Cockpit, St. Paul's  

We usually avoid clichés like the plague, a cliché to us is like a red rag to a bull, but "steeped in history" could have been minted for this hidden away gem. Outside it says established 1787. Inside they say it was rebuilt in 1842 but had been Shakespeare's house in a 16th century incarnation. It's an odd looking little place in this odd little tangle of alleys. Count every bar stool and narrow bench - built for smaller backsides than the 21st century model - and you'll never reach 30 seats. Then look up and ponder why the ceiling is 18 feet high. Then open your eyes and listen for the ghosts. The Cockpit is what it says it is - you are sitting where razor-spurred fighting cocks tore blood, feathers and the very life from one another. Look up again and notice for the first time the narrow, balustraded galleries where the mob once roared. Appreciate the strutting, stuffed fighting bird over one door, the carved models, prints and paintings wherever the eye roams. Feel London's sometimes unpalatable history wash over you. Nothing else really matters - it's a four pinter from the moment you pass through the door. But for the record, it's quite homely. Working men - clean overalls and boots demanded by the sign on the door- mix with city workers and it can get busy at the usual times. Hand-pulled beers include Courage, Pedigree and Adnam's. The food is pretty basic and the landlord friendly and helpful.

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