In the early '90s gameshow The Crystal Maze groups of depressingly keen outdoorsy types sprinted round an Essex aircraft hangar converted into a pastiche of various time periods - Aztec, Medieval, Futuristic etc - tryingto complete tasks in an attempt to win a pony-trekking holiday in Ullswater, or something else similarly dispiriting.
So far, so entertaining. Watching the poor oafs flail around in pool of water or fiddle with a radio-controlled car while being campily berated by Richard O'Brien was always fun, at least for this writer. But I can't say the thought of using it as the basis for a drinking venue ever occurred to me.
But the creators of Bacchus obviously thought different. It certainly seems to be doing its best to live up to the imagery of the Crystal Maze. You can choose between a plasticky reproduction of an Ancient Egyptian hallway, a plasticky reproduction of a medieval castle room, a Greek inspired section with columns, cornucopias and couches, or the extensive 18th-century drawing room.
Don't get me wrong if it sounds like I don't like Bacchus. I absolutely love it. There's a fine line where something goes from being tacky to being just gob-smackingly mind-bendingly wonderful, and Bacchus approaches that line of taste like Jonathan Edwards.
So enough about the maze, what about the crystals? What I'm trying to ask with this increasingly tortuous metaphor is whether the quality of the drinks match up to the style of the surroundings. And the answer is, sort of.
Although a minor outpost of the Greene King evil empire (on which more later), the place deserves kudos for looking after its two ales (GK IPA and Bombardier on the times I've been). Both are as nice as they ever are, in my opinion.
But although you might expect to find one or two ale-quaffing peasants here, in the Medieval zone if nowhere else, it's obviously not designed with the ale crowd in mind – as with almost everywhere else in the city,it's all about the suits of an evening.