Next, the basics: Food & Shelter

Living in Islington, London means there are many options for both. Food wise, I still find it hard to enjoy what I understand to be the London version of a Kebab. It's not because of the distinct suggestion that tuberculosis lurks near, after-all I like to gamble with my health as much as the next punter. Who doesn't? Further, who could think of a better weekend than being strapped to the toilet? What an utterly winning 48 hours.

Actually the problem with these style of kebabs are that they are missing one critical ingredient. You guessed it Cupid: ... Love. The only kebab taste I have ever experienced to date in London is one that combines the gag reflex of biting into a pound of gristle with a few precious shards of wet lettuce in a wholemeal bun, and its not even remotely hot. Weird, Loveless

And wrong (but not in a tut tut Nanny state kind of way- More on that later).

So where's the crunchy, salty, sloppy meat and the corpse stripping garlic sauce? In short: where's a Saray franchise when you need it?

On the greener side of the grass, there are gigatrillions of joints to eat and drink in my hood. It would bore you and me both attempting to name them.  Clearly that's not enough choice though. So I was forced to go to Soho for drinks, dinner, coffee (well actually more and more drinks because we were remembered from our last visit here over 14 years ago and treated like long lost family) and then ended up inside the bar through the door:

 And then I went to the toilet .  After that it was too much and I needed a lie down in my shelter (More on that later too).  Maybe I should give kebabs and a local boozer another go. When I do I'll provide a full report.