We walked in on a Sunday afternoon to find a dude in the corner playing percussion with a cheese grater and a happy looking chap sat at the bar handed us a shot of Jim Bean. Next up, the man started to play a slinky. That's just how they roll here, and we couldn't get enough of it.

Ten years ago the Communist’s Daughter bought up an old Nazare snack shop. They didn't change anything on the outside, except they replaced the window display with a makeshift stage and instead of sweets they sell spirits behind the counter.

The walls are tea-stained, the furniture retro and they pin foreign currency behind the bar in typical dive bar style. While propping up the bar you can examine the weathered old varnished maps, or sit at one of the eight tables that line the wall where people come to drink or write quietly by day. There’s something very social club about it – they sell pickled eggs, have a good selection of ale and there are crokinole boards available to play (we didn’t know what that was either). But by night, it’s packed as one of the most popular stalwarts in the city.

Rock out to the jukebox with half hipsters/half booze-swollen bar hounds, or brave the BYOV night (Bring Your Own Vinyl) when you’re pitted to popular vote. But, we love it best on Saturday afternoon's when the local legend that is musician Michael Johnson takes to the bar and blasts out tunes on the trumpet as he serves. The man has moves.