Photos via Zoopla
What is living in London like? Hell. Here’s proof, beyond all doubt, that renting in London is a nightmare.
Where is it? A triumphant return to… Stoke Newington!
What is there to do locally? Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose Hamdy’s non-pornographic newsagent. Choose brunch, butterfly gardens, cruising in the graveyard and queuing outside The Good Egg. Choose that 24-hour bagel place that isn’t very good. Choose the un-lively Wetherspoons and spending every Sunday paying £16 for a roast. Choose sitting in The Auld Shillelagh watching underwhelming Premier League games while pretending you like your Guinness. Choose that restaurant that changes its frontage every six months, and mediocre Italian places no one sits outside of, and that weird pub that used to be horrible and now pretends it’s a tea shop. Choose any number of organic shops that inexplicably sell 900 kinds of honey. Choose that curry place that had its meat sent to a lab and the lab couldn’t figure out what animal it came from. Choose the 73 bus, and mums with sharp voices asking you to please keep your voice down, and that Sainsbury’s that always smells of shit, and couples in chore jackets squabbling outside antique warehouses, and being disappointed once again by the charity shops because charity shops in affluent areas should have rich treasures within them but all the Stoke Newington charity shops have is the absolute shite, and not really ever knowing where the train station is, and yet another friend-of-a-friend has booked a table for their birthday party at The White Hart, even though at its best it is a 6/10 pub the size and shape of a 10/10 pub, it just tricks people into thinking it’s an 8/10 pub because it does burgers, and your neighbours knocking on your door to remind you that you rent and they’ve bought and if you don’t fucking start doing the recycling properly they’ll report you to the council, and coming home after a crackling up-until-the-sun-rises MDMA session in last night’s sweat-soaked T-shirt to find your whole street has been closed off for a jolly tea party and someone’s wrapped bunting around a sound system and is loudly playing chart hits, and yet another bad date spent eating Thai food in silence in the Coach & Horses, and walking past Yum Yum and going “have you ever been to Yum Yum?” and the person with you saying no, they’ve never been Yum Yum, and you haven’t been there either, so who, exactly, is going to Yum Yum? Who has ever been to Yum Yum? Who is keeping Yum Yum in business? What is the deal with Yum Yum? Anyway, won’t do the rest of the poster but you broadly get the gist.
Alright, how much are they asking? £1,000 p.c.m.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Advertisement