Winston Aldworth pauses to pay his final respects as The Church receives its last rites.
Those who know me best will confirm, there are many, many unclassy things about me.
From wearing string vests in summer to singing Queen in karaoke bars, I'm comfortable among the declasse. Which is how, many moons ago, I found myself - not once, but twice - among the lager-swilling hordes at The Church, in North London.
The Church - and its mainly Antipodean, mainly young and typically drunk congregation - is anything but classy.
It started in 1979 as a hair-of-the-dog drinking session; a couple of Aussie backpackers in London happily discovering that their local pub hosted a stripper around lunchtime on Sundays. From there, The Church grew. It changed venues through the years, moving about around Clapham and Kings Cross, but the key ingredients remained the same. There's sawdust on the floor (easier for mopping up afterwards, the story went) and a comedian on stage, followed by one or more strippers, and when you buy your beer it comes as a six-pack in a plastic bag with a bit of ice in it.
I think I was there for a stag do on my first visit to The Church and I enjoyed the honest intent of the place. Participants were there to get munted and sing a Jimmy Barnes tune or two. As long as the totality of your OE didn't involve trucking about between Aussie pubs, then a foray into the monotone hedonism of The Church would make for an interesting and fun diversion. My second visit a few years later - I think for a mate's birthday - was probably one too many.
It's a revelry from a different age and today the congregation has thinned. The Antipodean-in-London demographic has changed radically in the past couple of decades. Kiwis and Aussies arriving in the UK are no longer content to spend a year pulling pints followed by a few months on a van tour of the Continent. Today's OE crowd are likely to arrive later in life and seek proper jobs. Often they'll stay in the UK for longer and are more likely to avoid social groups that hark back to home. In short, they'll fit in.
The Redback Tavern, in Acton, pulled its last pint back in 2012. Even the Shepherd's Bush Walkabout - a place where the stench of generations of backpackers' sweat and spilled snakebites accompanied the ringing of the tills for decades - has closed its doors.
It's probably a good thing. After all, what's the point of living in another country if all you do is stand about in pubs with people from your homeland singing songs from your homeland - or worse, songs from Australia?
And sometimes, the hedonism could go too far.
It was after a morning session at The Church, back in 2007, that Australian league player Andrew Johns got into a spot of bother when London police found an ecstasy pill in his pocket when he was stopped at train station.
"It pays to know all the words to Khe Sanh," said a Kiwi familiar with The Church and Cold Chisel. On his visit, he watched a young Australian girl join a stripper on stage where both put on an erotic show so enthusiastic it brought the normally raucous crowd to stunned silence.
"Alcohol - and maybe other substances - could have clouded her judgment. Later, as we were leaving, I saw that same girl huddled in a corner, crying, with her friends consoling her."
Everyone leaves The Church with a story, best not to be the lead character in someone else's.
Getting there: Air New Zealand flies daily from Auckland to London via Los Angeles.
For more information: Visit thechurchlondon.com.