By Appointment Only, Liverpool Street

Dwarfed by Bishopsgate's rampaging glass towers, all ornate Ottoman tiling and Moorish styling with additional help from Russell Sage Studios, I'm told, By Appointment Only is set in a rare beauty I'm keen to revisit - The Victorian Bath House. Previously a nightclub, after a prolonged dry spell, the heavenly hammam has reopened as a bar-cum-events space. Tonight, the only soaks in evidence are fellow hooch Hoovers, ministered to by a liveried 'butler' in a make-believe Belle Époque gentlemen's club. It's a hackneyed theme that's elswhere been done well - at Mr. Fogg's of Mayfair - and badly... at far too many others... like the ludicrous lair that was House of Wolf on Islington's Upper Street. I invite a PR/ event organiser chum along for an evening that should be more full of Eastern promise than a box of Fry's Turkish Delight. On arrival, we're offered complimentary coupes of fancy fizz. Nice touch. Sadly, it's as watery and flat as The Fens and is to Champagne, what some hopeless howler on Britain's Got F***-All Talent,  is to Aretha Franklin. Alarm bells ring. Unfazed, our butler scuttles off and reappears with what I take to be Prosecco. "Are you ready for your cocktail adventure?' he beams. We are. Problem is, nothing on a fanciful list floats our boats. Peanut butter rum and berry juice mix? Nope! Wash, Rinse Repeat? Sounds like a root canal session at the dentist's. Classic Shambles? (I quote) 'A couple of apple pies from our neighbours at McDonalds, dropped into a vat of Somerset Brandy.' Well, would YOU? Nothing is winking at me. I'll have to go off menu.

Me: "Might I try your home-infused quince and blue cheese gin... in a dry martini, please?" 
Butler: "urm....gin in a martini glass? I don't think we can do that. But we can make you a classic cocktail if you prefer." 
Me (discombobulated): "What could be more classic than a classic gin martini?"
Butler: "Vodka and lemonade? Whisky and Coke?"

Well that's sure to stretch those 'expert mixologists' here to 'delight your palate with largesse and liberation' (sic). At their lightly stocked, panto set bar that recalls a display fixture at the Cowdenbeath Co-Op circa the Coronation and rationing books, the experts are at work. PR pal settles for rosemary and lavender-infused gin and tonic. Poured from a Tanqueray bottle, served With Fever-Tree tonic water, it's overpoweringly perfumed and strident on the nose.

 "I'd rather drink gin and Vim!" she grimaces. 

I opt for the 'modern sophistication' that is the STFH - aka 'Salted Toffee From Hipflask' (sic). Pre-made, served from a hot water bottle-sized silver flask, it is presented with something lumpy, brown and wrinkly on a glass plate (pictured).  

"Eeew! That looks like a specimen diseased adenoid" announces my date just as I'm on the point of popping into my gob what turns out to be a dried date, the ideal partner to my drink..apparently. Having spent the previous two hours sampling great single malt cocktails at excellent nearby new whisky bar, Black Rock, this recherché rinse is, to put it mildly, a bit of a let-down. To my tastes, STFH is Simply Too F****** Horrid for words. But I'll try. Imagine scotch infused with Werther's Originals and the melted contents of the not-so-select selection box your great-auntie Marjorie gave you for Christmas 1969! 'So good, it's probably illegal' trumpets the menu. 'Should be!' tut tuts date reaching for her coat. Not keen to prolong our 'by appointment' disappointment at The Bath House, she's after an early bath at home. The following day, I scrutinise the menu's florid small print. "All our house infusions are presided over by Mr. PJ Hobbs who tinkers and plays as our 'Booze Mechanic'". On last night's showing, they might as well have hired Kevin Webster, Coronation Street's resident boozy mechanic. Unless new owners Camm and Hooper - the brains also behind Tanner and Co of Bermondsey Street - up their game dramatically, I won't be diving in again any time soon.

7 Bishopsgate EC2M 3TJ  3813 7114
 http://www.victorianbathhouse.co.uk

Ropewalk, Bermondsey

The dudes at Disappearing Dining Club have shoehorned a permanent cocktail bar into the Fagan-esque treasure trove that is the London Architectural Salvage and Supply Co in foodie enclave, Maltby Street. In artfully dodgy Dickensian surroundings where accents, tastes and, inevitably, prices are more New- than Old Bermondsey, settle in at a bar salvaged from a Victorian barge for the £8 likes of Diamond Black - a Rittenhouse rye, Calvados and Strega Manhattan and The Long Hello (a Cava cocktail made with apple brandy, elderflower liqueur and bitters) or a Plymouth sloe gin sour. There’s no food; customers are encouraged to bring in snacks (from any of the numerous stalls in the alleyway outside) to enjoy with Modus Hoperandi and Hiver Honey craft beer and Picpoul , Primitivo and similarly unpretentious vino by the glass and bottle. Parties can be accommodated in the atmospheric jumble of Ropewalk’s antiques-stuffed dining rooms, where the full Disappearing Dining Club experience is available both to customers who book in advance and at various ticketed events.

LASSCO, 41 Maltby Street SE1 3793 0202 www.disappearingdiningclub.co.uk 

For more of my reviews, search 'bars' at www.squaremeal.co.uk 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Kentish Town

In the grim, grey, not-so-gay days of the 1970s, any unfortunate bent gent caught hanging out in the gents risked being felt up...only, not in the way he'd hoped for. For Lily Law, loitering lads were an all-too-easy cop. Nowadays, 'cottaging' (ask your grandpa') has been rendered redundant by Gaydar, Grindr and, if you like it rough, Recon. As for those caught short, after the old public conveniences became an inconvenient drain on councils' resources and shut, McDonalds finally had a purpose. Squatting every high street in the land, the ubiquitous Yankee burger chain is a blessing to bladders about to burst (Purchase, neither necessary nor advised). Lately, however, London's long-abandoned privvies are being snapped up by shrewd bar owners. Where once randy buggers' cocks cruised tail, cocktails are now being served. Bermondsey Arts http://tinyurl.com/oq4akhd; The Convenience in Homerton http://tinyurl.com/o57bjtd; WC at Clapham Common: the latest reconfigured loos to add to a growing list are in Kentish Town where William Borrell, owner of Vestal Vodka, has done a decent job (enough with the puny puns!) with his own khazi conversion. A mix of original Edwardian gubbins, jumble store jollies and paperbacks by the yard (something to read on the throne?) set the scene for a short list that will be regularly refreshed. Spend a penny (800 pennies, to be precise) on china teacup serve El Dorado 12 hot buttered rum; Portobello Road gin sour, Rhubarb and Custard, served in a Bird’s tin; or a Bulleit-based Gentlemen’s Old-Fashioned that bungs butterscotch and Werther’s Originals into the mix. Launched in December 2014, a steady trickle through Borrell's bogs' doors suggests this will be no flash in the pan. I arrived late, so I can't report whether they do 2-4-1 happy hour cocktails, known in such establishments as a BOGOF deal, natch.
2 Highgate Road NW5 1JY @ladyandgentsbar 

Bermondsey Arts Centre, Bermondsey

Cottaging: Joe Orton was a fan. George Michael too, splashed all over the news, busted for waving his Whammer, sent to the slammer and fined $500 when the pretty police observed him 'engaged in a lewd act' in an LA loo. But why any wanker would hang out on the off-chance of servicing Banker Billy's willy in a water closet, before the pinstripe closet heads home to the wife and kids in Croydon (ahem) beats me. Perhaps the idea of being picked up by the fuzz, the smell of industrial strength disinfectant and urine, and being shagged in a  stall in sixty seconds flat, free STD included, is too potent a thrill to resist? Deep in the bowels of Bermondsey, these former London lavs can, in future, expect to find me loitering with intent, long into the night. With great drinks and its on-the-money mix of art deco, Gotham City grunge and 50s local authority utilitarian, this film noir bar is unlikely to be a flash in the pan. The venue’s young owner, George Garnier - a St Martin’s fine art grad who now rents affordable work spaces to local artists - originally envisioned the space as a daytime caff/ social hub for his tenants. Research, however, indicated that what today’s budding Basquiat or Banksy most wants is not soup and a sarnie, but a cool place to chill until 2 a.m getting bladdered on recherché rinses: chrysanthemum (£10) and Colias (Stoli, saké and Licor 43) among them. Beers from The Kernel, Picpoul de Pinet (£25), French bubbles, share platters, renegade rock, raw retro soul, and occasional live unplugged sets are perfect for a new generation of underground cottage loafers. The only bummer is, in 2014, to spend a penny here (French 75 and as bog roll thrown in) you'll pay £9. But with drinks as good as half hardy (an El Dorado 8, basil and quince sour), Georgy Boy (Garnier, not Michael) ain't exactly taking the piss. 

102A Tower Bridge Road SE1 4TP www.bermondseyartsclub.co.uk

A version of this and my other reviews is at www.squaremeal.co.uk

214 Bermondsey, The Borough

I wish I had bought a pad on Bermondsey Street when early adopter friends first spotted its soaraway potential and moved in (£300k to £2 million in 18 years? Jammy bastards!)  As things stand, I can just about stand you a round of drinks in one of this stylish enclave's numerous bars - The Garrison, Hide, East Village and now 214, a reboot of the cellar bar at Italian face-filling opportunity, Antico. Small comfy, cosy, all soft lighting honey-tone woods and tabasco leather, 214 eschews big design statement - a plus in my book in a city that now has more 'speakeasies' than the Chicago Mob could collect protection money from in a month of Sundays. In the absence of Bugsy Malone trappings, the adult theme here is a stonking range of great gins - I counted 50 on a smallish back bar where premium rums and whiskeys also vie for attention. Flights of three gins (from £12) come with house tonic - dry, peppery, earthy, bark-y, bitter, Fernet Branca-ish. Gin cocktails include aviation; Bermondsey negroni using local gin, Jensen; The Copenhagen (Bols Genever, Heering Cherry, lime and bitters, good at £9) and The Peck'em, SE15-distilled Little Bird shaken with Aperol, Cinzano B, grapefruit juice and bitters - more Portofino than Peckham to my mind. Gin junkies will be happy to find Death's Door,  Gilpin's, No.209, Bathtub Navy Strength, Xoriger various genevers and  current pash of mine, Saffron from Dijon's Gabriel Boudier. Gordon's? The barman tuts - although I retain a soft spot for the old girl having mixed it, aged 11, with bitter lemon and Dad's Eau Sauvage in an early experiment that led to a pubescent high I will never forget....followed by a tanned hide and tears before bedtime. My only gripe is 214's happy hour. If you aspire to owning a gaff in this deeply desirable faubourg, you're chained to a desk between 5 and 6pm, surely?

214 Bermondsey Street SE1 3TQ 7403 6875 www.214-bermondsey.co.uk/ 

Shortwave, Bermondsey: Alice House, West Hampstead

A des res with balcony overlooking remodelled Bermondsey Square might set you back £500k plus: Small beer for a vista of a windswept plaza, a Sainsbury’s Local, a pétanque piste and new architecture that belongs in some faceless European dump - Maastricht, maybe? You do get a choice of venues for your evening kir, however: The glitzy airport-chic lounge at Alfie’s Hotel for example, or Del Aziz; a branch of a useful Moroccan-y deli/ bar/tea-room chain, it features a transparent glass floor over the excavated foundations of a medieval monastery - ‘make mine a Benedictine and brandy!’ Finally, there’s Shortwave Cinema and Café Bar - reason to toddle further south than fine gastro’, The Garrison. The actual cinema is a 50-seater arthouse cutie, its seats rescued from the old Electric in Portobello, while its jolly, red and white bar suggests a Profumo era motorway service station - still considered a glamourous proposition in 1963. We drink lager from the bottle, but the bar is set to introduce a lively list of cocktails; Cinema Paradiso?  I’m told The Alice House (pictured), new from the peeps behind Soho’s Graphic and 22 Below, has been wowing West Hampstead since it opened a few weeks ago. We rock up to find it spookily empty; perhaps my default grumpy hung-over mien combined with a volcanic eruption on my dial has sent locals scurrying off elsewhere? But with staff outnumbering punters, why such lackadaisical service? What we do eventually get is good: lychee and ginger martini and kumquat caipirinha from a cracking list of £6.50 + cocktails for date and Virgin Marys for Spotty Muldoon. Wines start at £13, burgers are fair and mezze including the intriguingly named ‘garlic rosemary deep’  boringly beige. With its well-stocked central bar, groovy lights, deconstructed interior and decked terrace, I’d have been thrilled had Alice opened up in my ‘hood...circa 1998.

Shortwave Cinema and Café Bar 10 Bermondsey Square SE1 7357 6845

The Alice House, 283 West End Lane NW6 7431 8818