The Maypole at the end of our street in Brockley disappeared quite quickly. I don't think anyone cried, the one time we went in there, conversation really did stop dead and everyone looked at us. The average prison is probably more welcoming to sex offenders. We left quickly. Some friends of ours made the same mistake and the barman told them the pub was 'full' even though it had two customers. The one thing they didn't need was more bitter. Not that the main trade seemed to be beer, more class A, which meant there was a perma-beef going on between them and the Jamaican Jerk Chicken and Drugs shack under the train bridge. I figured those machetes weren't there for conveniently deboning chicken pieces. Their jerk chicken was very good though and they were cheerful and chatty. Even the police would partake, post the business-as-usual raids (National Rail would demolish their illegal shack every two months or so and it would back within a day, owing to the fact their entire business consisted of some plywood, an oil-drum bbq, and a blackboard for the price list).
Being among the early gentrifiers of SE4 was interesting. Now it's all middle-class mums and dad's with their indulged children, eeking that period of their family lives before they head out for the better schools of the home counties.
If I recall, the Greyhold was already closed, hence the developers chancing it (I didn't realise it had burned, thought they had just demolished it).
