Why there?

The Hawley Arms is the indie boy-frequented, modern-day equivalent of the Met Bar (which, you may remember, was dead fashionable, circa 1997). It's the focus for all manner of celebrity debauchery and drunkenness. Unlike the Met Bar, it's not private or prohibitively expensive, it's not presided over by scary clipboard fascists dressed in seven shades of Roberto-Cavalli-style slapper-wear, you won't get kicked out of your banquette just because someone A-list has rocked up, and it's definitely a pub - a proper jewel of a boozer. Er, with a myspace page. This is a pub that blogs, chaps.

Celebrities like it, you say?

Yes! Oh, they all go to the Hawley Arms ... from your old-school Met Bar, people like Liam Gallagher and his bird Nicole All Saint, to new-generation urban celebutantes, like Peaches Geldof. It's just down the road from the Barfly, Camden's premier grubbily hip music venue with blacked-out windows; so they all roll into the pub after gigs. Why, my good friends Johnny and Andy off Razorlight chose it as a venue for their last public punch-up.

They're not actually your friends are they?

Yes, they are! I went on holiday with them!

No. You went to interview them on tour, and they didn't like you.

They did! I'm sure they did ... Anyway, Razorlight are currently the stars of a photographic exhibition held upstairs in the Arms. But listen! When I popped in on the off-chance that I might score with some v fetching, cardigan-and-skinny-jean-clad indie boy bass-guitarist type, who did I find snogging, but Sadie Frost and Alex 'Popworld' Zane? They'd chosen that particular night and that venue, to come out in public!

Did you stop ogling the famous people long enough to experience the pub?

Naturally. I drank some manner of palatable house red wine from a huge glass, and ate the Arms' signature bar snack of jelly beans;

I pretended I knew all the punk-pop-rock anthems that played on the sound system, and I also pretended that I didn't mind not having a proper seat, but minimal access to two rock-hard square inches of a wooden bench.

Oh, and I really hoped that Razorlight might turn up and wave to me, thus totally impressing the drainpipes off my indiefied drinking companions. They didn't.

And what of the cocktail situation, so-called Cocktail Girl?

The Hawley Arms is not what I'd call a cocktail venue. Oh, oh - unless the cocktail in question is an ultra-buzzy mix of pretty, pale young things, creative energy infused with raw, youthful, rocky poppy testosterone - and ale.

You are vile.

The Hawley Arms, Castlehaven Road, London NW1, myspace.com/thehawleyarms