28/06/2026
To everyone who’s been through that front door — and to those who haven’t yet —
This is the most important post I’ve ever had to write, so bear with me.
The truth is I’ve known since early March. It’s taken me all this time to get my head around it — to accept that I can’t do the thing I love anymore. That nearly finished me at first. I also needed a leaving date settled before I could say anything out loud, and now it’s agreed with the brewery, it’s finally time. This one’s long overdue, and it’s come from the bottom of my heart.
In mid-September, I’ll be leaving The Leather Exchange. I’m giving it up for health reasons — a life-changing illness. I won’t say more than that here. If you really want to know, ask Ian — the one without his mask on.
I first came to London back in 1988. Life took me to Canada and Spain along the way, two countries I called home for a while, and I never once thought I’d end up in SE1. But Bermondsey has become my home — the longest I’ve ever called anywhere home in my whole life — and I moved into this pub just after the London Olympics. Fifteen years. So I’ll be honest with you: it’s killing me to write this.
A lot of you have noticed the weight come off, and you’ve been kind enough to ask if I’m alright. For a long time I couldn’t tell you, because I didn’t know myself. And here’s what most of you don’t see — when the door’s open, you get Ian with his mask on. The only time it comes off is when I climb the stairs at the end of the night and shut my door. Just me and four walls.
People don’t realise how lonely this job can be. Running a place on your own, trying to make sense of the world we live in now. Even if I’d had a partner through it, this life would’ve put a strain on everything, and I’d never have asked anyone to take on being a publican’s other half. Maybe one day that changes too. We’ll see.
Two things have carried me. The first is Cholo — he came into my life two years ago and gives me a reason to get up every morning, mostly so I’m not picking his mess up off the floor. The second is motocross. Before my dad passed, he begged me to find something outside these four walls, so I went back to the one other thing I’ve ever known, and it saved me. The motocross family welcomed me back with open arms, like I’d never been away.
Because looking after people is all I’ve ever known. My mum ran the village post office and looked after everyone who came through her door; my dad was the local milkman. It was in our blood before I ever pulled a pint.
To everyone local who’s stood by me — thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I’ve been lucky enough to share so many of your moments behind this bar: the engagements, the weddings, the christenings, the first, second and third birthdays. I’ve watched your kids grow up, watched the area change, watched the years go by. The local businesses have been good to me too. It’ll be a hard day when I hand over these keys — but the place deserves someone investing at the start of their career, not a clapped-out Welshman at the end of his. The brewery have been brilliant with me from day one, even when I’ve not been the easiest tenant, and together we agreed The Leather Exchange will be in better hands going forward. I wish it nothing but the best.
So please don’t ask me what comes next — because honestly, I don’t know yet, and that question plays on your mind more than you’d think. Bear with me. It’s all up in the air, and right now I just need to get out in one piece.
But here’s the thing — it’s not too late. If you never quite made it through that door, there’s still time. Come in before September. It would mean the world, and it’d make these last months a far happier place for me.
This is the last dance. I’ll be behind this bar until September, and I’d love to see you before I go.
Thank you — for the years, the laughs, and for being here.
Ian x
