Lloyds No1, Norwich  

A great big cathedral of cack that epitomises the horrific march of the lager-fuelled super pub. Erected at the turn of the century as part of the redevelopment of Norwich's riverside area, Lloyds No1 is the worst of the soulless dens designed to ease the Burberry brigade into the nearby Time night-club. Stepping through the doors puts you into a big white walled warehouse complete with conveyer belt bars dishing out bog standard lagers and mass produced gastropub food that is as low on quality as it is on price. The interior has all the character of a particular boring ironing board thanks to the cut-price IKEA sofas, obligatory glitz bars and fading carpets. Indeed, the only distinctive element about the décor is the lack of seating that paradoxically means standing, even during off peak, is a necessity despite the large two floored layout. But don't be fooled into thinking Lloyds popularity (as it is busy almost all of the time) is indicative of some hidden quality, as unfortunately the people who drink here are the sort who believe consuming 18 alcopops and vomiting into a urinal is the sign of good night. Hence the clientele is as loud and annoying as the piped pop music that reverberates constantly in the air. Ultimately this is a terrible pub, and, against stiff competition, wins the prize for the worst bar in the riverside area.

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