There are hundreds of pubs like this across Britain and although they’re very handy for anyone wanting a “civilised” meal with “the guys”, I’m not sure these same diners would appreciate the Plimsoll. It isn’t a shiny-floored, exorcised former boozer with its heart dragged out, replaced with heavily styled guinea fowl on white china and gelato of the day, Noble Isle hand soap, piles of neatly folded Egyptian cotton hand towels and a soothing George Ezra compilation floating into the private dining room. T he Plimsoll is a pub down a side road in Finsbury Park, north London, doing an ebullient trade serving burgers and more, that knows exactly what it is.