The Mount Stuart

Landsea House, Stuart Place, Cardiff Bay [map]

Look at that - it's not so much just another branch of Wetherspoon as a Zaha Hadid-inspired monument to the joys of daytime drinking.

Fairly hectic at the bar but there are plenty of people serving and we secure our delicious pints of fizzy lager with a minimum of faff. Good old 'Spoons.

While most Wether-outlets are simply big square rooms with horrible carpet and some tables randomly plonked around the place, this looks as if someone's actually thought about what they're doing.

The upstairs bar is dominated by a fleet of low-flying drones that vaporise anyone who's looking the worse for wear. The Photographer begins to look very alarmed indeed.

We escape to the balcony. This chap is clearly pleased to see that we've made it out alive.

It's almost like a staged PR shot this of people engaged in responsible al fresco drinking - there's nary a single person vomiting into a hedge in sight. Well, The Photographer notwithstanding.

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The Aneurin Bevan

Caerphilly Road, Birchgrove [map]


Here's an idea that seems not so much too good to be true as too true to be good: a branch of Wetherspoon marooned on the Caerphilly Road roundabout at the north end of the Gabalfa flyover that's only accessible by a subway.

It sounds like some sort of Ballardian hellscape come to life - albeit one in which you can purchase a beer and burger for £4.99.


There is some irony in naming an outpost of a chain of pubs known for shifting cheap booze by the gallon after the founder of the NHS.


The main bar area. The usual high tables, fruit machine, brown carpet and, at the far end, a large telly spewing out the BBC News Channel.


Through a door and there's this funny little side room. Not many takers, to be honest.


Into the main space (which, oddly, has no bar of its own), where one couple has clearly decided to make an afternoon of watching live coverage of John Prescott giving evidence to the Leveson inquiry. Well, it gets you out the house, doesn't it?


But if Leveson isn't quite for you, there's always the opportunity to catch up with a spot of Samuel Pepys instead.

"I was in mighty pain all night long of the winde griping of my belly and making of me shit often and vomit too, which is a thing not usual with me," he wrote in July 1666. "But this I impute to the milke that I drank after so much beer."

We know the feeling.

The Gatekeeper

9-10 Westgate Street, Cardiff [map]


Another one of the gazillion Wetherspoons that litter the centre of Cardiff.

The management should be proud of the heavy foot traffic, less so of the fact that a high proportion of it appears to be made up of children.


Now then, either that's a toddler at the bar or a Mexican midget wrestler without his mask.

And, quite frankly, it's unlikely to be the latter as they all seem to be getting bumped off by fake prostitutes who spike their drinks. Well, according to Metro, at least.


This is more like it. Real men, with polo shirts tucked into their jeans, ordering pints. It's what the Wetherspoon experience is all about.


But for all the cheap beer and cheap food, there's something utterly dismal about the place.

Stay here for more than a couple of rounds and being drugged by a Mexican vice girl suddenly becomes an attractive proposition.


It had to happen sooner or later. If you take enough random snapshots inside enough Cardiff pubs, one of them will inevitably feature MC Ninjah.

Spending all day playing the drums on bins in the centre of town is clearly thirsty - if not entirely lucrative - work.

The Crockerton

Greyfriars Road, Cardiff [map]

The Crockerton. It's not going down in the annals as a classic pub name, is it? Still, fair play to the place for sticking rigidly to the principle of What You See Is What You Get. 

The outside suggests a garish disco-box, in which 37 different types of luminous alcopop that are more E number than degrees proof are available.


And what do you know? This Lloyds No.1-branded fast booze joint delivers precisely that, albeit with a slightly narrower range of alcopops than we initially anticipated. 

It is, after all, a Wetherspoon with music. Welcome - if that's the word - to chain pub hell.


To be fair, it's not quite as bad as all that. For starters, there's plenty of seating, even if the tables are tightly crammed in right next to each other. It's like a battery farm of booze.


The view from our table. It's always worth sitting as close to the bar as physically possible - saves on unnecessary walking back and forth.

We were almost tempted to not even bother getting up and just bellowing our order at the barman instead. Whether Lloyds encourages this form of impromptu table service remains to be seen.

The Great Western

64 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]


Amazing news. We went to see a band play at the Birmingham NIA on the weekend and, in what must rank as one finest pieces of booze-related thinking all year, the venue's various bars were selling two-pint plastic glasses of Carlsberg.

Now, obviously Carlsberg is a bit shit but when you're in an arena scenario, you have to take what you can get. The genius of it is that you can go and watch the band and only have to pop back to the bar with half the frequency that you otherwise would. Even if paying seven quid for some lukewarm session lager does feel a bit painful.


We've yet to come across anywhere in Cardiff that has picked up on this superlative alcoholic innovation. But if anywhere was to start selling beer by the two pints, then The Great Western would surely be the place.

It's a Wetherspoon although, prices aside, you'd hardly know it. Despite the makeover the pub had when it reopened as The Old Monk a few years ago, it hasn't managed to shake off the impression that this is a place for serious drinking.


It never, ever seems to shut. We went there for breakfast recently (they do a decent fry-up for under a fiver) only to see someone swigging Foster's at 9.30am. The bar staff didn't bat a collective eyelid. Trust us: being able to order a two-pint glass of fizzy lager here can only be a matter of time.

The Prince of Wales

81-83 St Mary Street, Cardiff [map]


The Prince of Wales is one of Cardiff's largest and most depressing pubs.


The building's exterior boasts an impressive gothic facade. But the cavernous interior (it used to be an adult cinema) is largely populated by old blokes who look as if they've been staring into the middle distance since the place opened in 1999.

It's one of four Wetherspoons in the city centre and, by some margin, the least inviting.


Sure, the large balcony area (which also houses a second bar) is a novelty but, despite the huge windows, there's an unshakeable glumness here, however sunny it is outside.


Even the promise of a pint of Foster's for £1.69 on Mondays isn't enough to make us want to return.

Aside from which, it's on a corner that's notorious for pedestrians being run over.