The Hatters Inn - Jd Wetherspoon

So, you find yourself in need of a pint, a plate of chips, and a place that smells faintly of carpet cleaner and history? Welcome to The Hatters Inn, a J D Wetherspoon pub that is somehow both aggressively average and deeply, wonderfully weird. This isn’t just any Spoons; it’s a portal to a parallel universe where the carpets are psychedelic and the ceiling might fall on your scampi.

First, the location. The Hatters Inn sits in Stockport, a town famous for its giant viaduct and a man who once tried to smuggle a sheep in a car. Stockport is the proud hometown of Fred Perry (the polo shirt legend) and the place where the first ever British railway fatality occurred in 1827. The victim? A poor soul named Huskisson. He got hit by a train. No, they don't sell a sandwich named after him, though they should.

Walking into The Hatters Inn is like stepping into a fever dream designed by a carpet salesman on a sugar high. The floor pattern is so loud, it could give a migraine to a statue. You’ll trip over nothing because your brain is busy decoding the geometric chaos beneath your feet. This is the Wetherspoon way. It’s a pub that says, “We spent the budget on beer, not on interior design consultants.”

But the real magic happens at the bar. The staff move with the grim efficiency of a retail worker on Black Friday. They’ll pour you a pint of their cask ale, Ruddles Bitter, which tastes exactly like a rainy Tuesday in 1993. Don’t ask for an espresso martini. They will judge you silently, then hand you a tiny glass of something that fizzes aggressively.

Now, the food. Ah, the food. You can get a “Sharing Platter” for two that includes jalapeño poppers that burn like the fiery pits of Hades but also taste vaguely of cardboard. The chips are always either disgustingly soggy or suspiciously crispy. There is no middle ground. The menu also features a “Curry Club” where you can get a curry and a drink for less than the price of a coffee at a hipster café. You will eat it. You will not complain. You will just accept the mild gastrointestinal consequences.

The Hatters Inn - JD Wetherspoon, Bognor Regis - Restaurant menu

The Surprising Facts They Won't Put on the Menu

Here’s the kicker: The Hatters Inn is named after the hat-making industry that once dominated Stockport. In the 19th century, hatters used mercury to treat felt, which made them go crazy—hence the phrase “mad as a hatter.” So, you’re essentially drinking in a shrine to occupational mercury poisoning. Cheers!

Did you know J D Wetherspoon founder Tim Martin once described his own pubs as “greasy spoons with a license”? He’s not wrong. The Hatters Inn is the perfect place to watch a hungover man contemplate his life choices while eating a sausage roll at 10 AM. It’s a public service, really.

The Hatters Inn | Pubs & bars in Bognor Regis

Another fact: This particular Spoons has a secret door in the back that leads to a tiny beer garden. It’s not actually secret, but it feels like it because it’s hidden behind a pillar. Regulars guard this information like a state secret. “The garden? Never heard of it,” they’ll say, before winking and disappearing into the void.

The toilets are a rite of passage. They smell of bleach, regret, and a faint note of someone’s forgotten kebab. The hand dryers are so powerful they could launch a small dog across the room. You’ll emerge with your hair styled like a startled owl.

In the end, The Hatters Inn is a masterpiece of mediocrity. It’s not fancy, it’s not quiet, and the sticky floor will attempt to steal your shoe. But it’s ours. It’s the pub where you go when you’ve lost all hope but still have a fiver for a pint. Long may it baffle us all.