Heathrow Terminal 5 - The Crown Rivers

Saturday 18th February 2023

The journey isn't always to the pub. Sometimes the pub is part of the journey.

Contrary to popular belief that isn't an ancient Chinese proverb but instead an explanation for my visit to Heathrow Terminal 5 and The Crown Rivers.

Heathrow Terminal 5 is the westernmost below-ground station on the entire London Underground network, and the oldest of four tube stations to be constructed this millennium to coincide with, you guessed it, the opening of Heathrow Terminal 5.

People are only at Heathrow Terminal 5 for one reason; to go elsewhere, so the station isn't one of great character, a shame if this is your first eyeballing of the UK. It does, however, have a very impressive exposed elevator system where you can watch the lift mechanism in action as it moves between the station and the arrival and departure lounges.

With check-in and security, The Crown Rivers probably doesn't meet the requirements of the 5 minute rule but once all the traditional airport faff is complete, this is the first pub you come across within Terminal 5. The bad news; it's a Wetherspoons. Now I know I said I'd avoid Wetherspoons at all costs, however, not being the first of our party to arrive at Heathrow, the decision of which pub to set up base before raiding Duty-Free had been taken out of my hands.

Complete with passengers off to all the corners of the Earth, the airport pub, regardless of its quality or association with Brexit-promoting chains, is a wonderful other worldly entity. No matter the hour, this is the place where the holiday starts. The first frontier into the escape from the real world and all its problems. There are no locals propping up the bar here, not even the frequent flyer. No quiz night, no dartboard, no beer garden. At The Crown Rivers there's not even a toilet unless you amble your way towards WH Smith. And yet somehow sat in a building of 3.8 million square feet surrounded by the hum of tiny wheels running along rubber flooring and the chimes of an incoming automated announcement, even the most stressed of travellers can find calm and comfort here.

As you head to the bar at The Crown Rivers, past the parade of coffee machines for those who don't subscribe to early morning boozing, you're confronted with the unique experience of having to cross through the airport concourse to make your order. Like most Wetherspoons there's ample choice, including the opportunity to try before you buy, which is advertised by samples in pocket sized jam jars. Whilst a great solution for the indecisive, I knew what I wanted; a Guinness. The last taste of these isles there to lure back anyone thinking of venturing away for good.

The pint was well poured and a nice parting gift in advance of the beer which lay before me on the continent in inappropriately sized metric measured glasses. I had hoped that tax-free beer would taste all the sweeter but at £6.10 a pint (incidentally only half the price of a bottle of whisky at Duty-Free round the corner) I struggled to taste the absence of His Majesty's Revenue and Customs.

But price doesn't matter here where the holiday starts. Not at The Crown Rivers. Not in this ephemeral chasm between the real world and the rest of it.