FOR quite a while this 16th century inn stood empty and forlorn; a noble building which lies at the head of historic George Street, it was a testament to the malaise in the pub industry.

The vogue now is for chic and minimalist bars with traditional hostelries losing the battle for the big bucks but at least retaining a semblance of character and integrity.

However, one tidy refit later and the Tudor is back in business and looks to have re-established itself as one of the city's popular watering holes.

There is not a great deal you can change about a Grade One listed building but the architects have tidied up the somewhat decrepit interior and given it a spring-cleaned feel.

The decor may be bland and uninspiring, but it's a definite improvement on its former ambiance, best described as an alcoholics' squat.

The Tudor is a pub which does pretty much what it says on the tin. And that does not mean an Elizabethan-themed bar with pictures of Francis Drake on the wall.

Thank God I hear you cry.

What it does offer is good service, reasonable prices and an unpretentious air which appeals to unfashionable types like me.

There is a big screen for footy fans, fruit machines for idiots and a good view out onto Verulam Road.

On a Friday night it's great to watch intoxicated buffoons dicing with death as they try and negotiate their way across the road to take advantage of the Tudor's late opening hours.

For history buffs and American tourists there are also helpful plaques informing you how awestruck you need to be at the building's impressive heritage.

For me, though, the finishing touch is the chap who turns up at weekends to play the most disparate collection of records I have ever heard.

Yes, the Tudor must be the only place in town where Eric Clapton goes down as well as Eminem.

Poignant stuff.

AB