Lady St Helier, Morden  

Was it H G Wells's 'Kipps' - typical Dino expecting others to check his sources - which included the character who's first steps to fortune came when, wandering the streets of London and wanting a cigarette couldn't find a tobacconist anywhere? In one of these eureka moments he realised where better to open his own and then moved on to fame and fortune by identifying other tobacconist deserts and opening more shops there. As the only game in town you should have the players queuing up. But then you find yourself with time to kill by Morden Station and The Lady St. Helier appears to be the only pub around - and boy have they not made an effort. It's a dismal, functionally-furnished open-plan beer barn with the standard Wetherspoon drinks and eats. It feels like a waiting room on a bad day. The predominantly male clientele look as though they have been killing time there since George Stephenson was adjusting the final sprocket on The Rocket. The (unused on this first, last and only visit) dartboard is an incongruous reminder of what pubs could be about.

reviewed:
3/6/2005

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