(time frame all late 80's/early 90's)
QEMH - fairly calm during the week, turned into a wannabe Hacienda at the weekends and certainly lived up to the 5-to-1 tag. Hi-jinks and merriment ended up on page 5 of the Sun...
Gaza Bks - never ventured in there after dark, was bad enough during naafi breaks!
Harden Bks (DKMH) - just like the being down the neighbourhood pub, bit boring really! The DJ for the bops was a big fan of House music and S'Express in particular.
BMH Rinteln - bit of a 50's nightclub feel, probably helped by Danny from A&SH propped up by the bar crooning Dean Martin songs.
Claro Bks - only went in there the once (by that point was a "wife of"), the sight of sappers standing on the pool tables lighting each others farts once was enough.
Generalising but; always has that sweet/sour/stale odour caused by generations of spilt beer, body odour, bleach and cheap air freshener. Very dark so that you don't notice the poor state of repair, torn carpets, cheap battered furniture, cigarette burns etc. Most of the ones that I have been in wouldn't have looked out of place in bladerunner.
Generally when open has a vague air of desperation and undefined menace. Anyone with half a life is down town drinking decent beer and meeting women who retain some vestige of humanity. This is the refuge of the serious drinker, the short on readies or been banned from everywhere civilised down town.
I feel like I've missed out. None of the NAFFIs I've ever used have been anything other than dull boring rip offs. The one at my present place is also the pads bar so is full of fat pads wives and there little shitty kids most of the time.
Now the Roundabout Club wasn't the arsehole of the world...but you could see it from there!
The NAAFI at Shorncliffe - not the bleeders one but the St Martin's Plain camp one - i.e. in a hut. I watched a huge WRAC watch a tiny wee PARA full screw slowly drink himself into a coma then pounce, uttering the words "I want YOU". She literally chucked him over her shoulder and waddled off with him, to do God knows what frightfulness to him. May the Lord have mercy on his soul...I think they found the bits she had left on the footie pitch the next morning.
Jesus holy christ. Full of lezzers who resemble weebles. Skint singlies trying to scrounge pints and trying to cop off with aforementioned lezzers and getting the shit kicked out of them by lezzers girlfriends.
Philistines! The Naafi at any of our camps was a place for philosophical thoughts, literary readings, poetry groups and self-improvement groups. The finest Earl Grey was served, and scones were available. Somtimes, when we were feeling a tad raffish, we may have coffee and a sausage in a bun. But in general terms, they were a place of quiet, solitude and amiable companionship. But then, we were Greenjackets!