Too Little Reward at The Arbitrager
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One thing City punters often bemoan is the lack of ‘local’ type spit-and-sawdust joints in the Square Mile. You know, the sort of boozers to be found in the backstreets of the London suburbs - surly locals, dubious looking sandwiches, and fruit machines guaranteed to stitch you up.
Before some chancing local steps up to the plate to take all your money out of it, of course.
Why anyone would want to spend a second in one of these rotten hovels is beyond me, but in the spirit of open-mindedness and journalism, and on the advice of a few old colleagues, I took a trip to The Arbitrager on Throgmorton Street.
The Arbitrager has two levels, one floor upstairs with a bar area and a fruit machine, and a lower floor with a pool table, small bar area, fruit machine and some seating. If I was being generous I’d say you could cover the amount spent on the décor in this execrable dive with the cost of a round of shots. Honestly. Let’s take the top floor. I’m sure serving drunk City folk isn’t the most rewarding of jobs, but I do expect a modicum of attention and service. I walked in, jonesing for a cold pint of lager and lime, and the chap behind the bar was more interested in downloading songs from his laptop computer (perched on the side of the bar) than serving my drink. I expect such disdain perhaps from an edgy Hoxtonite serving behind a cutting-edge bar on Brick Lane, but not some tin-pot cesspit like The Arbitrager.
If anyone has seen the seminal 1986 movie The Labyrinth (and you really should as it is a bona fide classic) there is a scene whereby the protagonist, played by Jennifer Connelly, falls down a shaft and ends up in a miserable, dank and grim dungeon. If there was a pool table on the floor of said dungeon in the film and a few toilets round the corner which contravene all decent and humane health laws, you have a fair and just impression of what the bottom floor of The Arbitrager is like. I would not wish my own worst enemy to spend five minutes in this abhorrent, charmless place.
I can understand why people like the idea of a ‘local’ in the City, but this pub is a disgrace. Do yourselves a favour and sidestep it, and save your hard-earned cash for a place infinitely more deserving which, in all honesty, is anywhere else.
Why anyone would want to spend a second in one of these rotten hovels is beyond me, but in the spirit of open-mindedness and journalism, and on the advice of a few old colleagues, I took a trip to The Arbitrager on Throgmorton Street.
The Arbitrager has two levels, one floor upstairs with a bar area and a fruit machine, and a lower floor with a pool table, small bar area, fruit machine and some seating. If I was being generous I’d say you could cover the amount spent on the décor in this execrable dive with the cost of a round of shots. Honestly. Let’s take the top floor. I’m sure serving drunk City folk isn’t the most rewarding of jobs, but I do expect a modicum of attention and service. I walked in, jonesing for a cold pint of lager and lime, and the chap behind the bar was more interested in downloading songs from his laptop computer (perched on the side of the bar) than serving my drink. I expect such disdain perhaps from an edgy Hoxtonite serving behind a cutting-edge bar on Brick Lane, but not some tin-pot cesspit like The Arbitrager.
If anyone has seen the seminal 1986 movie The Labyrinth (and you really should as it is a bona fide classic) there is a scene whereby the protagonist, played by Jennifer Connelly, falls down a shaft and ends up in a miserable, dank and grim dungeon. If there was a pool table on the floor of said dungeon in the film and a few toilets round the corner which contravene all decent and humane health laws, you have a fair and just impression of what the bottom floor of The Arbitrager is like. I would not wish my own worst enemy to spend five minutes in this abhorrent, charmless place.
I can understand why people like the idea of a ‘local’ in the City, but this pub is a disgrace. Do yourselves a favour and sidestep it, and save your hard-earned cash for a place infinitely more deserving which, in all honesty, is anywhere else.
Here Is The Writer : Mr. King-Edwards
"Mr. King-Edwards" currently works as a Financial Markets Headhunter in the City. Originally from the West Midlands and a graduate of History and Literature from a large Northern University, he now resides somewhere in the borough of Wandsworth. He enjoys beating people up on the rugby field, watching football, listening to music and generally taking full advantage of the cultural, gastronomic and social options available to him in the Capital.
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