This scene is burnt
On Saturday evening I was sat in a Dalston pub with my flatmate, waiting for one of our friends, in various states of sobriety across north London, to come up with a plan of action for the night. I was barely on my second drink before my phone went off. The conversation went something like this,
Me: What shall we do later?
Jo: The Hawley is on fire.
Me: Really? But it’s usually so shit on a Saturday night….
Jo: No. I mean literally. It’s on fire. I’m trying to get to my flat but they’ve blocked off the whole of Chalk Farm Road. I can’t see anything but fire engines.
It transpired that a sizeable chunk of Camden was currently ablaze, an unspectacular weekend in February thrown into chaos: Tubes shut, roads closed, pints abandoned.
Later, back at our flat, we watched the news. I haven’t watched the news on a Saturday night since I had glandular fever three years ago. The thing that struck me most, as we sat there, my friend Helen repeatedly banging on about this being worse than Heath Ledger’s death, was the report’s fixation with the Hawley Arms being caught up in the fire.
A whole chunk of Camden town went up in flames on Saturday night, including the lock and the Stable market, but all the media seemed bothered by was the demise of one average-sized pub that just happened to have more celebrity regulars than your average local. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I’m with the media. I’d like to point out that I’m not one of these people who frequents the Hawley because of its fame, or in some vain attempt to be cool (and I’m as surprised about this as anyone), it was just a convenient place to go. Jo planned to celebrate her 23rd birthday there next week, just as she celebrated her 20th.
But some days, you could sit there, and it really would be the embodiment of it’s own tabloid legend. One wet Tuesday night a few weeks ago, I happened to be drinking gin and eating Hula-Hoops out of a mug at a table which we happened to be sharing with Noel Fielding of The Mighty Boosh fame. At around half nine, Sadie Frost came and picked him up and they sloped off to a Morrissey gig. His vacated seat was then swiftly filled by a skinny boy in a trilby scribbling furiously into a battered notebook, who soon popped outside for a fag, asking me to mind his stuff. He said I could look at the notebook if I wanted. It was that kind of arty, bohemian feel to the place. People do tend to go on about its celebrity patronage, but to be honest, it’s the only pub I’ve come across in my four years in London that exuded that kind of trust and familiarity in its clientele.
In some ways, I suppose, its closure will be a bit of a blessing. It will give the cool-hunters, and wannabes (not long ago I saw Nikki from Big Brother in there, the landlord did not look thrilled about this) a chance to find somewhere new to gawk at boys in bands and attempt to get into one of the free sheets. For some of us however, it is a desperate shame. On a personal level, I am gutted. I never once went there without running into someone I knew, the unfeasibly good-looking barmen broke at least two hearts in my social circle. On the one occasion I inadvisedly showed up with Dame Edna’s Sloaney son, I still ended up meeting what would become one of my very best friends.
More than that, it has been a bar that has defined its time in pop culture, playing host to some of it’s biggest music acts (Amy, Pete and Razorlight), TV stars (Noel and Julian, Alex and Alexa) and even the occasional film star, (Kirsten Dunst), and not to mention held the best illicit after parties of the garage rock revival. Furthermore, it has the nicest owners, and is probably the only A-list venue in London not to bother with something as pretentious as a guest-list. So just in case the consistent news coverage of it’s demise was beginning to confuse you, that’s what all the fuss is about.
We are listening to Elbow
Christ on a bike. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read. Goodbye Arena - I used to love you so…
Comment by Derek Calhoun — 11/02/08
Slow day, is it? Save your sentimental ramblings for your diary, Ms Moat.
Comment by Ian — 12/02/08
Wow, it was just like the Great Fire of London, only for the fact that no one died or even slightly injured and a shitty pub and market got a bit charred, but other than that its exactly the same.
Future generations will be taught about the Great Fire of Camden Town in history class, god bless our ignorance to important global matters.
Comment by ChanceIG — 12/02/08
God, GET A GRIP! It was a rank boozer anyway.
Comment by Gulliver — 13/02/08
I’m impressed, this young lady is on first name terms with pretty much everyone: ‘Amy, Pete & Razorlight’ and lets not forget ‘the unfeasibly good-looking barmen’ people.
Her toes must be bruised black - I have never witnessed such a name droppy article in all my days of reading Arena and I have 10 year old+ editions that are tucked away in my loft somewhere.
Maybe its my age? What in the name of god has happened here?
Comment by Jody T — 14/02/08
Wow. Let’s all move to London and drink gin and eat Hula-hoops out of mugs.
Fuck’s sake.
“Cool-hunters and wannabes”, eh? In other words: you.
Right?
Comment by Andy Terr — 14/02/08
She’s a good writer and she’s writing about the scene she knows. It just happens to be the one in the papers. I’d rather read her column than people moaning about how she shouldn’t be upset at the loss of something important to her because ‘nobody died’. Sod off.
Comment by Mippy — 17/02/08
Oh for God’s sake, leave her alone. Do any of you even know the definition of the word ‘blog’? Allow wikipedia to help;
“Blogs provide commentary or news on a particular subject; others function as more personal online diaries.”
Hmm, seems like that’s what she’s doing to me.
And at least she can write, which is more than can be said for a good 60% of today’s ‘young people’. If you don’t like it, there’s plenty of pretentious, global-warming-will-kill-us-all ramblings over at the Guardian blog for you to gorge yourselves on.
Comment by JW — 18/02/08
Holly, so you want to be a writer? That really should mean a basic foundation in spelling and grammar. So why not pop over to the subbing department and ask them to explain ‘it’s’ and ‘its’ to you?
Comment by nikkijay — 19/02/08
Thanks Nikki. This really raises two points: 1) The genitive apostrophe applies in every case but its, to avoid confusion with it is. 2) Hollie is spelled with an ie, not a y. The Subbing Department
Comment by Arena — 19/02/08
Leave Hollie alone. It’s exactly the sort of thing a blog like this should be writing about.
Jody_T, of course you wouldn’t see this sort of thing in the magazine because the mag’s monthly and it would date instantly. Websites allow an instant response and this works.
Sure, it’s a far too ‘me and my mates’ but the idea is spot on. This pub really was relevant to the music scene just like The Good Mixer was back in my era in the early 90s.
I’d rather read relevant social commentary from people who know the topic they are writing about – even if it is just a pub – than pages of nonsense about fashion and trinkets that 90 per cent of us can’t afford, like we’re currently seeing a lot of in the actual mag. In fact, I stopped buying the mag a few issues ago.
But next time let’s have less about Jo’s birthday and more about the wider relevance this pub had. Read a few of Chuck Klosterman’s books Hollie, I reckon: a) You’d really like him or really hate him - either makes it worth the effort b) His pop-culture commentary is just the sort of thing that would really suit this site.
Comment by FLETCH — 19/02/08
Hey Hollie,
Do you know Max?
You’d get on like a house on fire.
Or a boozer.
Let’s fly you to Goa.
Thus taking Hollie to the Max.
Comment by weezle — 22/02/08
Camden is a bloke who arrives 4 years late to every party and wears his Wayfarers at night.
Camden’s best friend is a hair straightener and, like most gnarly rock gods, fights all the attempts of fashion and still favours the old fringe-in-the-eyes bit so as to mask his advancing bald spot.
I only live in Camden myself because I’m young and somebody once told me this place ‘Gilgamesh’ was going to be the new Terminal 5, I thought that’d be handy.
I’m also partial to a bit of argy-bargy with the hoards of Spanish tourists who, thank christ, as yet can’t pronounce Shawdutch.
The fire did improve things a bit but I still wouldn’t been scene(seen) out in Camden for quids, well at least not north of the station as that would be quite wrong.
Comment by Oscar — 6/03/08