My New Favourite Place In Soho - Trisha's

 

How I've missed this place for the 26 years on this planet, I'll never know. 

Welcome to Trisha's. 

Sometimes called The Blue Door.

Sometimes called New Evaristo Club.

Sometimes called That Little Place On Greek Street That Nobody Knows The Name Of. 

Behind the little blue door on Greek Street, Soho lives an underground drinking lair that makes you feel like you are part of a really special little gang. The place doesn't look like it's been touched since it opened in 1940-something and it's charm hits you like a strong scotch.

It's dark, the bar looks like the side board in someone's kitchen and you've got to walk through the loos to get outside for a smoke. You feel like you're at home. Or the home of one of your best mate's Mum's who's been on the lash for 60 years. 

Even the light switch is just on the wall like it would be if you were indoors. Word for the wise tho, don't turn it on. That doesn't go down well.

It's chintzy, it plays Frank Sinatra and the landlady still sits at the end of the bar. 

Drinks are cheap for Soho. £15 for a bottle of decent red. £4ish for a spirit and a mixer. And the bloke behind the bar is the friendliest guy you'll come across. 

But most importantly, you feel like you are part of a really exclusive club. And that you've been let in to a brilliant little secret. 

The doorman is a hero, they sell Walkers and the toilets are nice & clean, again like you'd expect in someone's house. 

It's free to get in on school nights, and only £2 entry on a Friday and a Saturday.

Get yourselves down there...we loved it last night. 

Trisha's

 3dx, 57 Greek St, London W1D 3DX

 A must. 

LLx

Hot Weather Advice

It's been a scorcher this week, that's fair to say. And for those of us living & working in the big smoke, we all know how bloody unbearable anything a degree above chilly can be. Tackling the tube makes you want to faint and being stuck in a windowless box for 8 hours of the day does bring on thoughts of self harm.

It also brings out the absolute worst in people. People are so agro when they are hot. And sadly quite a lot of the time forget to abide by standards that are so commonplace when it's snowing.

Now, after a week of being stuck in many a smelly armpit on my commute, I thought it was time I provided some advice for those of you who forget how to behave appropriately when the sun comes out.

 Please abide by these ten rules if you wish to make it to September without feeling my wrath!

Rule 1: Girls, file your feet! No man, woman or dog wants to see a crusty big toe or heel hanging out of your gladiator sandals. MOISTURISE. If you have bunions, wear trainers - or cut your foot off. Nobody wants to see it.

Rule 2: Guys. White shirts get stained from your sweat FYI. If it's going yellow under the arms - bin it. Nobody will ever sleep with you if you've got hardened yellow marks on show when you reach up to grab a file off the top shelf. Yack.

Rule 3: Drink plenty of water. Everyone will hate you if you faint and you are the reason 4,000 people are late for work because you did it just as the tube was about to pull out of Oxford Circus. Don't be selfish.

Rule 4: Girls, the backs of your legs grow hairs too. Shave them. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean to say the rest of us can't. Pay attention.

Rule 5: Guys, short sleeved shirts and ties is not a strong look. Just don't do it. Ever. 

Rule 6:  Don't stop bang outside the tube to take a 'summertime selfie'. I will walk up your back and be really cross about it.

Rule 7: Remove all sunglasses before getting on the tube. You look like a chump. YOU ARE IN A DARK TUNNEL.

Rule 8: Take some deodorant in your bag to work. Re-apply at regular intervals. If you are unsure about the state of play under your arms, don't be a maverick and chance an arm up on the bus or a reach over the desk at work. Check before you stretch.

Rule 9: Girls, non-leather ballet pumps will end up smelling in this weather. Smelling real bad. Don't slip a foot out under the desk or on the bus to give them bad boys some air. If I get a downwind of Eau De Wotsit, shit's going down.

Rule 10: At least once a week (this week it was Tuesday), I will wear a skirt to work. High chances are, the breeze down the tube will cause it to blow up on occasion. My ninja like reflexes normally prevent any knicker exposure, but if I'm slightly off my game do not be the guy that shouts 'Alright Marylin, Wahey!' from the top of the escalator at Green Park.

You know who you are.

You are not a comedian.

LL x

The Way To Spot A Londoner

"You mean, you were actually born here?"

The words that every actual Londoner who is still living and working in this damn town has grown so accustomed to hearing.

It seems shocking to many that somebody didn't actually want to flee their place of birth the minute they obtained a national insurance number.

For 6 years I have worked with people predominantly 'non-London'. I've grown used to requests to "run up the apple and pears to make a Rosie Lee" as well as frequent references to my very cockney accent (for starters I'm from South London - distinct difference. Secondly, we are in London so who's got the accent mate?!)

Whilst explaining to somebody that, whilst the pie & mash cliché is funny for some, it is actually what I'm having for dinner (and I'm not being ironic), it dawned on me that people who are non-Londoners may need a checklist. A checklist of  symptoms and "what to looks fors" to help spot if somebody is actually from London.

Here's my first draft;

- The speed in which the person in question walks will differ greatly from that of a non-Londoner. It's known as "GetOutOfMyWayMotherLover" speed and is just shy of a jog. London born females can achieve this speed in a heel of approximately four inches. And when pissed.

- A true Londoner will still think to look in the Evening Standard for a job, and remembers when you had to pay for the paper. And when it was better than it is now.

- They will always make their Oyster card accessible prior to leaving the office/home/gym. The sight of a backed up barrier or 'transport virgins' bambling about in stations will result in something known as "Red Rage".

- This person will never have been to Nobu or similar. They will deem restaurants with a four week waiting list as 'ponsey'. The same applies to Mayfair clubs that require a minimum spend for a table. Londoners will also rarely queue for a bar/club. Only in the event of a close friend's (non-Londoner, obviously) mile stone birthday.

- They will call it the West End. Not 'up London'.

- They will call it the pictures. Not 'grabbing a film'.

- The will call it indoors. Not 'at home'.

- They will have been brought up around blokes who have an argument about who's paying first and who cannot tolerate a stand back. They will have been brought up to instantly judge anyone who is not quick to get up the jump*.

 *jump being the bar.

- A Londoner will often use the word 'fuck' as an adjective or a filler in an everyday sentence.

- They will not be fazed by the 'C' word. In some cases they will use it affectionately. A major symptom of true Londoner-itus can be spotted if they answer the phone to their dearest friend by calling them the C word. See 'Hello you ol' C' for reference.

- The person in question will, under no circumstances, be able to achieve a 'Lambeth Walk' and may only know one single verse to 'Knees Up Mother Brown'. They will pronounce it Muvva.

- Only a small majority of these real Londoners are actually related to a Pearly King or Queen. It's not advised to start any conversation with 'So, is your uncle a Pearly King then?'.

- They will call everyone mate. Boss/Bus Driver/Grandparent. They will call you mate even if they don't like you. They will call you mate even in the middle of an argument. See 'Alright mate, let's take this outside' for reference.

- This person will be very adverse to moving to the opposite side of the river from which they were born. Only in extreme cases, falling in love or needing to flee a sticky situation, will cause this to happen. They will be the one person in the cab who will not object when the cab driver says 'don't go South of the River, mate'. They will understand.

- They will have grown up in a pub surrounding. If their dad or uncle didn't own one, someone's best mate did and they would have spent EVERY Sunday there. This will also be the place that their first big tele came from.

- The person in question will not understand why people would choose to live in Bethnal Green or go out for the evening in Dalston. This even applies to people who were born in Bethnal Green and Dalston.

- They will mock when the neighbourhood they grew up in becomes trendy. When the market turns into a 'village', when the pubs start holding artisan fairs and when they open a Waitrose. They will mock, and also thank the sweet baby Jesus as they are now safe in the knowledge that the two-up- two-down they bought in 1975 is now worth a million pounds.

- If the person is a true Londoner they will understand the distinct difference between a night out and a beano.

'Babe, I'm going for a night out with the boys'. 'Cool, see you tomorrow'.

'Babe, I'm going on a beano from the pub'. 'Cool, see you a week Tuesday'.

And last but not least, the one fail safe way of spotting a true, born & bred Londoner.

They will be the only person in your central London office who will point blank refuse to drink Yorkshire Tea.

Oh.

And there will probably only be one of them.

LL x

Effra Social - My New Favourite Watering Hole

My little review on Effra Social, Brixton's answer to chilled out, vintage pinting.

 

 

http://theladyoflondon.blogspot.co.uk/p/reviews.html

Credit Urban75 for the imagery.