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I believe that the Sir Richard Steele pub has a place in English legend. When the "grand old Duke of York" caused his ten thousand men to march up and down a hill, it was surely Haverstock Hill they covered because of the famous song's emphasis on being "halfway up". Therefore, something must have happened at the halfway point, that 'something' being precisely this pub.

Thanks to its warren-like downstairs design, the wind-sheltered garden (still visible from the street so you can't hide from your friends passing by), and the large upstairs bar and performance area, the Sir Richard Steele could easily accommodate at least a company of the Yorkish army whether they came by Tube to Belsize Park, or arrived by the 168 or C11 buses which pass close by.

Live performances, for free, most nights of the week make for an astonishing variety of experience. Whoever books the music has an ear for quality: arrive at 9pm to hear two hours of serious working musicians playing serious music, which always delights, at no extra charge to you; and acoustically, too, meaning you can still talk when you wish (but not during the bass solo, please). They even have the piano tuned regularly.

This is a pub of character, with characters. Open during the day as well as the evening, it is a haven for rest and honest debate by people from all walks of life, and it is not expected that one should iron one's shirt before coming here. The heavily tattooed gentleman near the door one afternoon in February seemed to have gained more useful experience from his years than any of my guests, and his dog was a joy as a centre of attention. But then the debate between the maths lecturer, the professor of sociology and the BBC producer at the bar caught my slightly wandering ear for a while, before I settled next to my landlady, a DJ and a friend who is learning saxophone and piano in between teaching her children the ways of the world. It is not a place for a more formal, private dining experience, but the traditional pub tables and chairs allow plenty of discoveries by proximity to be made. Find more characters on a Saturday night upstairs, when the pub hosts its regular comedy club which, again, has an emphasis on quality which often hits the target.

Your eyes will not cease to wander inside the pub. It is as if an art gallery, a museum of 20th-century artefacts and an anti-gravity machine have combined to cram every corner, wall and ceiling with paintings of a dark and evocative character. Classical themes juxtapose themselves against occasional neon designs, old advertising hoardings and bakelite design classics which show differing sides to their characters by day and by night. The owners of this pub also run The Pineapple in Kentish Town, a more secluded alternative with a less crowded interior.

Service seems good here (including the real ales), the bar staff have always been friendly to me, and your stay can be enhanced by the Thai food which is freshly available most days of the week until mid-way through the evening. Closing time as a whole seems usually to be midnight (an hour after the music must stop), which feels reasonable given the Sir Richard Steele's place in a residential area and its proximity to the harem of late-night indulgence that marks the end of Chalk Farm Road. And that is the time you complete the perambulation of the Duke of York's army: march back down from half-way up Haverstock Hill if you wish your night to continue past all our bedtimes.

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It is possible to see the Bartok Bar in many lights, depending on the time of day one visits, or the night of the week. The lights certainly become more red the later the hour becomes. The matters that are in common between all times and days, though, are that one may buy and consume drinks here, that its location is fearsomely close to The Roundhouse, and that its opening times are among the most civilised in London.

'Civilised' also applies to the staff and management, in my experience. But, then, it is my policy never to leave helpless with inebriation (but sometimes with mirth), and always to acknowledge the difficult job that the door staff have, at the last bar open in town. Inappropriate dress is frequently turned away. Check your shoes, and don't wear caps. Frankly, when all the stars in all the skies have burned their ways to oblivion, and the heat death of the Universe is at hand, and all fundamental particles are heading for the final, cold, black, icy rest, the last place open will be the Bartok Bar, and its near-neighbour the Marathon Kebab Restaurant (Licenced), q.v., and their customers will most likely be quite happy about the whole cosmos thing.

During the day, a variety of well-served drinks including cocktails, and light snacks are available: effuseries of fresh coffee also satisfy the customers. But at night, the music policy is a cut above most local bars' offerings, and it is often carefully themed not only for dancing but also with careful regard to the integrity of the musical mix. DJ Joe Atari, a widely-travelled and experienced music organiser and composer, is a case in point.

Sometimes, I have been here to find myself alone in a crowd, in order to think amid the noise; and sometimes I have found unusually long-lasting friends and contacts, even places safely to live. There is nothing particularly magical about this place -- turn up, talk, drink, dance if you wish, drink a lot if you wish, go home incredibly late; but its staff and clientele in the main repay any respect that customers genuinely offer them. The proximity to the N28 and N31 bus stop, and Chalk Farm Tube station is a gift to the adventurous. Local licenced cab companies may be found very nearby on Adelaide Road by the Tube station.

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