“I used to earn £840 a week and own a flat in Holland Park with my wife and son. Now I beg outside Old Street Station and earn £27 a day working in a warehouse. My ex-wife told me she had to change Tube stations on her commute because she didn’t want to see me. She’s still living in my flat.” Continue reading
I hate going out on Friday nights. The pubs are always packed with drunken idiots who think it’s hilarious to act like a student who just got their loan through, you somehow manage to spend what it would cost to go on a short holiday and you have to sit on a train home with stupid drunks lying in the gangways, wondering which one is going to puke and whether you’re in the line of fire.
That’s why I decided to do something different last night. I spent the evening in the company of naked women lathering up and chilling out. Continue reading
Having worked in Soho for several years, I’ve got the impression that the only option for a Friday night in London was to spend the evening with your face pressed into a stranger’s armpit. Having discovered last weekend a quiet, friendly spa in which to while away the hours after a hard week at work, I’m on a mission to cover all the social bases for an off-the-beaten-path Friday night in London. Continue reading