The stickiest-floored pub in Soho is closing after 222 years.

I’m not personally inconvenienced, as it’s a vile old pit and I never set foot in it if I have a choice in the matter. But I feel duty-bound to make a fuss, because (a) turning old central London buildings into premium housing is an epidemic, (b) goths are an endangered species and destroying more of their natural habitat can only speed their extinction, and (c) the tenuous link of its foxy name.

Despite (a) above, if The Man decides to turn 10 Downing Street into a fun-o-matic edutainment theme park in due course, I shan’t object.