Groove is in the heart - Pure Groove, Smithfields Market

Hybrid shopping experiences have been the rage for a while now. Retailers with coffee shops, tea rooms and occasionally bars. Coffee shops with hairdressers. Pubs with vintage clothes shops. You name it, they've tried it, usually to good effect. Although I draw the line at estate agents cum cafes. However the classic combination of music store and bar is nearly as old as I am, yet still so winningly effective. And none more so in good old London town then Pure Groove in Smithfields Markets. The Northerner and I dropped in on Friday night when the venue was hosting a DJ session by the Lost Boys (I think that's what they were called) and the place was humming. Pure Groove markets itself as an every-changing venue that includes record shop, art gallery and cafe / bar, but on Friday night it was a well worked combination of them all with a little bit of pre-club thrown it. The clientele are the Smithfield creative set of graphic designers, and film and advertising types, and (on this night anyway) very male. But all in a laidback funky way, as opposed to football loving lads.

The drinks are your standard offering of semi-exotic lagers (read that as Asahi and Corona) and spirits, mixed and served with the enthusiasm and panache of a student bar. And I mean that in a good way.

We knocked by several drinks and watched the crowd shift from animated conversation to bobbing about grooving and dancing as the beats and the beers kicked in.

This is the best Smithfield bar I've been into in a while now, and complements the equally strong Old Red Cow pub down the road. I like this bar a lot and will definitely go back again. If you like the funkier side of things I recommend that you give it a whirl.

The Sterling Pub, The Gherkin Building

The Gherkin is one of the most iconic buildings in our capital and a wonderful and relatively recent, addition to the London skyline. Or so you would think, although it proved a tad confusing for Heavy D when I suggested we meet for drinks at the downstairs bar - The Sterling. Where is the Gherkin? he asked. Well, try the large, gherkin shaped building which you can and every other person in the square mile can see from your office. Honestly.

Anyway, having overcome Heavy's navigational challenges, me and Young Elvis rocked down the to the Sterling for a cheeky after work drink to celebrate his recent offer of a job in Hong Kong. I'd never been before. Don't worry, said Elvis, it's great in summer. Except of course this is London in October so the benefits of the outside space, as pictured, are not immediately obvious.

So inside we went ,where the 90% male, suited clientele were settling into that Friday session of lager and thinking about ladies. The latter of which they were clearly in the wrong place for. Heavy finally arrived, having managed to find a colleague who was actually bigger then him, and immediately began remarking on the lack of women. It is a city bar I quipped, what do you expect. Nevertheless what the Sterling is, or was, lacking is not so much women, but something far more important to a bar. An atmosphere. The place itself is all clean lines and modern furniture, but as in a newly refitted All Bar One, rather then Phillipe Starck. The drinks are your standard mix of lagers, spirits and wine by the pint. After a couple of hours of this party madness, and with the Don (who I was meant to be meeting) apparently stuck in the Wharf, I bade my farewells.

The Sterling has a lot going for it - location, great service, and in summer it's probably a sun trap. However unless you're someone who genuinely enjoys being surrounded by suited and booted men from the middle to lower echelons of banking and finance, I'd steer it a wide berth. Maybe there was a lot more to Heavy being unable to find it then I give him credit for.

Old school with old friends - The George, London Bridge

Apparently bitter and ales are very good for colds. This is according to the Rock Star, who although not a medical man, is the son of one and a highly seasoned drinker so in many ways perfectly qualified to comment. I bore that in mind as the Northerner and I, cold ridden and a tad hungover, headed to the tourist trap that is the George in Borough High Street near London Bridge, and amongst other things, prides itself in its collection of bitters et al.

We were there to meet Little Boots (not the pop star, but my friend who has the smallest feet I've ever seen on an adult) and her hubby the Greek God who were over from Australia for a work trip. I hadn't been to the George before but everyone I know seems to have and talks it up big time. And now that I've been there I'm not sure why that is the case.

The George has all the trappings of Ye Olde English pub. A 17th century coach house that is full of nooks and crannies, the place does have character. Traditional (not gastro) pub grub, a beer garden and an impressive range of beers seems to keep the punters happy. They even serve wine in those small bottles that I thought you only got on planes.

Yet it pales in comparison with the delightful pubs of Borough Market - the Rake et al - and it lacks the views of its fellow tourist traps overlooking the Thames.

That's not to say that we didn't have a good time. Little Boots and the Greek God seemed intent on drinking their way through their jetlag - and doing a good job of it might I add. But given that the George is hardly likely to suffer through any criticism by me, I'll mark it down as one for experience. Old school in every sense of the word.

Stop the press - Luytens, Fleet Street

A sense of deja vu is common amongst those of us who spend too much time in bars and restaurants. Sometimes places look and seem eerily familiar only for you to realise that they are part of a 'chain' albeit a subtle one (read, different names) Often a venue will simply rename and redesign itself as a supposedly hip new spot - which invariably is never the case. However Luytens on Fleet Street - the spiritual home of British journalism - triggers a different emotion altogether as it occupies the site formerly owned by Reuters. The world's largest news agency and media giant which was also my employer for some six years.

Heavy D and I were out to celebrate his move to the Barbican and he suggested we go to this relatively new addition to the Conran portfolio. And I must say, I was impressed. First upon entering the cocktail bar, you notice that they've enhanced what was actually a rather shoddy interior whilst still retaining many charming artifacts to reflect its journalistic heritage - pictures of Julius Reuters himself for example. Moving to the back of the building where a friend of mine and her data management team used to reside, is now the modern white-on-white decorated restaurant. You can tell its upmarket by the fact that there are two waiters / waitresses to every table, an old school retro British menu with a twist, and prices that make you hesitate before you order.

The Heavy one kicked off with an Assiette de charcuterie, which was a sizable and very tasty portion of the great and not always so great of the meat world. My lobster mouse was light, subtle and wonderfully flavoured. I have to admit I had been unsure as the whether the dish would succeed. More fool me. For mains I took on the suckling pig with crackling - moist, perfectly seasoned and near pink perfect, while Heavy hit the Roast Rabbit, bacon and mustard which he declared as successful.

We rocked through a gorgeous new world pinot noir (Chilean I believe?) and a sherry to round off the night, both recommended by the sommelier and both matching expectations.

The place was full of the city types that most people now despise, but who were clearly immune to the credit crunch as thy ordered drinks and food with abandon.

It's not a place I would go to celebrate a special occasion - it certainly isn't romantic - and if anything its let down by being too 'city'. However that's being picky as it does what it sets out to do very well, all of which is made easier by the wonderful and attentive staff. My old Reuters buddies are now keen to try it. I recommend they go at least once. It's a vast improvement on the old staff canteen.

Exceeding expectations - Shoreditch House, London

For an old bar hand like myself most of the hyped places I visit tend to at best fall a little short of expectations. Not so Shoreditch House which the Northerner and I finally checked out recently to see what all the fuss is about. Frankly, the fuss is warranted as the 'Ditch' is beautifully designed, sizzingly atmospheric and topped off with the best view from a bar / club that I have seen in London town. It's no exaggeration that the cityscape panorama on offer matches anything you might see in New York. And in fact, that is the thing about the place. It's very New York albeit in the heart of Shoreditch. What more can you want from a bar?

We were up there to catch up with our 'new friends', the Architect and Betty Boo who we met at a fashion bash a few weeks back. After taking care of a few bottles of champagne to celebrate the Architect winning a battle with a former employer and me losing one with HMRC, we took in some people watching around the pool - the highlight of which were a gang of guys, looking resplendent in shirt, tie and jackets with small tight fitting denim shorts to provide that bit of drama. And lest you found yourself wondering how their 'outfits' worked , it wasn't too long before they had shed them completely and were launching themselves speedo clad of course, into the pool.

We headed down to the 5th floor for some fine Australian Cabernet sauvignon and a mighty fine dinner - which despite me getting pan fried cod with pesto instead of the pork I ordered, was delicious. The Northerner who did get the roast pork said I was unlucky as it was perfectly seasoned and slightly rare - just how I like it.

At our communal table we were sat with a Naomi Campbell lookalike and her tall OTT fashionable American hairdresser friend, while on my side were two of the most obnoxious European investment bankers imaginable who apparently 'know Nick' and were reeling off complaints by the dozen. To their credit the staff managed them back with ease - after all, they weren't famous, simply rich - which made me like the place even more.

I can't actually think of anything to be negative about - a constant criticism of this blog. The atmosphere is great, views - spectacular, and the staff - very charming and efficient. Just like in New York.

I'm not a member, and don't imagine I ever will be, but if I could I would. It's not better then my beloved East Rooms, but has that extra glamour and frisson that you get when style, fashion and celebrity are under, or in fact on top of, the same roof. Nothing wrong with that.

DKNY Fashion's Night Out, Bond Street

You've got to hand it to American retailers - they do retail marketing and PR better then anybody. After all, they invented it. But it still makes me wonder as to why is it that the Americanos - supposedly puritanical and unhealthily obsessed with the body beautiful - rather then the Brits, still know how to throw a stonking, champagne and cocktail fueled party like no one else. What I'm talking about here is American super brand DKNY, which celebrated the New York inspired Fashion Night Out with Vogue Magazine on Thursday September 10 2009 with a DJ led party in their Bond Street store on that night.

Of course this is not a fashion blog, I leave that to the Northerner and her wonderful ReDesign for Life to work the superlatives on what's on trend this season. However as my experience tells me where fashion people go, drinks and parties are quick to follow, and this globally coordinated party event in DKNY stores across the world, saw the Bond Street shop turn into a funkier then funk, bar / club for the evening. Working in partnership with the uber-hip Bungalow 8 the DKNY crew hosted an evening that was meant to be about the clothes. I believe the UK Vogue editor was on hand to offer styling advice to anyone that looked like they needed it. However, you give 150, mostly women or gay men fashionistas free champagne and gin and vodka based cocktails for the evening. Throw in some DJ spun 80's tunes and what you get is a full on party, complete with dancing, shouting and flirting. This is why I love London. 

This is a weird blog to write in one sense in that DKNY is not a bar that I can recommend that you visit - it's a store that many of you probably will have been into. However for one night only it turned into Bungalow 8 on Bond Street and became one of, if not THE, place to be last week. I believe its what young people now regard as a 'pop up bar'.  So what I would say is try and get on the mailing list, which anyone can simply by shopping there. Just so you can get invited to the next bash. After all if an unfashionable fella like me can get invited, anyone can. And if you think I'm being falsely modest here, let me leave you with this thought. I was, without fail, the only person who the photographers did not want to snap. And only one person stopped to talk to me and give me a card - for styling advice. Enough said. Register now.

Venturing out of the City - The Olive Tree, Bath

As a general rule, the Northerner and I don't venture too far from London town to socialise. And if we do, we're talking Paris, Marrakech or New York as opposed to Leeds, Ipswich or Bradford. Nevertheless with 'staycations' now very much on trend, as us being as affected by the credit crunch as any other social butterfly we decided to take a long weekend in the beautiful Georgian city of Bath. We'd been here once before and had been more then a little taken with the stunning architecture, quaint riverside scenery and greenery and of course the Roman spa, but had struggled to find much of a social thing going on. What a difference ten years makes.

Alongside your normal chain bars are gorgeously restored old pubs, funky tapas and cocktail bars, and wonderful restaurants. And we had the good fortune to be staying at the best hotel in town - The Queensberry, with what is (according to Bath 'siders', Bathers?) THE best restaurant, The Olive Tree. Now okay - there are a couple of Michelin star restaurants in Bath nowadays and The Olive Tree did receive it's vote by the locals in 2008. But when we went there on a chilly but clear skyed Saturday evening there was no mistaking that the place is popular. Bookings are required.

Having said that, it's location in the basement is not as good as it could be. The hotel has the most wonderful reception rooms that one would expect from knocking three glorious Georgian terrace houses together, and its a shame for the diners that this space hasn't been allocated to the restaurant. But that's being picky. The ambience is all low lights and soft jazz music. The clientele are well-heeled Bathonians and those lucky enough to stay at the hotel, and the service is impeccable and charming.

The food is great. I started with Pork Belly and Langoustine and the Northerner did crab risotto with tempura of soft shell crab and courgette flower. Simpler then they sound, the dishes were wonderfully presented and perfectly executed. Beef with dauphinoise potatoes and halibut with pancetta and peas and chive mash were eaten with relish as we only reluctantly offered each other a taster. Desserts of peach melba and raspberry sorbet with a twist of cheese cake, and a charlotte of blueberry, raspberry and blackberry were indulgent without being overly sweet or fussy. We wash it back with a delicious Valpolicella which they put in their mouth-watering sweet and sour section. And they were right.

The place isn't cheap, but nor is it prohibitively expensive, and we rounded off the evening with a port or two in one of the lovely reception rooms. A perfect evening ended was given a slightly bizzare twist when, an admittedly very drunk couple decided to share with us their extra-marital fling secrets. They did have the good grace to buy us another drink for our troubles. And people wonder why we don't venture far from London.