Once a Mecca for indie pilgrims, now said indie pilgrims like myself would rather attend the Mecca Bingo a little further up Inverness St. At least one is guaranteed a seat at the bingo, even though the smell of piss may differ slightly from what you may get in the Mixer, say between that of an 80 year old Earl Grey drinker and that of a 17 year old goth cider swigger. Still, I know where I'd rather be on a Friday night.

This fine little pub has died a death, once upon a time it could get away with not having a working toilet, once upon a time you could walk in there and not mind the entire bar smelling like a the innards of a decomposing whale, you didn't really mind if the lager tasted of soapy milk because to hell with it, the drummer from Elastica just walked in and ordered a gin! Who cares about the smell, what's that you say? You think you've hepatitis C off that broken glass? Ssssshhh! Isn't that Jarvis C getting sick over that Aussie bird?

The last time the décor changed Alex James had cheekbones. Yellowing posters adorn the walls, recalling past glories, a cracking shot of Sleeper (well that bird form Sleeper, you know the one, you still would if you could. I still would if I could find where she lived), Indie darlings Menswe@r gawp at you from a framed photo by the pool table, looking rather humbled. (maybe they knew they were going to be rumbled?) And a rather creepy photo of Damon Albarn awkwardly holding a pool cue in a completely different pub to the Mixer. In an NME interview some years back a reviewer once said the aforementioned Blur frontman had an face like a cats arse, I didn't really know what the interviewer meant by this until I saw the photo of him in the Mixer, I urge you to have a look at it. it's so uncannily like a cats anus I actually found myself reporting myself to the RSPCA animal porn division just for staring at it. I must add, I only looked at it for research purposes. (well if it works for Pete Townsend..)

The fact that Amy Winehouse is a regular Good Mixer only goes to show how bad things have got. Apparently she goes in there to play pool and chill. Chill? Her? Wondering around in the middle of the night with a lolly pop in her mouth looking like some demented version of the Turin shroud, no thanks? If that's 'chilling' then please someone set fire to my legs.

What the owners of the Good Mixer have failed to understand is that the Britpop loving 25-35 year olds would still probably drink here if the gaff was tarted up a little bit, a lick of paint, a new cloth for the pool table, empty the sanitary bins once every few weeks, that sorta thing. The niche for a genuine Britpop pub in London hasn't really been filled. And where better for said pub to be? Why the home of Britpop boozing of course. I'm sure you could get Echobelly or Salad to open up the new establishment, its not like they have worked since is it?

Failing that just sort the fucking jukebox out yeah? 3 songs for a quid? Breathe deeper, daydreamer.