The Victoria and Albert

From Frikipedia

Grotty pub inside Marylebone station. If you're unfortunate to ever go in here, as Friki was, you only really have yourself to blame. You're the kind of person that drinks alcohol inside a train station. If it wasn't for the four comforting pub walls, the pool table and the hangy sign, people would look at you in the same way they look at the tramp swigging from a bottle of turps at the end of platform 5.

Geoffski works in The Victoria and Albert, spending her days dispensing flat pints of lager in dirty glasses for the clientele, which is 95% grotty football fans from the Midlands who have clearly already been drinking constantly since their early childhood, and 5% nervous Friki, who managed to distract Geoffski from the fans' end of the bar for long enough to prevent a potential sexual assault, but no longer.

Has a quizzie and a pool table, but what is the point? Really? If you try and have fun on either entertainment form, you are merely trying to delay the inevitable moment when you run out of coinage and have to sit down to finish your pint. Once seated, you can fully take in the wanton repulsiveness which oozes from every part of this godforsaken hellhole of a drinking establishment and try and remember the exact point when society so completely shrugged its shoulders and admitted defeat.

If there is an afterlife, which knowing Friki's luck, there is, it is likely that the waiting room you are taken to before you are dragged into Dante's Inferno is akin to a pint in The Victoria and Albert on a Saturday evening.

Nobody can possibly have any idea how close Friki came to giving up the whole tube line pub research adventure based solely on 25 minutes in The Victoria and Albert.