It isn't trendy, it isn't pretty, indeed respectable drinkers branded it a shabby dive to steer well clear of, but when The Beach bar finally closes its doors tomorrow Front Street will lose a bit of its character.

The nightspot, which proudly boasted the nickname the Shame of Front Street, has always drawn an eclectic crowd, rarely seen elsewhere in Bermuda's informally segregated social scene.

Building workers swilling Heineken in their work clothes, be-suited drunk expatriate accountants singing songs and tubby cruise ship passengers munching burgers mingled happily while, in the days of the gaming machines, Opposition politician Patricia Gordon-Pamplin, was a fixture in the back bar.

What it lacked in sophistication it made up for in consistency.

Manager Duncan Adams said: "We were always there, we never closed."

On a rainy Tuesday nights in February, The Beach was a siren to drinkers turfed out of Front Street's other bars on closing time but in no mood to go home.

Its doors were always open ? even on Christmas day.

"We basically wanted to cater to a drinking crowd," added Adams.

It wasn't a place you would take your mother.

Happy hour drinker Michelle Amesse recalls one incident. "I went to meet my husband and a friend after work on a Friday and went to buy a round.

"There was some guy in elastic band pants at the bar chatting up the bartender. While I was waiting to be served, the guy made some comment about having an operation on his private parts.

"The next thing I knew, I looked over at him and he pulled down his pants and plopped on the bar.

"With a big smile on her face the bartender asked him to put it away! He was quite chuckled."

Customers often joked about the flies in the shabby toilets while one drinker spoke of the time his drunken pal picked up a cloth from the bar and shoved it in his face. "The next day my face had a big red mark where the cloth had been."

While happy hour was raucous the bar really came alive after the other pubs had shut.

Mr. Adams, who has been in charge for four and a half years, said the summer of 2001 was the heyday of the bar. "We had good DJs, a great crowd and no trouble."

It appealed to British and Irish drinkers who liked to let loose their vocal chords after a few beers. Meanwhile preppy North Americans types stayed away.

"It was a place you would come to after finishing at your local for a dance and a singalongs," said Adams, a Scot. "People either loved it or hated it. North Americans are probably not from that culture and don't understand that concept.

"People from back home are used to a good old sing-song. We don't want to get away too much from that."

But while peaceful regulars revelled in the bar's Shame of Front street title, it also attracted more violent elements.

"People thought they could treat the place anyway they wanted, that's where we let ourselves down," said Mr. Adams.

"If you call yourself the shame of Front Street, people think they can behave as they like.

"Basically town has changed in the last five years, you didn't used to get this trouble."

Extra security was put on the door and customer cards were brought in but it proved difficult to administer and the rougher customers kept coming back.

"Every bar goes through those cycles. You get a reputation, the women stop going and then they guys stay away too, strangely enough."

Now the bar is rebranding itself as the Bermuda Bistro at The Beach as it goes up market by boosting its already successful catering side. Cocktails and posh coffees will be the order of the day rather than Elephant beer and Dark and Stormies.

Regulars will miss the old Beach.

Jason Roberts, an English computer technician in his 30s, said: "It was the one place left in Bermuda that felt like those seedy nightclubs of home where everyone there knew what everyone was there for at 2 a.m. ? just a drunken good time or an amusing attempt at a last ditch pull."

Good honest fun, said Mr. Roberts. "It was much better than sitting in a poxy 'VIP' area trying to chat over music being played at 1,000 decibels, paying $10 for a bottle of of lager brewed by hand by Mexican peasants, but bottled by a colossal faceless American corporation, and trying desperately to look like you are actually a 'VIP' having a good time and not just a really bored mate of a mate of a mate of the owner/bouncer/cleaning lady.

"There are too many accountants and insurance bods wanting to try to recreate some kind of poncey London wine bar scene, where they can very loudly order expensive bottles of wine and talk about rugger. It's just so tedious. Give me The Beach any day."

Irish accountant David Kielty, 26, was in no doubt about what he liked about his favourite bar ? the general messiness.

He said: "The closing of the Beach this weekend is a sad event for many a resident of Bermuda ? nowhere else on the Island can one be as messy and not receive any grief from staff or punters alike ? actually, maybe Docksiders but it's not open as late.

"It's a good laugh, the people are good, the staff. There's no pretence about it at all."

Asked about his favourite memories he is understandably hazy. "Remembering is the issue."

Mr. Adams said customers needn't fear, some of the old Beach will still remain. It will still be open late, with decent music.

But, crucially, will people still be able to sing football songs after midnight?

"Put it this way, I will be!"