Westbourne, The

Now then - we're the first to admit that we used to shun this place like a hard-done-by ex. But then a mate of a mate started to fancy the barman, and so we found ourselves hanging out here and we gotta say: it sure as hell grows on you. Don't be put off by the packs of sock-less wonders who still think knotted sweaters worn around the shoulders are a sign of virility, or the brooding women who smoke too much and flick ash on your coat without saying sorry. Lurking amongst them are some really quite beautiful people and the cheese dinner is Christmas on a plate. As popular as a hot-tub full of Carmen Electras, this is an absolute cornerstone of Notting Hill boozing.

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