to the al fresco drinking area, unmolested. We’d successfully violated the hitherto iron dress code of Moranos! Toasting our success, we relaxed in the fully-paved beer ‘garden’.
We had a guest with us. Faye, a fine conversationalist and drinking partner, had been lured out on the crawl by the promise of good times in unknown and exciting lands. The pressure was on. Leaving Moranos behind, we began the first of several gruelling hikes to find the next pub. It turns out that Canons Park is a veritable menagerie of suburban housing, and not a lot else. But, just as Faye began to voice doubts about the area’s nightlife, we discovered Doolan’s.
The apostrophe was a good sign. The stereo was playing Less Than Jake, transporting Andy and I back to our teenage wonder-years. We ordered some beers and then, a first for the crawl: darts. We attempted to prick the circular target by hurling the traditional tiny winged spears towards it, with varying results. After a few minutes of unregulated spiky chaos we set ourselves a competition: who could score the highest with three darts? Faye and I made valiant attempts but it was Andy’s steady arm and steely eye that won the day with a colossal total of 46. Having impressed the locals with our lithe athleticism we moved on to crash a busy 50th birthday bash at Buckley’s Bar. We wished good health to the birthday girl, Marie, and reminisced wistfully about our sporting achievements back at Doolan’s, before returning to the road and staying on it for quite some time.
“Would you rather always have to wear the most outlandish, gaudy clothes, or be naked for fifteen minutes every day but you’d never know when?”
These, and other similarly philosophic questions were hurled back and forth willy-nilly until we found the Boulevard Club, an Indian restaurant and bar. Here we received a warm welcome and enjoyed the synth-heavy live Asian music on offer, continuing our quick-fire interrogations of each other.
We almost walked past the Cinnamon Place – it seemed more curry house than boozer – but Sanjay, the owner, spotted us and insisted that we patronise his establishment, clinching the deal by buying us a round of drinks. We stayed here for quite some time, enjoying Sanjay’s hospitality along with more live Asian music, once again complete with an impressive synth setup. Sanjay compelled us to make use of the modest dance floor, which we dutifully did, providing world-class entertainment for the diners who eyed us with a mixture of envy and admiration. When not dancing Faye was engaged in sending progressively weirder snapchats to her friend Laura, culminating in a beatific shot of Andy and I which I later realised bore a startling resemblance to Botticelli’s 1480 work, The Madonna of the Book (see below). We could happily have stayed until the early hours but, with the spirit of the crawl beckoning, we bade a fond farewell to Sanjay and his son Kengo (who was rather enamoured with Faye) and promised to return one day.
We had time for one more pub. Funky Brownz turned us down because I was wearing shorts (prompting a brief yet traumatic flashback to a similar episode in Brent Cross) so we ended up in the nearby Badger Kelly’s. Andy and I were soon befriended by a sozzled middle-aged lady who militantly demanded we demonstrate the dance moves to YMCA, whereas Faye found a dancing partner in the form of a bald and randy casanova at least twice her age. Exhausted, we eventually caught a bus to Harrow & Wealdstone just in time to board the last tube to Waterloo. Faye, alas, had missed her last train home from Waterloo East, and so had the rare and highly-coveted pleasure of staying over at Chez Andy.
Canons Park doesn’t have a lot to offer in terms of an evening out but, as always, the right crowd can generate a jamboree anywhere. Cinnamon Place deserves a particularly special mention for its hospitality and sheer goodnatured fun. If you ever visit, tell Sanjay we say hi.
Next stop: CHALFONT & LATIMER