The Harbour Inn – Are Sundays the best day to drink?
A delightful pint on the waterfront in a historic fisherman's pub.
There’s never a bad time to go to the pub.
An early-week pint feel rebellious, somehow, a tiny act of resistance against the system that tells you to live for the weekend, to stay strait-laced in case your work suffers the next day. It might be the only time you can meet a friend. Or maybe a spur-of-the-moment choice because the sun’s out. You might even savour each sip even more, knowing you’re only going to have a couple.
The midweek pint might be tied to an activity – a drink before a gig, a post-match drink with your sports team, or perhaps a work event. The drink is a useful prop, something to hold on to as you gather with a wider group of people you might not otherwise be hanging out with. The pub becomes a useful location to learn the importance of those weak social ties.
We all know what Fridays and Saturdays are about. Imagine you’d forgotten what day of the week it was. I guarantee you, you could walk into any pub in the country – and just by sensing the atmosphere you would immediately know if it was the weekend or not. The chatter’s elevated, the mood is raised, and let’s be honest we’re all having an extra pint or two. We’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow – that’s what weekends are for, right?
Then comes Sunday. For my money, Sunday afternoons might be the best time of all to go to the pub. You’ve got the mini-thrill of disobedience you get with an early week pint (but we’ve got work tomorrow!), the based-around-an-activity justification of the midweek drink (let’s go for a walk and stop at the pub!) and finally the latent hedonism left over from the night before (it’s still the weekend!). No one’s going too hard and it’s still too early to start thinking about work. It’s impossible not to be in a good mood.
Anyway, I found myself at The Harbour Inn, Newhaven, a couple of Sundays ago in the late afternoon sunshine.
A walk along the network of ex-railway lines of Warriston, past the opulent detached houses of Trinity and along the Forth shore had led here. By that time, I was absolutely ready for a pint. The Harbour Inn did not disappoint.
A Harviestoun Bitter & Twisted was exactly what I needed. Thankfully, it’s neither bitter in taste nor twisted in any way. It’s actually a fine golden ale with a slightly crisp finish. And it was served immaculately in a place which clearly takes care of its beer.
Contrary to my beer, the Harbour Inn does live up to its name. Firstly, it is by Newhaven harbour, right on the waterfront. And inside, it’s decked out with various nautical kit: coastal maps pasted to the low ceiling, world atlases on the tables, a ship’s wheel and a display of sailor’s knots on the walls. In a previous incarnation of the pub, when it was The Stone Pier, this was where the trawler fishermen drank. (Inland fishermen chose to drink at The Ship Inn opposite.)
The pub is made up of two sections. The lounge area has plenty of space but is the less impressive of the rooms. I imagine it’s where the live music takes place – the pub advertises regular jazz and blues nights on its social media. The room has a dart board, and you can also get a toastie for a couple of quid.
Where you really want to be, though, is the bar room. It’s small, requiring people to share tables. Which is no problem here, as everyone seems to know everyone and conversations criss-cross between groups. Everybody gets a greeting and farewell from the whole bar as they enter and leave the pub. As an outsider, I was immediately welcomed by the friendly crowd. Friendly even when I spilled a drop of my beer on someone’s jacket on the way from the bar to the table. While I apologised profusely, the bloke just laughed it off and told me not to worry. If that doesn’t sum up the power of the Sunday afternoon pint to put us all in a good mood, I don’t know what does.
Where is it?
Where next?
Just 10 minutes in the direction of Leith is Dreadnought, home of some of the best cask ale in Edinburgh.
Dreadnought – Worth the journey
The chaser
Some more great stuff I’ve read this week:
On a busy night, standing room only, in a pub in the suburbs, pints of Guinness are lined up, half filled, while a distracted barman deals with a complicated order. “Do you want me to finish them for you?” asks a colleague discreetly. He nods, frantic and grateful, and she winks, flicks up a thumb, picks up where he left off.
It’s difficult working behind a bar. Admittedly, my experience is pretty limited. It mostly consists of serving drinks to a) drunk management consultants in corporate hospitality lounges, b) drunk football fans trying to neck two pints at half time, or c) sober dads taking their tween daughters and their friends to pop concerts. Even so, I recognised Boak and Bailey’s vignettes of small acts of kindness among bar staff. They’re a reminder to us all to value the good people who serve us our drinks every week.
Pubs are the great third space – not work, not home – where you can let loose and socialise, or simply nurse a solo half over an hour of quiet contemplation. The past twenty years have been tough for these pint palaces, but most signs seem to point towards the industry being over the worst of it. Pubs are necessary. Pubs are fun. Pubs are captivating.
Jimmy McIntosh surely has the greatest job title in the world: He’s the pints correspondent for The Fence magazine. He also documents dead pubs in London – those which have been shuttered, demolished, turned into flats or supermarkets – on Instagram. While this piece is ostensibly about England’s capital, lots of it could easily be applied to Scotland’s capital, or any big city for that matter. He wrote the article for PoliticsHome, though it’s not really about politics, it’s about the value of our pubs. Crucially, it ends on a positive note for the future.