The definitive (and only) guide to going out in St Helens. Scores are out of five pints.
Dodgy underground pub with wooden panels and no obvious fire escape. Owner used to have a policy of only employing attractive barmaids with big tits. Sadly no longer the case. Singularly responsible for the popularity of Karaoke in the early 90s. Would be better suited as a seedy soho-type strip joint
Everyone barr me has had a baptism in Steak Hellens it seems, but I used to keep quiet about my inadequacies and just nod politely when this local icon came up in conversation. Charcoal Grill, where have you been all my life! I loved it. Been to some classy places in my time and some right dives, but The Charcoal was something else. Having never been there, you see the tables and chairs as you walk towards it from the back of Wilkies, big sign saying entrance in the fan light over the door. All the while looking at the tables and chairs, the empty tables and chairs, you walk into the vestibule and try to open the door to the restaurant, it's closed, locked even. How were we supposed to know it was upstairs? Anyway we tramp the staircase past the bogs and up to the fella chuffing on a fag, who took our name. I mean sat there, in his parker smoking what appeared to be a cleaning ladies fag (Superkings I think) our Maitre d' was our first taste of what we were due to behold. In front of us were a gaggle of pensioners, who had tried to time it so that they just got in for the Earlybird menu, but because of traffic they had missed out. Gutted they were, but it just added to the spectacle. We walked into the bar. If your nans living room had been done out like Peasley Cross Labour by Lawrence LLewellyn-Bowen, this is what it would look like. We sat off and ate the crisps and peanuts and drank from our competitively charged glasses and chose our meals... well the menu, not fantastically wide in variation, sounded appealing. Aberdeen Angus steaks, with Au Poivre sauce (there is nothing quite as reassuring as someone correcting your French in a proper Telinz accent). We were shown to our table and within minutes our starters arrived. They came with salad and bread (cut diagonally with the crusts taken off, nice touch). I looked at the serving of butter on my side plate I could see the bread was dry, so I picked up a piece and started to butter, I felt my hand was slippy, something did not compute, it was like the butter was going straight through the bread and on to my hand. I turned the bread over. It had already been buttered and presented butter side down, just like me mam used to do. I could have openly cried there and then if I wasn't so up tight, beautiful. I dipped the double greased butty in my pepper pot and stuck it in my mouth before any of the wonderful staff noticed my faux Parr. The thing that made the waiting on staff extra special is that they were so nice, they never rushed you, weren't over every two minutes asking if everything is alright, they just let us have a good time and served and bussed our table with smiles and kind words. The steak itself was lovely, steak and chips as a meal just has to touch something pre-pagan within us all, we ate every morsel and felt good about it. The desert menu came back. I didn't know what an Apple Betty was before The Charcoal, but I do now, I'd recommend it to anyone to round off a meal. We then had a coffee to conclude, I decided on a liqueur version with brandy as a digestive, it came... wait for it... in a red wine glass! Attention to detail or what! We supped up, got the bill and left, happy and content with the start to the evening. We will certainly be back before long, they say that it is never as good as the first time and that you will always be searching for that first rush of euphoria; well if that's the case, it should be a load of fun searching. Everybody in Telinz has a right to go The Charcoal Grill and everyone should take the opportunity.
Now frequented by former Nelson regulars in their 30s/40s, singing Hey Baby, ooh aah, and pretending to enjoy themselves before getting back to the babysitter. Themed around Spanish surrealist painter, which means a few trips to Ikea for some predictable framed prints
Took over where the Nelson left off. Proof that NatWest Bank never turn branches into 'trendy' wine bars. Made famous by employing Warrior from Gladiators as a bouncer, before he got involved in drug dealing (or maybe not before)
Long standing student favourite. Gothic type traditional pub with fascist landlord. Takes three years to get served because the bar staff always serve the locals first. Don't go during summer or any time when students are at home. Unless your name is Paul Calf - then you can go there to twat some posh bastards
Up market student alternative to the Gerard. Polo neck jumpers, Gauloises, newspaper or book optional. Very generous host who gives away free beer. Can't complain about this bar for the above reason
Well Me and me mate went to Sherdley show in 2002, and in the corner by the dirt ramps was a old tent. We decided to take a closer look....Inside was an old Gypsey woman covered in gold. She told my mate shed been expecting him. So i had to leave the tent....He came out and explained, "Shes given me this letter, but i cannot open it for a whole year, Anyone else can read it but i am not allowed to see it or it will bring bad luck"....So the next day he phones me up and says, "Me Wifes Kicked Me Out"....I asked why and he said, "Well, i showed her the letter and explained she cannot tell me what it says...but read it..., so she read it and kicked me out....." He then went to his mothers and the same happaened there, his mother threw him out after reading this letter...shes practically disowned him. Hed had enough so he thought hes lay low for a year and keep the letter to himself until he was able to read it...... Hes Been at the local YMCA and has been pushin Big Issues outside woolies in town for a year.... Yesterday was his Final Day....so he thought....ill go somewhere REALLY safe to open this letter.....So he hired a boat and floated out into Car Mill Dam.... He Removed the letter from his top pocket......opened it........and then it blew off.
Downstairs from the club of the same name. Equally-bad music policy, full of ripped bodybuilders in tight T shirts on the pull. Be careful not to spill someone's pint
Former Applebys venue, decked out a la Liverpool wine bar. Real DJs who don't talk, actually mix. Despite the name, there are no references to rugby inside the bar at all. However, bog roll is extremely difficult to reach after having a shit
