The place is massive—converted from a wharf, obviously—so it’s got that industrial-chic thing going on. Exposed beams, nautical ropes, and a bar that stretches further than your auntie’s gossip at a family wedding. You half-expect a ship captain to walk in and demand a rum.
But here’s the thing: it’s calm. Not the kind of calm where you feel judged if you cough too loud, but the kind where you can spread your newspaper across a table the size of a truck and nobody bats an eye. Miracle.
Breakfast: The Great British Recovery Vehicle
You haven’t lived until you’ve ordered a full English at the Sun Wharf after a heavy night. The plate arrives like a meaty fortress—bacon, eggs, beans, hash browns, and a slice of black pudding that stares at you like a guilty secret. It’s cheap, it’s cheerful, and it’s exactly what your hangover ordered.
Pro tip: bring a friend who’s good at dividing food. Otherwise, you’ll end up with bean juice on your elbow and a defiant hash brown you can’t fit in your mouth. Classic.
New Sun Wharf pub at London Bridge – The Thames Path by Leigh Hatts
