ECHO 22/2/06

The Harp of Erin is still a drinking pub – I was wrong - by day it looks like it is abandoned (grilles over windows, boarded doors, advertising posters on them) yet from 6pm it is open – clashing at the edge of reality – inside a woman drinks alone at the brightly lit bar, hair in a tight ponytail, fingers wrapped round a cigarette – two Nigerian men in duffel coats, collars turned up against the cold, drinking stout and talking fast – a large blonde woman in her early 40s stoops over a pool table at the back – banners are strung along the ceiling and around the glass shelf over the bar: Union Jacks, Jamaican flags, Nigerian, Cameroon – from the street the whole is over-exposed by the bright lighting, almost cinematic – it is a forlorn place, tucked into a corner of the world – its exterior of pink and white seems comical now, mutton dressed as lamb.