Where Is It? Leafy Islington, formerly Trendy Islington, formerly Stabby Islington;
What Is There to Do Locally? You can go to the Union Chapel for a gig, you can go the Hen and Chickens for some comedy, you can go to any area larger than a parking space for a farmer's market, farmer's markets as far as the eye can see, farmer's markets stretching into the horizon, an infinite vista of £4 bread loaves and men in Barbour jackets telling you the name of the pig he killed to make your bacon, the name being "Herbert", you are going home to cook up strips of Herbert. Herbert was loved, Herbert had a soul. The man is crying now. "Herbert was a good pig," he is saying. "A good, good pig. That'll be £8, though, for the Herbert bacon."
Alright, How Much Are They Asking? £780 per calendar month, water and gas included.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Anyway, until then, fucking look at this place in Islington. Because if you look closely, it is a perfect snapshot of misery, as if scientists programmed a computer to render the exact dwelling your dad might move into when your mum finally hits him with the divorce. You've got a tiny kitchen cabinet, just enough to hold food supplies for one. The microwave elevated to deity status with its own special high shelf. A door with a bed in front of it, a visual metaphor that screams "no escape". And there, the lipstick on the pig, the polish on the turd, high on the beige-grey ceiling and almost out of view, you see it: a glass crystal, shop-bought chandelier.Trending on VICE Sports: In Search of My Childhood Wrestling Heroes
A fun game to play when you are trying to rent a flat in London – or, worse, a room in a flat, just one fucking room – is to put the quoted monthly rental prices into spareroom.co.uk and see what you could get around the rest of the country for the same price. You see yourself in four-bedroomed farmhouses in Cumbria and elegant country kitchens on the outskirts of Bath. You see yourself going for extensive walks without leaving your garden. You see yourself in a pool. And then you see yourself, with such grim inevitability, putting down the £780 deposit on a single room with a bed crammed in it in Islington, microwaving your bacon, weeping in a shower that's hidden behind a door near a toilet. London: the greatest city on earth. But also, secretly, even in its nicest, leafiest places and its most golden moments, still secretly very much a shithole.Trending on MUNCHIES: Live Like a High Roller in Vegas
Advertisement