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Reading between the Northern Line

septem ber 09

provincial towns the walk of life


get out of the city for a bit

leave your oyster card at home

film music food fiction poetry what's on

ed's note


s much as i slate it, i’ve started becoming a regular visitor to borough market. yes, it’s packed to the rafters with tourists and wannabe jamie’s, but turn up post 4.30pm on a saturday when all the tourists have scuttled off to a matinee and the jamie’s have cor-blimeyed back to west london, you can treat yourself to splendid food at knock down prices. fashionably late and proud of it - don’t be shy to haggle. dave the butcher would rather sell his sausages for a quid-fifty than feed them to the dog. then do the good thing and sack off a saturday night out, purchase a spotify day pass and go home and eat. that, after all, is what the weekend is for. when you wake up refreshed on sunday thinking about leftovers for brekkie, maybe consider a bit of a ramble. walking is the new black. it saves you cash, it gets you healthy and on occasion it gets you where you want to be way quicker than sitting on a bus, moreover you don’t have the joy of being crushed in a tunnel with a sweaty, pig flu victim coughing their chops all over your face. so, in time for an indian summer we’ve cracked open the mbt box that great autie hilda brought us last xmas, tied them laces and started wayfaring the streets of london. did you know you can walk from highgate to finsbury park on a disused railway line? you do now. and inside there’s more, brace yourselves for a walking adventure. listen to our advice and get those walking boots on, pack some jaffas and a snapple and nothing can go wrong. ed. x

toser's this month: sam, adam, nath, kayleigh, josh, eddie valand, chloe, rachel, cardorowski and nico. advertising enquiries: editorial enquiries: Cno reprinting of anything without our permission


contents 3. secret gardens

Just have a look on the right there

4. let down & hanging around

Edward (Trebor) Valand gets a dayrider on London’s transport system

6. film

There’s a good reason we call Richmond a film guru you know – he hates it

8. processed beats

Need some new music in your life? Four albums reviewed here. Got your back G

10. walk of life

London’s not that big, true story. See where you can get on foot

14. picnic time

Go one better than a pack of Doritos and an apple Tango

16. seven stops

All it things you should do on the northern line

18. alternative holidays

We don’t have any money, so here are some holiday suggestions on the cheap

26. fiction

A story and a poem, how ‘bout that

30. tos recommends...

Something to keep you busy after work

the other side guide to...

secret gardens

we need to make the most of the sun before those DARK days are here again. BELOW are some spare bits of grass for your rug the church of st dunstans in the east If you’re in the City, look out for The Church of St Dunstans in the East which is tucked away behind Great Tower Street. It’s fairly quiet throughout the week (with the exception of the occasional city worker) and deserted at weekends. The garden created within the ruins of the church has won several London garden squares competitions and is a great spot to get away from the hustle of the city.

Holmsdale Road where there is an entrance to the old North London Line that used to connect Crouch End, Muswell Hill and Finsbury Park. It’s now a treelined walkway with old bridges taking you over and under the roads. Take a look on Google Maps and you can see for yourself. It’s really rather pleasant.

illustration by Kayleigh Ann Witt

mile end ecology park If you wander down the canal past Victoria park, you will come across Mile End Ecology Park. cherry tree wood Linked to the canal side path, the Ecology Park The entrance to Cherry Tree Wood is just has a lovely little lake, a wind turbine and an opposite East Finchley station and runs alongside earth sheltered Ecology Pavilion. Not only that, the Northern Line going south toward Highgate. the park is home to rare orchids, moths and Amazingly, the woods are a remnant of the spiders. One important remnant of the park’s medieval Finchley Wood which stretched from history still exists Highgate to Finchley way before the A1. Once – the Palm inside it all goes a bit Alice in Wonderland and Tree pub the trees open out into a beautiful green space still sits in with football, a playground and really plush tennis the centre courts. There’s a top notch cafe serving cakes of the park and ice cream. Add to that a jazz trio playing by offering an the ice cream stand, and it’s a winner. opportunity for a quiet drink. the old north london line Highgate wood is 20 mins from central London and you can easily get lost in it. Walk for a bit and find ice cream (Marine Ices) and a big cafe. There are cricket games in the open space during the summer. Keep on walking south down Archway Road and just past the Boogaloo Pub is



let down & hanging around by valand


The London public transport system is a wonderful thing. You get to meet fascinating new people every day and completely ignore them.

It has been claimed that Margaret Thatcher once said that any man who finds himself travelling on a public bus beyond the age of 26 can count himself a failure. This must

have come as a real blow to the selfesteem of bus drivers everywhere, who travel on buses pretty much all the time and already have enough to contend with, what with the obvious risks inherent in polyester uniforms being in constant contact with polyester seats. Branding a person a failure on the basis of their chosen mode of transport is very silly; here in London there is a huge wealth of transport at our disposal, and whether you are travelling by any one of the three main ones: bus, tube or rickshaw, it is very easy to feel like a total loser all of the time. The bus is probably the most frustrating form of transport in London. Buses are pretty regular, admittedly, and do run at all hours of the day and night (unlike our bloody ‘not on a school night, kids’ tube system –


more on that later). My main problem with the bus is that it takes so long to actually get anywhere. Of course, traffic congestion is to blame rather than the drivers themselves – most of whom take insane risks that would make WWII Kamikaze pilots shit themselves – but when you realise that it would be quicker to wait for your back-hair to grow to a sufficient length for you to weave it into a rudimentary paragliding wing and allow yourself to be carried to your destination on the wind than it would be to get the Number 16 down to Victoria on a Saturday afternoon, then it’s time to take stock. From the top deck of a bus going down Kilburn High Road, I have seen Woolworths go out of business, be replaced by a pound shop which itself subsequently folded, only to be usurped by a 99p shop. I think I travelled about three metres while this was happening. And now the tube. At least when Dante went down into the seven circles of Hell he had Virgil to keep him company. The best I can hope for is to be smirked at by the face of X-Factor loser Ray Quinn from a series of posters as I travel down the escalator. Having the same poster fifteen times in a row mystifies me. Are they hoping to crush our spirits with a steady drip-drip-drip of smug inanity? It’s like Chinese water torture, only using diarrhea instead of water. Did I want to watch your shit musical after seeing the first poster? No. Did I want to see it after the second? No. How about the third? No. Presumably the only purpose of these posters is to make sure that commuters are well and truly pissed off before they actually get down to the platforms. They also fill me with a sense of trepidation; if the outer circle is preserved for low-level evildoers and Ray Quinn’s up there, then

who am I going to meet when I get to the centre? David van Day? Alan fucking Titchmarsh? The trains themselves are fine, as long as you’re a big fan of suffocation, poor hygiene and mental illness. There is, however, two major flaws in the system: it doesn’t run at night, and it likes playing silly buggers at the weekend. Whyoh-why is this the case? Well, the tube closes at these times in order for essential repair work and improvements to take place. Simple as that. Finally, we come to the means of transport that forms the backbone of this great metropolis: the pedalled rickshaw. Tube drivers can go on strike for days on end causing untold economic disruption, but as long as there are out-of-work actors to ferry pissed-up tourists around the West End on deathtraps, London’s just gonna keep on truckin’. There is an air of decadent abandon cultivated by these tourists, who behave as though they are Roman Emperors being paraded in triumph through the streets on a sedan chair. Having feasted abundantly on dormouse and black swan at TGI Friday’s, they are about to venture forth to the Coliseum to watch the horrific debasement of their fellow men in the form of Ben Elton’s ‘We Will Rock You’; and they want everybody to know it. Just as some girls are bigger than others, some rickshaw drivers are more intelligent than others. Next time you’re down in the West End, notice how most of these pedalling bastards sit at the front of their vehicles, merrily pinging their bells and showing maximum disrespect to the little green man, while their cargo in the back maintain facial expressions which rapidly alternate between guffawing amusement, terror and embarrassment. These are the stupid ones. The intelligent ones are the those who sit behind their passengers, so that when they do score a direct hit on a bendy bus, they can stroll away unscathed, hands in pockets and whistling nonchalantly, as blood-curdling screams emanate from the tangle of twisted metal, Selfridges bags and shattered human bone behind them. Still, it beats walking.



bad robot

like a stupid magpie, when HOLLYWOOD sees something shiny it takes it and sprays shit on it. Or puts it in a shit robot film



omplaining about Hollywood’s lack of imagination is like scratching that genital rash you’ve got. It might make you feel better, but it’s not going to make it go away. And while this particular bugbear is nothing new it seems to be a wholly accepted deal-with-the-devil. Of what do I speak? Underrated character actors who star in a breakout indie film, which garners press and awards success to such a degree that they become hot stuff, whereby the big wigs take a collective second to think which big budget action fuck fest they can crowbar this little actor into, thus allowing their hollow, starspangled, shit-smear of a film to bask in a sliver of this actor’s hard fought glory. The latest example of this is the mighty Mickey Rourke, gracing our screens next summer in Iron Man 2. How did the forgotten bad boy of cinema score such a sweet (and no doubt monetarily satisfying) gig? He stared in The Wrestler and almost won a goddamn Oscar, that’s how. Glowing reviews, lengthy coverage about his return from the actorly wilderness and celebrations of his macho, beaten-to-fuck visage and attitude. Yes. Rourke was back in town. About time too, as anyone who has seen Rumble Fish or Angel Heart will testify (though perhaps they¹d rescind their testimony if they saw 9 and a Half Weeks or Double Team). Is this inevitable, and is it even a bad thing, the less curmudgeonly of you might ask? You could argue that indie films are just breeding pools for burgeoning talent and that it makes perfect sense for Hollywood to take advantage. After all, why shouldn’t a breakthrough actor or comeback king go onto bigger (not better) things? Well, mainly because the films they choose are poorly scripted, special-effects-heavy dross where

by adam richmond the aforementioned quality actor bemusedly stands around as things go bang and the hero saves the day. Thomas Hayden Church, who was so wonderfully sleazy in Sideways, embarrassed himself beyond belief in the inexorable Spiderman 3. He was obviously chosen having shone in that indie delight, so why lumber him with shit cookie-cutter characterisation and dud dialogue? He might have thought he could lift the moronic script but he was dragged down to the script’s shitty level. Oh the humanity. Not that Sienna Miller has excelled as a serious actress – proving to be as bland as her porcelain visage – but gawd bless her, at least she had made a good fist of being in a string of po-faced serious films – Factory Girl, The Other Side of Love, Interview. But no, by signing up to play the Baroness in jingoistic wet dream GI Joe, she’s wiped away all memory that she ever tried to be a serious actor in the first place. Sure, the action figure money will keep those willowy limbs warm, but when her looks fade so will her appeal and there will be no big budget dollars anymore. And she won¹t be able to warm the cockles of her artistic soul (if she has one) as no indie film worth its salt will take her seriously. Its goes both ways too. Big budget behemoths star in indie films in what is invariably a desperate attempt to claw back some credibility. Sometimes it’s a happy accident, reviving a long faded career – John Travolta’s turn in Pulp Fiction springs to mind – other times its cynically obvious – John Travolta’s turn in Be Cool springs to mind. Having risen phoenix-like, Travolta reverted to type and pissed away critical goodwill with over a decade’s worth of forgettable and offensively shit films. Pulp Fiction also thrust long suffering

character actor Samuel L Jackson into the mainstream glare. He’d plugged away on the fringes, from Goodfellas to Jungle Fever, but where did he choose to aim his shining star, having finally lit up the screen as cool-as-fuck-Jules? A string of action films, that’s where. While it started well in Die Hard With a Vengeance, these have got progressively worse, from Deep Blue Sea, Shaft, 51st State, reaching a nadir with the risible Snakes on a Plane. Rarely does he dabble in the quality films that caught critics’ eyes in the first place; instead he dines out on the coolest mo fo tag fixed on him, lazy uninspired hack that he is. If it’s clear that credibility is so important, why do these actors piss it all away on bloated CGI-heavy vehicles where they get to do little more than provide colourful character parts (if they’re lucky) or more likely, provide dull story exposition to a frowning hero? Why can’t they choose better? Amy Adams has managed to choose (and shine) in not only excellent indie films like Junebug, but glossy (but ultimately charming) Hollywood fare like Enchanted and Oscar bait such as paedo priest drama Doubt. This is a trick that Steve Buscemi

worked for so long, from early Jim Jarmusch art house fare such as Mystery Train, to breakout indie delights such as Reservoir Dogs, to enjoyable silliness such as Con Air. Is it really so hard? The greed of agents and studios no doubt plays a huge part, encouraging actors to “do one for the studio” while they’re hot to keep them bankable in the long run, then they can do more personal projects later. But then if the price for Gary Oldman to make the dramatic gut punch of a film Nil By Mouth is starring in The Fifth Element, isn’t it worth paying? And isn’t acting just a job – why make them live by my holier-than-thou principles? I don’t see many articles berating my life, sucking corporate mag cock by subbing for a living, when I could be living a pure artistic life on the dole. We all need to get by and doing a constant run of indie films may be noble as hell, but it doesn’t pay well. It’s asking too much to demand that good actors only star in good films, even more to try and carve out Steve Buscemi’s career, but they could at least try.



wild beasts

(two dancers)

Following Wild Beasts’ debut album Limbo Panto – a slightly chaotic affair centred around Hayden Thorpe’s insane operatic vocals – the Kendalbased rockers’ latest adventure, Two Dancers, is one of those albums that haunts the fuck out of you. From the moment the keys bleed into The Fun Powder Plot you know you are in for a treat, it keeps you on tenterhooks and then drops in the drums, the bass wanders in seductively and you are trapped in those villainous vocals again, “my boot my boot my boot” he wails, it’s lyrical joy from word one. Try not to stick first single Hooting and Howling on repeat and let it slip past you and into standout track All the Kings Men where Thorpe evokes memories of good times had as he bellows “the girls from Roedean”. Read a full track by track review on our website.

noah and the whale (the first days of spring)


A far cry from the indie-pop love-in that was Peaceful, The World Lays Me Down, this second offering from Noah and the Whale is much more sombre. And it needed to be. Sure, the debut

album had some cracking feel-good tunes, Fink sang about being in love and going to the zoo and stuff. What’s not to like? But factor in breaking up with mercury-nominated Laura Marling in the meantime (he put that album together by the way), and you have yourself an altogether more forlorn Fink. Forlorn in a good way. Recorded by Emery Dobyns (Patti Smith, Antony & The Johnsons), The First Days of Spring is more uplifting than it is depressing. From the six-minute title track opener and throughout, the sound is carefully composed and refined. Standout track Blue Skies combines booming drums with a delightful guitar riff and a chorus of backing vocals to create something really beautiful. Finks ability also shines through on vocals as he confirms “this is the last song that I write while still in love with you”. Track five, Instrumental #1, is an epic composition of strings and piano, and leads straight into Love Of An Orchestra, again influenced by a chorus of vocals that creates a huge sound. The First Days of Spring demands respect, and suggests Noah and the Whale are a pony with more than one trick. Did I mention, Fink went and made a film to accompany the album too? Just in case you weren’t convinced he’s any good.

simian mobile disco (temporary pleasure)

The mad professors of electro house are back with their new album Temporary Pleasure. Continuing the minimal, old-skool party music theme, and throwing in catchy vocals from the likes of Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys, Chris Keating and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor, Temporary Pleasure appears a pretty solid sequel to the 2007 debut album Attack Decay Sustain Release. 10,000 Horses Can’t Be Wrong and Synthesise are the obvious choices to compare to the debut, but there is a sense of development here. The album gives off a more moulded feel with large parts harbouring not much more than a

disco undertone. The upcoming tour running through September/October means a chance to see these guys in their element; a scene not unlike that one from Frankenstein, when the monster is brought to life among bundles of wires, gadgets and flashes of light. Except in this case it is music, not a monster, a stage, not a lab, and in colour, not black and white.



So I totally ditched my mate at glasto, I know that’s a faux-pas, but he had eaten too many of those brownies and another hour in the spoken word tent would have tipped me over the edge. I bailed on him and headed over to the John Peel stage to find out what all the hype was about Passion Pit. And I’m so glad I did. The set was full of energy, from front man Michael Angelakos’ incredibly highpitched vocals, to the uplifting synth and crazy drumbeats; Passion Pit left a mark on the weekend. The early EP release, Chunk of Change, crossed the Atlantic highly recommended. And with opening track I’ve Got Your Number, you can instantly see why: a manic drum beat with catchy vocals and yells of delight. This Massachusetts-based quintet fall into the electro indie category, with the likes of The Klaxons, but they offer enough to warrant the hype. Sleepyhead concludes the EP and rams home their ability, leaving you humming it for the rest of the day. With the full-length debut album Manners, the band has stuck close to the EP’s winning formula. Manners is no great revelation, but it does show that they can deliver consistently catchy pop tunes. Moth’s Wings and The Reeling are two of the highlights and are sure to be filling a dance floor in Dalston for some time to come. For more music news and reviews visit

the g g

i is

l t

herman dune

9 sept @ 229

mumford & sons

16 sept @ scala

massive attack

17-19 sept @ brixton


18 sept @ HMV forum

the joy formidable

30 sept @ relentless garage

simian mobile disco

2 oct @ HMV forum

the maccabees

3 oct @ brixton

wild beasts

8 oct @ relentless garage

golden silvers

13 oct @ koko

passion pit

28 oct @ the garage

the wave pictures

30 oct @ relentless garage

basia bulat

2 nov @ relentless garage


20 nov @ troxy


walk of life by adam richmond


*Money’s tight, it’s getting hot and you can’t remember the last time you had a moment to reflect. On the tube I can only hang my head; buried in the dirty words of a tabloid hack; fingerprint smudges of the day, boring and sliding among the valleys of my skin, to remain a thick black smudge of lies caking my skin and weighing me down in an abrasive seat. There must be something else, a world outside of the dull rocking of the tube or the vague threat of the bus, free from awkward silence and the faces buried in the free papers. A world outside…

The Angel



alk out of Angel tube and don’t even consider walking up the becushioned swank of Upper Street or near the standard fare shopping mall. Sure there is plenty to do up the Angel, but this is supposed to be invigorating and refreshing, so do yourself a favour, and stick a left. Straight across the road and you can nip into one of London’s finest pubs, The Old Red Lion. Boasting a theatre upstairs that showcases an impressive array of plays, the pub itself has character and warmth in spades. Back out, continue left down St John’s Street, veering right down Rosebery Avenue. Sadler’s Wells theatre and trees dappled with fairy lights greet you. Saunter along and Exmouth Market hails into view. This unassuming hub of activity boasts a solid set of kebab shops, various cafes, top of the class restaurant Moro and a smattering of ale houses, the best being The Wilmington Arms. Have something fancy. Or stick a Subway in your gob and get going. At bottom of Rosebery Avenue you can choose to enjoy the artistic and cerebral delights of Magma, or the pound-in-a-pint glass strip joint The Griffin. Or maybe sample both – bury your face in a lush art magazine and then bury your face into the crotch of a traffiked sex worker (that nagging feeling might be guilt, arousal... or perhaps disgust). Suitably informed and dirtied it’s time to move on. Turn right up Theobald’s

the Southbank

›› Road and the rush of traffic and smog may sting your eyes, but you’re outside damn you. Feel free to nip right down Lambs Conduit Street (half way along Theobald’s) for a charming array of off-beat shops and The Perseverance pub, but if you want to get cracking stay the course and damn the consequences. As you near Holborn you’ll walk past Fryer’s Delight, a top draw fish and chip shop and no mistake. Stay for a sit down fish supper, mushy peas and cup of builder’s tea, or just grab a bag of chips and battered sausage for the walk. Hit Holborn and you may falter. The bottle neck by the tube is packed with the dragging mass of London’s worst – people going to and from work – take the edge off in the Princess Louise, a Samuel Smith’s pub – which means you can drink for under 2 quid a pint – and in some of the finest surroundings around. Down the solid greys of Kingsway, the towering buildings may seem oppressive, but follow their lines to the blue sky and soon you’ll be at Aldwych and the Strand. Feel free to take in a show at this point, but if you have any sense you’ll keep going onto Waterloo Bridge (the best bridge in London – go on, tell me I’m wrong). To the right the government shenanigans, Big Ben and the Millennium Wheel all hove into view. Left the Oxo Tower and the Southbank. Cross the river and hang your hat at the BFI, NFT, or even the Tate Modern. If you’re lucky the secondhand book fair will be on under the bridge. Wander down the river, pick a pub and drink to the dirty blue Thames.




by nathan shoreditch may


s that butter advert rightly suggests, Saturday is breakfast day, so start things off down at the The Corner Deli on Mare Street in Hackney. Here you can find a fry-up fit for a king – a king with a massive hangover – or any number of brunch alternatives, try the French toast with bacon and banana for something a little different. From there, head to London Fields with your paddle for a spot of alfresco table tennis. Bit random yes, but heaps of fun. Once you have been hustled for the court, wander down Broadway Market and cheer yourself up with some freshly squeezed apple juice from the fruit stall. If you fancy trying something a bit different, stop by at F. Cooke, the local eel importer, for a plate of mash and steaming hot eels. Carry on down to Hackney City Farm to feed the chickens and enjoy a little bit of countryside nestled away in east London. On a Sunday, cross Hackney Road and stroll down Colombia Road when the flower market is on. They are some great buys to be had for those with green fingers, and even if the chaos of bargaining for a pot of parsley is too much, you can keep to the side of the market where some great boutique shops offer respite and birthday present ideas for your mum. Head south from Shoreditch and stop into Commercial Tavern for an afternoon drink in the most opulent of surroundings. This will stand you in good stead for the slightly more edgy Brick Lane, where you can spend hours going through other peoples stuff as the market spills out onto the street at the weekend. Alternatively, head to Café 1001 for the ever-present bbq or a quiet drink. It is only a short walk back through Spitalfields, where you can grab a nice evening meal from Canteen for around a tenner and as if by magic you’re back at Liverpool Street to get the bus home.




kentish town

by chloe g e o r g e


entish Town station is your start point, which sits at the north end of the bustling, multi-faceted Kentish Town Road. Packed with independent shops including the delightful Owl Bookshop and the pricey but fragrant Earth Foods, all walks of life roam up and down the main road, while expensive Victorian and Georgian houses nestle in relative peace on both sides. If you need pepping up after your so far arduous journey, nip into Kentish Town’s finest pub, Leverton Street’s The Pineapple. Stacked with talkative but committed soaks, former rock stars and tempting board games, you can while away a pleasant pint of ale while counting the pineapple-based memorabilia or enjoying the pub¹s excellent Thai food. Thus refreshed, head back out onto Kentish Town road and head south. On your right you¹ll see the Bull and Gate pub, early hosts for artists like PJ Harvey, Blur, Ash and the Manic Street Preachers. No less rock and roll a little further down is one of London¹s most famous nudist public baths, classily named Rio’s. By the time you pass the reasonably priced bring your own booze Bin Tang you’ll nearly have crossed the canal bridge and hit the bottom of Kentish Town Road. Hang a right onto Parkway, Camden’s hive of eateries, including the upmarket Market and veggie-restaurant-cumfolk-joint The Green Note Cafe. Cross over two

sets of traffic lights and the road will veer left, and you¹ll reach the edge of Regent’s Park. Enter the park and take a left, strolling south across grassy plains and the formal pleasures of the English Gardens. After ten minutes or so you’ll hit the bottom of the park, near Great Portland Street tube station. The Queen’s Head and Artichoke is a gastro-pub at the bottom of Albany Street, which runs round the edge of Regent’s Park. Back on Great Portland Street itself, the tube station on your left, head south and take a left down New Cavendish Street. Heading across the road onto Howland Street, the BT Tower will be just a couple of streets away. You can look at it and say “Oh look, there’s the BT Tower, why is it so fucking ugly?”. Take a right and you’ve reached the hub of Fitzrovia, Charlotte Street. Fitzrovia is formally the area bounded by Euston Rd (north), Oxford Street (south) and Tottenham Court Road (east). If you want to rub shoulders with Russian aristocrats and business men have a cocktail in the famous Charlotte Street Hotel. However, you can’t dally around the area like a bohemian Fitzrovia dandy without visiting the Fitzroy Tavern. Enjoy a Samuel Smiths pint and, as you suffer the muggy, but cheap brew, ruminate on Quentin Crisp, Dylan Thomas and George Orwell, who supped ale in the very same spot. For more of London visit



picnic time Nothing says English summer’s eve like a hamper, plastic plates and some houmous and crisps. Here’s how to go one step further than Somerfield’s Extra Special taramosalata…


on’t overdo this, remember less is more, especially if you’re trying to impress. Nobody wants to walk home with a complaining bloated so and so.

Sicilian Tomato Salad On a recent trip to Trapani this salad was a staple at lunch. It’s so easy to make and as long as you use proper bo tomatoes it’s a winner every time. You need: 10 top of the range tomatoes (a mixed bag) 1 red onion roughly chopped 1 green chilli sliced 1 lemon Olive oil – the good shit Sea salt. Throw the lot into a big bowl, squeeze the lemon, douse on the olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Shake, mix and stir before decanting into your finest Tupperware. Bust out some home made olives We’re not talking growing your own, but here’s a bit of a money saving tip too. Pick up a gigantic jar of olives and drain them. Now pour on some squeezed lemon juice, olive oil, sea salt and pepper. This is your base. You can now mess about with these as you please. Add Feta cheese, chopped chilli and garlic, jalepenos, thyme … sometimes it’s pretty slick to stuff each olive with a roasted almond. Pea, Broad Bean and Edamame salad You can cheat and get the peas and broad beans frozen, but fresh these are amazing this time of year and it’s fun to pop them out of their skins. Try Japanese stores for the edamame or you can find soya beans in the frozen section of most supermarkets.


Steam or boil all the ingredients still in their skins. Remove from the heat and allow to cool. When they are cooled pop all the insides out into a big bowl, pour over a little olive oil, fresh mint and some salt. You can edit this as you like… it’s nice with green beans and some chopped chilli, throw in an Asian twist by adding some sesame oil and sesame seeds. Soft Bread Fresh Pizza I just thought this up; I guess it’s like a sandwich but better, because it’s called a pizza. Get your hands on a decent amount of fresh bread Some buffalo mozzarella Parma ham Rocket Basil Slice the bread and press down around the crusts creating a ridge around your pizza. Place some of the tomato salad as your base and then rip up your mozzarella. It’s a perfect pizza base – all you need to do now is add your toppings and drizzle over some of the tomato salad dressing.

If it’s really hot put the pizza in the sun for ten minutes and watch the mozzarella warm up a little (this is England after all). Make your own Houmous Yet more olive oil and lemon juice! Blend a tin of chick peas, the olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, salt and watch as it turns into perfect houmous. Officially you should add some tahini paste, but it’s nicer without, sprinkle over some paprika. And for dessert? Depending on where you are you’ll want an ice cream. Those in Regents Park or Hampstead Heath could make the short walk to Marine Ices by Chalk Farm Station, there’s also Marine Ices supplied Ice Cream in the Highgate Wood cafe. If you are sitting in Hyde Park or Green Park then try the newly opened Argentinian Ice Cream bar, Freggo on Swallow Street just off Regent’s Street or really splash out at Fortnum and Mason where Ice Cream is truly great. Otherwise grab a Mr Whippy from the dodgy bloke outside the tube station. Enjoy!

illustration by Kayleigh Ann Witt


bermondsey street festival

tos presents... 1st september Wander down to our September issue launch party at Proud in Camden on Tues 1st September. We have Hal Flavin and Our Harbours playing. It’s free to get in from 7.30, perfect for those post bank-hol blues.

This chic village fete starts at 11am in Tanner Street Park, and runs all the way up Bermondsey Street. The street will be lined with over 50 stalls stocking everything from handmade jewellery to vintage accessories. Foodies will be in heaven in Tanner Street Park, which will be filled with delicious food stalls serving everything from a Garrison Hog Roast to delicacies from Del Azziz. During the day models will parade the latest fashions in the Fabulous Fashion Show, which will give London Fashion Week a run for its money!

fancy some booth time? email info@

East Finchley


Highgate Brent Cross

19th sept

Tufnell Park

Chalk Hampstead Farm

Golders Green

Belsize Park

Old Street

Kings Cross

Kentish Town Camden Town Mornington Crescent


film quiz @the bald faced stag

Indie cinema ‘The Phoenix’ holds a monthly film quiz at this tarted up boozer on East Finchley High Road. If you consider yourself a film know-it-all then this is your calling. If you’re one of those people who is pissed off when people say they like Transformers 2 but still know everything there is to know about Shia Leboeuf, then get yourself down there. Entry is £2 and there are some decent prizes to be won. 7.30pm Third Monday of every month East Finchley


Angel Warren Street

Moorg Tottenham Court Road Goodge Street

this will destroy you


Coming up with your own post rock band n fun... make it abrupt and incongrous or long and ever so slightly silly. Post rock maybe a words but if you know the difference betwe and Vessels and don’t snigger at names such You Black Emperor, then This Will Destroy simply blow you away. Playing at the intimate Underworld TWDY marry fragile tunes with stirring crescendos to great effect. They will also be supported by the equally impressive And So I Watch You From Afar.

@ underworld in camden

bfi london film festival

Cinema fans can celebrate with the return of BFI London Film Festival. The programme for this has yet to be released but there is always a superb collection of obscure wonders, soon-to-be-hot indie hits and flat out Hollywood fun. Opening the festival is the world premiere of the eagerly anticipated Fantastic Mr Fox. Directed by Wes Anderson, the trailer for this stopmotion animated delight suggests that the final film has married the innocent charm of Roald Dahl’s novel with the offbeat wit of Anderson’s early work. The full programme for the festival is announced September 9. 14 to 29 October, around London

London Bridge

Charing Cross

icester Square

21st oct name is lots of g, hyperbolic dirty pair of een Mogwai h as Godspeed y You will quite

from 18th sept




inherit the wind



Waterloo Embankment

speaking in tongues

Stockwell Oval


John Simm (Life on Mars) returns to the stage this autumn leading an exciting cast including Ian Hart (The Virgin Queen), Emmy award-winning actress Lucy Cohu (The Queen’s Sister), and Kerry Fox (Shallow Grave), in this highly charged thriller. The seemingly random confessions of a group of strangers are pieced together into a powerful study of infidelity and interwoven lives, as Detective Leon Zat (Simm) investigates the disappearance of a leading psychiatrist. Andrew Bovell’s play will have its West End premiere at the Duke of York’s Theatre, directed by rising star Toby Frow.

from sept 18th. tickets from £10 (see our interview with kerry fox

A gripping drama based on the 1925 Scopes Monkey trial. A schoolteacher is arrested for teaching his high school students Darwin’s evoluClapham Common In a highly tion theory. religious town this is Clapham North strictly prohibited by law and two legal Titans confront each other in a community where freedom of thought is put on trial. When science teacher Bertram Cates violates the state law he finds himself at the centre of a court case that not only shakes the United States but resonates across the world. Trevor Nunn last directed Richard II at The Old Vic and Kevin Spacey was last seen on stage at The Old Vic starring in Speed the Plow. Tickets from £10 @ The Old Vic

sun, sea and... something different LET ME GUESS, you’ve got 20 days of holiday a year. SOMEHOW only FIVE left ‘TIL JANUARY. AND NO MONEY...


provincial towns – to jog around self-confessed NORTHERN MONKEY RACHEL SEXTON reports What’s that? You sheffield thought Sheffield was all steel and snooker? Oh, goodness me no. It offers those weary of London’s trials plenty of great stuff to do for a weekend. And with the good people at East Midlands Trains doing a sterling job, you can be there after work on a Friday having had to sacrifice only two hours of your time eating Golden Wonder crisps and watching Britain go by.

friday If a packet of prawn cocktail wasn’t enough, when you arrive into Sheffield head to London Road where you will find loads of great places to eat. The Turkish delight – Zeugma, Yama Sushi – very reasonably priced, and Jabu – a Chinese hot pot restaurant, are all well recommended.


Offbeat, a night at Raynor Lounge, is the perfect place to kick off your weekend in style, serving up some alternative indie, or take it easy in The Porter Cottage near Hunters Bar – a relaxed hangout for a few pints and some tunes on the jukebox.

saturday Start Saturday with some retail therapy in the Devonshire Quarter, a trendy part of the town developed on a 19th century street grid. Division Street prides itself on its independent boutique shops including a lovely little antique shop opposite the green and Jacks Records. Heading into the heart of Sheffield along Division Street, the Winter Gardens act as a centrepiece to the city where a jungle of exotic plants are housed in a giant glasshouse. It is a

wonderfully tranquil place, great to spend some time relaxing in with a book. The millennium gallery is part of the gardens, featuring a number of permanent and temporary exhibitions. The metalwork gallery and the Ruskin gallery are permanent and always worth a look. For lunch, The Blue Moon Cafe is a wonderful hippy veggie eatery near the Cathedral or Twenty Two A is a pleasant cafe located just off the high street. If you fancy the pictures in the afternoon/evening, The Showroom is an independent cinema near the train station and boasts a charming atmosphere. It also has a bar/ restaurant that very often holds mellow live music performances in the evenings. After that, Cubana is a good choice for dinner, although you may get roped into some Salsa dancing. Trippets wine bar is opposite for a drink

or two after dinner, or alternatively The Grapes is a pub nearby that also serves as a music venue. Other options include The Devonshire Cat offering the best range of beers in the city, Bungalows and Bears, The Green Room and The Forum to name but a few.

sunday Sunday brings a jaunt down Eccelsall Road towards Hunters Bar. There are lots of small cafes for coffee and breakfast. The Botanical Gardens are along the way and are certainly worth a visit after a heavy Saturday night, there are plenty of Birch trees that will happily accommodate an afternoon snooze too. For a nice lunch in Hunters Bar before your train leaves, the Greedy Greek Deli will not let you down or the Thyme Cafe on Glossop Road is perfect for a delicious sit down meal.





he mist closing in as you sit, safe, in the car, while the rain hurls itself against the windscreen against a backdrop of panoramic hills – this is not London. Yet, only two and a half hours drive from the capital, you experience a pleasant sense of disorientation at being somewhere so dissimilar so quickly. Derbyshire is in some ways the antithesis of the city – stunningly unspoilt, relatively sparse in population and endlessly, steadfastly green. For those wanting to avoid the five to seven hour drives to Devon or Cornwall, where traffic queues at this time of year resemble the Saturday morning rush at Ikea, the Peak district provides a less fashionable but just as beautiful setting. It often seems that the trend of seaside holidays packed with tourists is overrated anyway – give me an angry sky bearing down on top of a dale any day, not to mention the occasions when the sun emerges and blue sky melts into the countryside and winding rivers


by chloe george

below. As you hit the peaks it is impossible not to be impressed by the dramatic dales and desolate moors this ain’t no lightweight Gloucestershire or pleasant-enough Wiltshire. This is hardcore countryside. A car is handy in this relatively rural area, but not totally necessary – you can get a train from St Pancras to Derby or Chesterfield, then local trains to the bigger towns like Buxton or Matlock. Many people come to Derbyshire for walking holidays, and setting off onto the dales for a day is an experience that even amateurs should have a go at. You can buy walking maps from any shop or village, then – with a sturdy pair of shoes on your feet and a armed with delicious Famous Five style picnic (hard boiled eggs and lemonade for those in the know, and, because you are older than Dick and George et al, a can of local ale too) – set out on a circular walk which, should you not get too lost or

stunningly unspoilt and steadfastly green

trampled by a herd of angry cows, will deposit you right back where you started a few hours earlier. There’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of coming back into the village you set off from that morning, and rewarding your exhausted self with an ice cold pint. Lots of other walkers are around, and there’s a pleasing scent of camaraderie in the air – you want to jump up and high five them all, though this may be frowned upon in ramblers’ circles. On days where you want to rest a bit, and when drives in the country and Scrabble get tiresome, there are some great day-tripper activities around. The small towns of Buxton, Bakewell (as in the tarts, of course) and Ashbourne all have cutesy tea rooms, good pubs for lunch and antique shops a plenty. Additionally, there are lots of areas of beauty that don’t require long walks, such as Derwent Water and or the caves around Castleton. The area is packed full of beautiful National

Trust properties, the biggest and best being Chatsworth, the absolute bad boy of national treasures. It’s where the BBC filmed their version of Pride and Prejudice, though there are (sadly or not, depending on your preference) no cheap Hollywood cash-ins pointing out all the best bits of the film – ‘This is where Colin Firth strode, wet-tendrilled, out of the water!’ – and so on. You can still walk around the stunning grounds and house, look at the Duke of Devonshire’s impressive collection of modern art and murmur ‘Pemberley’, like Elizabeth Bennett, dollar signs in eyes, did so dreamily. If this all sounds a bit twee and middleaged, consider partaking in these activities in a subversive act of reappropriation, like, you know, the Shoreditch W.I. might approach a bake-off or a knitting circle. Your mum and dad had a point when they dragged you round these places, and now you get to do it with a sense of appreciation for old stuff and beautiful stuff. Sometimes things are popular because they’re enjoyable, ok? Accommodation-wise, it’s worth considering whether you want to properly get away from it all or enjoy the benefits of a village or town. The former means you get to stay in a wonderfully rural location where you can sit on your patio in solitude and stare out at the beautiful landscape, glass of wine in hand; in the latter you can stroll to the local shop and stagger back from the local pub. There are plenty of great youth hostels in the area if you’re on a budget, but if you can spare the extra cash and hire a cottage, it’s worth doing. Many of the houses have wood burning stoves, and you can shop at the many farm shops around and cook yourself some pastry-based treat for dinner. There’s nothing quite like tucking in to a lamb shank from a local source, as the sun dips below the peaks while you reflect on a day spent outdoors. As Alan Partridge might say, you can be Derby-sure you’ll have a cracking time. tell us a bout you r short trip id eas at www.theother sid



bristol by chloe george


ompact but overflowing with a cultural pulse, Bristol’s streets are heavy with golden-haired, long-limbed students, and ports and warehouses of its industrial aesthetic have a way of burning their way into your consciousness. A weekend in Bristol presents the opportunity to familiarise yourself with the best of the West country. Thousands of students come to Bristol every year to enjoy an unrivalled music, culture and culinary scene, not to mention a myriad cider-drinking opportunities. Those who spend weekend after weekend in London are bound to appreciate a city which you can sample entirely by foot, where people know each other by sight and where a few quid will get you a glass of something cool, strong and locally brewed.

itinerary Once you’ve chugged into

Bristol’s Brunel-designed train station on Friday evening, hop on the bus to town and get down to Mr Wolf’s on St Stephen’s Street, off Baldwin Street. Part live music venue, part watering hole, and part noodle bar, the venue offers live music every night in an unpretentious atmosphere. Pull up a bar stool, enjoy some Asian food and watch Bristol’s musicians and punters gather and greet each other with a familiarity totally alien to dear old London. Head back out onto Baldwin Street and hang a right onto the water-front’s Welsh Back. Beyond the landscape of coatless hen nights, stinking testosterone and Pitcher and Piano-inspired identikits, you’ll find the Apple, a fairly recent addition to the waterfront and a good old stab at


a floating new-school cider venue. With over 40 different types of cider and great food and drink, you could do a lot worse than settling yourself down on the deck or the terrace next to it and getting to grips with apple-based refreshments. Also worth a mention is the Old Duke, yards away and offering plenty of live music in an oldschool pub surrounding. People spill out onto the street and enjoy a pre or post theatre pint: Bristol’s Old Vic is right near by. If you’re still feeling energetic, and you’d be silly not to be, continue south along the river. Sophisticated bar and restaurant Severnshed is worth dropping into, for a cocktail or at least to see the interior of this former boathouse designed by Brunel. Fantastic and unpretentious Mud Dock Café is just down the road, with a delicious locally sourced menu and housed above a bike shop – enjoy the sun-drenched terrace and check out the quirky hanging-bikes adorning the walls. But the real reason you’re down here is the Thekla, the bar, kitchen and nightclub located entirely on a ship, moored on the satisfyingly-named Mud Dock. Dine out on nautical nostalgia – jump aboard via the gangplank, peer out of the portholes in the toilet, make your way up to top deck and shout Ahoy there!’, constantly. For clubbers and non-clubbers alike, there are eclectic live music events and djs from breakbeat to drum and bass to funk and soul and back to indie.

night nurse The next morning, nurse your sore head in tasteful Clifton. The Hampstead of Bristol, it shares the habit of

calling itself a village while really being distinctive by its high prices and organic bakeries. On the down side, it offers lots in the way of noisy sloanes and over-priced nautical-themed clothing, but it’s packed to the rafters with lovely eateries and pubs. Try one of the richest hot chocolates you’ll ever drink in Bar Chocolat, stuff a delicious organic breakfast in the friendly, bijou Primrose Café or, if it’s near lunchtime, grab a reasonably-priced slice of pizza in Pizza Provencale.

matinée If you can’t abide by all the middle class nicety, head back towards town via ultimate greasy spoon the York Café. Then you hit Park Street, where you’d be silly not to while away a few hours heading down the steep hill and dropping into Bristol’s finest collection of independent clothes and music shops. Go to the Boston Tea Party when you have a break and grab a steaming hot vat of tea and some home-made cake. Seeing as you’re probably hung over from the night before, enjoy a lazy late afternoon watching an indie film in Bristol’s delightful Watershed cinema and café. For dinner you could head down to the docks and visit Olive Shed, a cute little vegetarian restaurant selling beautiful and carefully prepared food, and recommended by Raymond Blanc, no less. After all that health, head back up to Clifton and get stuck in at the Coronation Tap pub. Packed and sweaty, it sells its house cider in half pints because it’s so strong. After three or four you will feel a content grin spreading across your face, and you won’t remember anything at all.

Happily, your hangover won’t be that bad either, so on Sunday, head to Southville’s Tobacco Factory. This is more than a walk, but you won’t regret hopping on the bus, not least because it offers the chance to see more than just the centre of Bristol. Primarily an arts venue, the beautiful space has a great café and a Sunday market, where locals can buy delicious food and drink and listen to live music, and perhaps congratulate themselves on their privileged-yet bohemian lifestyle. Keeping to the bohemian theme, utilise public transport once more to get yourself to the heart of creative bohemia, Gloucester Road. Yes, it’s just a road, but it is crammed with shops selling whole foods, great coffee, thrift items and cosy pubs with jukeboxes and pool tables – notables are the Old Fox and the Prince of Wales. Make sure you try the Sunday roast in the former. Further down the road is Cheltenham Road, with similar amenities, leading onto Stokes Croft. The Croft is a café and record shop by day, and a music venue by night – don’t miss it. If you have a spare hour head to Montpelier, which is like Hoxton but with less morons. Pub wise, head to The Cadbury (a Montpelier stalwart) or the kooky Star and Garter, or see a movie or art piece at the Cube Microplex. You can mosey back to the train station, stuffed, sleepy and skint. Coming back in to Paddington, you might wonder if we’re getting it wrong in our super-sized metropolis, and consider (with more than just a passing whimsy) joining the westward-migration of friendly, funseeking folk.




e puts the sweet in his mouth. It must be a red one. For this to work. A red sweet from a silver foiled wrapper, ensconced in green. The memory of shape, fading away and hanging loose, the paper and foil limp and free of purpose. Holding nothing in place, the tear curling back towards a point where it regains cylindrical form. It has to be a red sweet. He puts it under his tongue. A fruit pastille communion wafer. Dissolving ever so slowly. Sticky glycerine. It would hang there. It just would. There’s no getting around that. The wafer would disappear, as it always does. It becomes something else. Seemingly firm, like the body, but gives itself to become something else – the body – as the saliva dissolves it. Matter into meaning or meaning into matter. Either way. This sweet though, this red sweet, it would take longer. It would sit in his mouth. Stay there uncomfortably. Unnaturally. Resist the urge to bite or chew. So it sticks to the teeth. Devouring the body of Christ just isn’t the same. It’s not a gift received, it’s sustenance taken. So for it to sit there, under his tongue, it would take a real will. Commitment to the metaphor. But that’s okay. It would slowly melt. Sweets always do. Eventually. The sugary blood of Christ. No. The sugared blood of Christ. Those sandpaper granules of sweetness, softening, dissolving. The sugared blood of Christ. Seeping beneath the tongue, up, and inevitably down… that’s why it must have been a red one. The black blood of Christ a needless profanity, confusing the message perhaps. Which is? A child’s sweet. A communion wafer. The latter transubstantiates into something. Bread into body. The former… into what? The religion of this is almost immaterial. I mean, the man, his wife, they weren’t even Catholic. But this is just in the car, and they would have had travel sweets, driving to those cliffs. So the image, it stands to reason that it would work. Sacrifice, blood, death… and that it’s a child’s sweet… well, it stands to reason. Even if he didn’t put


the red sweet under his tongue, even if it wasn’t red, well, he would have eaten something, so it’s not too much of a leap to make. And what it means, the ceremony, gives that journey down to Beachy Head, their pilgrimage, much more weight. Otherwise what? Silence? No. He places the red sweet under his tongue. A fruit pastille communion wafer. The sugared blood of Christ dripping thick down his throat. His wife. Silent. Looks at the map. They must turn off at junction 12 or they’ll bound to be caught in traffic. She doesn’t even need to say, they both know. But maybe she does say. “We need to turn off at junction 12.” Is he short with her? Do her words shatter the solemnity of this ritual? Are there words or aren’t there? Which is more banal and which is more revealing? He looks in his rear view mirror, the metronomelike tock of the signal serving as nothing else other than a function of what it is. Sound and action, and the banality of objects as trite a contrast as always, so the green blinking arrow (maybe the pastille could be green then?) and the tock are just that. Merged into lane the tock is clicked silent. She squeezes his hand. Their bodies would hum. Vibrate and warp. Thick throats – not with sugared sweets, but with loss. Just loss. Their eyes strained and hearts empty. He can’t squeeze back because he’s driving, but he wants to, and she knows he would squeeze back if he could so it doesn’t matter. She feels all the love seeping out of his chest, oozing, collecting and drying in the blast of the air conditioner. If she could kiss it better, if she could muster the will to stanch the flow… but she can’t because it is the same with her. Same staccato dribble of self, away to nothing. Drying or evaporating. Or gone completely. The boy’s body is on the back seat, folded and wedged in a soft rucksack. Carefully? His solid,


by adam richmond

unforgiving limbs would suggest not. A sustained love that could bend and break and twist stiff limbs and sallow skin into that space in case someone stops them on the drive down. Or sees the body when they stop to fill up for petrol. A nylon farewell is just as good as a wood and what’s the difference anyway, with where they’re all going, where they will all end up? She did it. Like she put him to rest each night and kissed his forehead and squeezed him tight so the bed bugs wouldn’t bite; so she squeezed him tight into the rucksack. After they’d decided what they would do. After their boy had died. The ceremony and care speak for themselves. Surely. Just like the drive. A funeral procession of two, the practicalities of the drive as pressing as reaching that final moment of release. His limbs were folded, were bent and broken, just as a bottle of water was filled in case they got thirsty. Perhaps two. Because that’s what you do when you go for a drive. They carried the rucksack to the car, their fresh baby boy’s corpse curled up on dad’s back, just like when they went to the park - did he falter and did she catch him? Did they share a smile? In this absurd farce, the comedy and tragedy sickeningly intermingle, imbuing everything with a hard to swallow irony or underscoring the sick joke of it all. Is the cloying dance of life outside a reminder of all that they were giving up on, or of everything that deserved to be forgotten? However it happened, whether the sweet was red, whether they missed the junction, whether they bought a bottle of water… they reached the cliffs. Sweets finished, or melting in the glove box. The wind would have whipped their hair, pushed their tears to one side, and then a final embrace, lasting a moment or forever, united in action, love, emptiness, and despair. Did they throw the rucksack first, or hold it close? It’s no good. Either a running jump or letting go, slip sliding away off the land, down and down, back to the land. Smashed to pieces of rock, united, broken, beaten, defiant. Either way. It ended the same.

to submit your own stories visit t h e o t h e r s i d e m a g . c o . u k


poem by cardorowski

a song for freedom (with relevant apologies) Methinx that I shall never see a billboard lovely until free of lie, cheat, steal and deceit. If I should croak after the Doom Perhaps I'd see without the gloom.

I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely until free of perfumed boys in Lingerie. And should I reach my ripe old age, there'd be no ending to my rage.

You know that I will never see a public surface for ever free Of lust and pride and Gluttony. The other 4 will take their place And ruin yet the Human Race. I'm sure that I shall not have seen A billboard lovely until freed Of selling life upon The Cheap If I live to a hundred and three The boards might come digitally!


It's up to us to take them back let's be nimble, let's attack with spray can, paint brush and wise crack. Let's turn the advert hoardings 'round and let the song of freedom sound!

Perhaps I have it wrong my friend and billboards only stand to send words of Love to those whose hearts're rent By sickness, pain and mounting debt. I haven’t seen that billboard yet. I think that I shall never see A lovely billboard telling me Eat Less, Give More, Un hassled be. Oh I could wait for e'er to see A billboard lovely as a tree.


TOS recommends...

From Friday September the 25th 2009, The Underground Rebel Bingo Club launches a series of late night bingo operations


Late night dirty, secret, noisy, hardcore bingo for people who like loud music and shouting – If you don’t like loud music and shouting we suggest you stay home and watch the Emmerdale omnibus. The Underground Rebel Bingo Club takes Bingo very seriously. The only things it takes more seriously are staying up late and dancing. So now the ever-popular night is launching a series of new, late night Bingo sessions taking place in a secret location near Angel.




rebel bingo club Secret location, nearest tube, Angel

£6 in advance - £8 on the door - £4 NUS. Discounts for facebook group members.



The rules of Rebel Bingo are simple, but include ‘No Wankers’ and ‘No Pets’. We’ll see you there!
















midnight bingo Every Friday from Sept the 25th. 10.30pm-3am Secret location, nearest tube, Old Street




£20 for 12 issues









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The Other Side Sept  

The Other side takes you walking, eating and on holiday in this super magazine