I’ve officially been back from London for more than 10 days, so that means it’s officially time to STFU, move on with my life and plan the next adventure. If you caught part 1, you know that the beginning of the trip was filled with touristy things, sightseeing and 350 hours on buses (ugh).
It’s time to follow me down the rabbit hole and break down the rest of the week.
Day 4: Tea, Balls and Sunsets
The day started off peaceful enough. After a morning snack, we got ready and headed over to Oxford Circus to grab coffee, stroll around the area and get to our reservation for afternoon tea at Sketch (yep, the place with the insane toilets you see above).
Sketch is the restaurant you’ve seen all over Instagram. To be honest, it’s almost too trendy for me… almost.
Our server was less of a server and more of a salesperson. He pitched us the “champagne tea” and managed to sell us the most expensive bottle of bubbly by describing it as “liquid gold” or “London gold” or something I thought I needed at the time. I mean, it was good, but it wasn’t bottomless.
Next, we were served caviar by “the caviar man” (he wore a pink suit, NBD), followed by six gallons of tea, sexy tea sandwiches, scones, desserts and so much more. My stomach expanded three sizes, but I was in pure ecstasy.
After tea, we were mildly buzzed and plump AF. We also had reservations at a Shoreditch bar called Ballie Ballerson (more on that later) but decided we’d rather “hang on” than hangover. It’s here that the adventure begins.
We had a cheeky photoshoot and stopped in for a pint at a random pub (shocker), then headed over to Cahoots, a bar in an old tube station which we didn’t even realize was a speakeasy. Oops.
We managed to charm/annoy our way in and tossed back some cocktails. I broke out my fisheye lens and we felt ALIVE.
We would’ve stayed longer, but the drinks were freakin’ expensive and we needed more pints. In the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day week, we chose an Irish pub, accidentally caught a performance of Riverdance, met a Canadian Instagram model who asked us to follow him, and promptly peaced out.
I forced Tina to eat Nando’s for dinner, basically because that’s all I ate during my college internship, and we sprinted back to the Airbnb to get changed for the rest of the night.
At this point, the sexy photos ended and embarrassing Snapchats took over. First stop was Ballie Ballerson, a giant ball pit bar filled with 18-year-olds who saw it on Facebook. We managed two drinks and 15 minutes in the ball pit before we bailed, and bailed hard.
It was all downhill from there.
That brought us to Barrio in Shoreditch. As we walked up to the bar, we heard lads shouting “Barrio!” and knew it was the stop for us. Along the way, we met a flirty/creepy security guard and a flamboyant dancer. We followed the dancer to a gay bar, which led to us meeting some straight lads, which led to a few more pubs, which ended at a club.
Tina sent me the “Where are you?” text at 5:21 a.m., and we knew then it was time to leave. We got back to the Airbnb around 6 a.m. and promptly died.
Day 5: Death & St. Patrick’s Day
Yes, all of that stuff up there was day 4. By day 5, we were absolute trash people. I also don’t have any photos for this day except this dim sum pic right here.
We woke up around 1 p.m., looked at each other with pain in our eyes, drank some Lucozade (Gatorade, basically), made toasties (grilled cheese, God I’m cultured), watched more Ex on the Beach and finally managed to leave the house at 4:40 p.m. for dim sum. Yeah, we suck.
After dim sum, we forced ourselves to drink a beer to numb the pain and headed to our St. Patrick’s Day plan: The Shoreditch Big Night Out Pub Crawl.
The pub crawl started easy enough with St. Paddy’s hats and glow sticks. We then went to the worst bar in the entire world, which employed about a dozen bartenders – two of which knew how to actually make a drink. This bar honestly deserves its own post. Like, there’s too much.
From there, the pubs blended together. We drank, we danced, we met lads. One lad was a 20-year-old American kid who was studying abroad. He recommended we go out in Piccadilly Circus and I was thrust back to my time in London as a 20-year-old douche. In those days, I pregamed with a bottle of white wine and went on pub crawls. Actually, the only thing that’s changed since then is my wine choice. Malbec is much more sophisticated than trash Chardonnay.
Anyway, the pubs were blurry and crowded and we were getting over the night. That is until we arrived at our last stop. It was a club. More than that, it was THE club – the same one as the night before. We were terrified and excited.
The club felt like home. We walked around like we owned the place, chanted “LADS, LADS, LADS, LADS” at the top of our lungs and finally turned in at about 4 a.m. We actually brought a lad home (don’t worry mom, nothing happened), but used him as a tool to help us translate what the cast of Ex on the Beach was saying. Those accents are thick, man.
Day 6: The Last Day
By day 6, we transformed from trash people to full-blown garbage fire. We woke up late once again (around noon) and got ourselves ready to brave the last bit of the day. We headed to Borough Market for some fresh pasta (I accidentally said ‘no’ to sauce – long story), walked around, grabbed a pint (I know), and saw the fattest pigeon in the world.
The hangover was strong and we were feeling old, so we slumped back to the tube and road that sucker home.
We managed to have a proper last meal at a pizza joint, where we chugged some red wine and said “Ok London, you’ve won. You’ve beat us.”
Defeated by pints and booze, we drug our limp bodies back to the Airbnb to pack.
Day 7: Goodbye
We woke up on day 7, walked our giant suitcases to the tube and took it straight to Heathrow. After a cheeseburger at the airport, I checked my work email, watched The Revenant on the plane (great film) and bing, bang, boom. I was home.
Overall, we had an epic trip that started with tourist activities and ended with doing what we do best – getting drunk, snapchatting and being annoying.