London is expensive, and most of us can’t afford to go out gallivanting as often as we’d like.
Emily Gibson / Chill, Dates, Do, Impulse Friendly, Mates, Outdoors, £ / Dalston, east london, hidden gems, locals, picnics, quirky, quirky dates, secret, shoreditch, things to do, unusual, volunteering / 8 Comments
On Sunday I ran down to Columbia Road’s famous flower market, but on the way home I went a different way. I have a very, very short attention span, and if I don’t switch routes up I get bored and start focusing on my thighs, which wobble violently with every flat-footed slap of the pavement. […]
I haven’t posted too much recently because I’m on a mission to eat a bit less and move around a bit more, partly in anticipation of the impending party season with all its fatladen festivities, and partly because my liver was beginning to resemble meatloaf. Or possibly Meatloaf.
Aah, the Wellcome Collection, my favourite museum in London. I like it so much, in fact, that I named my other blog after their tagline: “the free destination for the incurably curious”. It’s within pissing distance of Euston station, yet hardly anybody seems to know it’s there. It’s hiding like plain sight, like a…er, Panamanian […]
I’m going to come right out and say it: Breakfast Club Bingo is by a million miles the most fun you can have in London for a fiver. Or £5.75, I suppose, once you’ve added the DesignMyNight booking fee.
I am currently writing this from my bed of shame and guilt after an epic episode of what my fun and fruity workmate would describe as ‘carbicide’. I’d gone along to the new branch of Vapiano in Soho with the ever-trusty Carla Juniper, and we’d accidentally eaten, well, everything. We had to be practically bowled out […]
I want to start by saying I am normally the kind of person who throws any old teabag into a mug, pours hot water on it and then lets it stew for ages, like a good grudge. Because I am very lazy, I often don’t bother to remove the teabag. I just let it slosh […]
“This,” I announced to the Robert, the head chef of Clockjack Oven, Soho, after two glasses of wine and a faceful of its signature rotisserie chicken, “is the wettest bird I’ve ever had.”
“Have you guys decided what you want to order yet?” asked the waiter. “Yes,” I said. “Steak please.” And laughed myself senseless. The waiter, who must have heard the joke about 50,000 times before, made a half-hearted attempt at a guffaw before asking how I’d like it cooked.
“Bloody hell!” said James 1, my flatmate and dinner companion, as he glanced down at the menu. We were at Pizza Union, a new pizza bar off Liverpool Street that offers ‘superfast’ oven-baked pizzas at suspiciously low prices. I looked down myself and, yes, bloody hell, the numbers on it really were very small indeed. The […]