In the book of Exodus, central character God famously castigated the wandering Israelites for their worship of a false idol, in this case a Golden Calf. After a period of similar aimless moochin’ about, I randomly find myself in West London, Westbourne Grove to see another fêted bovine- The Cow.

It’s hard to ascertain to what extent it’s actually Irish, a bit like the Devonshire, but on arrival, there is a massive tricolour hanging from the front, so that might be a giveaway lads. The USP of the Cow is its wondrous combination of Seafood and Guinness, a dream partnership that could well have been concocted by those marketing geniuses at Guinness Inc, but I’m a sucker for those nostalgic posters of porter + associated mollusks, including my fav in which a crab offers to go for a drink with you. Why would you want to drink with a crab? Would never get his round. Too shellfish. There are also posters saying to “go native” by which they mean having an oyster with Guinness but make it sound like you’re going to run off in hiding with Anti-Treaty forces somewhere outside Thurles. Table service here is top drawer to be fair – pints are on the go constantly.

Having spent the vast majority of my time in North London Irish pubs, I am swiftly reminded that this is Notting Hill territory by the ratio of signet rings and gillets on show. Also take into account the pint here is upwards of £7, having had superior ones just recently for about £5 . So the Cow is a good shout if it’s that aforementioned dream combo you want, or for some reason you find yourself spirtually adrift in Westbourne Grove. Minus points though for the “Splitting the G” bants from the gillet’ed clientele. Guinness is just a nice drink , not a lifestyle and/or a hilarious parlour game. Time to smote this sacred Cow once and for all .