Nine Giants

Thornhill Road, Rhiwbina [map]

Don't even think about trying to sneak into the Nine Giants unobserved. There are so many security cameras on the go, it's like entering the Big Brother house.

Except here you're more likely to spot someone you recognise.

Forget, for a moment, about the none-more-exciting news of being able to purchase a chicken wings sharer with Reggae Reggae Sauce for £5.99.

Focus, instead, on the far more significant fact of us having inadvertently captured a crime in progress: the pilfering - in broad daylight! - of the charity box from the bar. What sort of a heel would do such a thing?

If anyone recognises those thieving fingers, please contact South Wales Police immediately. The safe return of a couple of quid in small change, a few low-denomination foreign coins and some bits of fluff depends on it.

Behind the bar. Just goes to show: working in a pub's not all glamour, after all.

This is the more dining-orientated section, which is given the well-lit, thoughtfully shot photographic treatment it so richly deserves.

And the side in which the proper boozing takes place.

It's populated by pissheads half-watching some sort of sporting activity on the telly (of which they barely understand the rules), in between downing pints, indulging in some light bickering and resolutely failing to eat a proper meal in case it inhibits their appetite for subsequent ales. And that's just us.

One of the problems of going to the pub on a regular basis with The Photographer is that, like a small child, he requires constant entertainment. Luckily, this grabbing machine keeps him quiet for five minutes.

The outside bit. You've got to admire the optimism of whoever erected those huge parasols.

Less optimistic is the person who decided to clamp each of the chairs to the floor with a steel bracket. Mind you, shame they didn't think to do the same thing with that charity box.

The Deri Inn

Heol-Y-Deri, Rhiwbina [map]

Pure class, this joint. If the Farrow & Ball-esque paint job doesn't give it away, then the understated signage and artfully wonky hedge surely do.

It's The Photographer's round. So eager is he for a drink that he approaches the bar like Groucho Marx chasing a pretty waitress.

He initially panics at the apparent lack of lager-based products but calms down when it's explained to him that they're tucked away on the right. Foster's is ordered and all is right with the world.

Although a subsequent pint of Otley smells a bit like hair.

Still giddy with Olympic fever, The Photographer decides to set up an impromptu long jump competition in front of the bar with a few of the regulars.

Incredibly, given that he's about six pints in, he wins handily by clearing a massive eight metres, landing just beyond those chairs in the distance.

(Turns out that attempting the high jump when you're pissed is less of a good idea, as Ivan Ukhov demonstrates here.)

The locals are, unsurprisingly, dumbfounded by the sporting prowess they've just witnessed.

On the one hand, this elegant display of books looks dead classy. On the other hand, at the top of the pile is a biography of Victoria Beckham.

Deluxe smoking shed. You can even get these in Argos now.

Back inside and there's a formal dining area down one end.

We're not massively impressed by the menu though.

The Butchers Arms

22 Heol-Y-Felin, Rhiwbina [map]

There's something of the gothic about The Butchers Arms (widely referred to as Ye Olde Butchers Arms but we're sticking with what it says on the front of the building).

The fact that an outside banner advertises a farmers' market only increases our sense of dread.

We're not wine drinkers but anywhere that has merlot on tap is clearly our kind of place. Ordering a pint of the stuff does, however, tend to be frowned upon, we discover.

Between what's on draft (they even have Coors Light, possibly the most pointlessly tasteless beer ever conceived - and that's coming from Foster's drinkers) and contained in the outsize fridges, there's a wide enough range of tipples to keep everyone happy.

Watch out for those oddly generic-looking bottles of the vodka on the middle shelf, though. Not that we're suggesting they were bought off some dodgy bloke operating out of lock-up in a Grangetown back street, you understand. It just looks as if they were.

This is very much a pub for people who wear cagoules, it would seem.

Ah yes, the classic Cardiff City memorabilia/posh nuts display.

There's quite a lot of information to take in from those little blackboards. "Every Thursday Quiz Nite & Pizza & Pint Night!!!" enthuses the one on the left. Wow, Thursdays sound amazing, you think.

But keep reading and you'll learn that "Sunday Night is also Quiz Night, with Mike." Clearly, the locals love a quiz. Although we are left wondering quite what the difference is between a quiz nite and a quiz night.

The pub offers a handy crèche service, enabling you to leave your teenage children in the play area (equipped with a pool table, telly and fruit machine) for a few hours, supervised by Mike, seen here on the right.

The crèche is closed on Sunday evenings though as Mike, as we have just learnt, is busy running the quiz.

On the rare occasions we come across a pub with a piano in it, I'm always tempted to a have a quick tinkle. And after that, I sometimes play the piano.

Ahem. I'll get my cagoule.