Ruby Crouch End Whore ❤️

About Bristol

Ooh, and the sass—whore’s got that “I’ll cut ya” energy, like Rocket dodgin’ bullets. Makes me giggle, thinkin’ how she’d wink at ya, then rob ya blind. My fave? When they own it, struttin’ like, “I’m the king, motherfucker!”—movie vibes, pure gold. Tho, gotta say, the stench of desperation sometimes? Pisses me off—wash up, girl! Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’d tell her to her face, “Own it or ditch it!”

The very best of Crouch End, picked by a clued-up local

Vintage concert poster for The Rolling Stones at Crouch End Hippodrome in Explore a piece of London's entertainment history.

Anyway, I head out to the coffee shop on Middle Lane. It’s called The Haberdashery or somethin’. Great place, but the barista? Ugh. She’s got this attitude like she’s the queen of Crouch End. I order a flat white, and she rolls her eyes. Like, chill, lady! I’m not asking for a miracle here. Just gimme my caffeine fix!

Cubes: home-from-home cooking that always makes you feel better about the day