Well I managed to get a shot, of sorts. It was gone eleven when Harry and I finally quit the place. Remarkably for a central London pub on a warmish late summer Friday evening, it was tolerably tosser-free (not entirely, but much less irritating than you'd expect.) Despite the fact that the photo's fuzzy, I think you can tell that, as I.N. says, Nothing is fuzzy. Nairn:
"If I could keep only one pub out of the whole London Galaxy, this would be my choice.... If you had a problem, the Red Lion would not ease it, however much you drank; instead it would strengthen you. It is a place to walk out of ramrod-straight, reinforced by those proud, sparkling arabesques."
Ramrod-straight we just about managed, tacking a little all the while.
