boxpark croydon

9 reasons we are too excited for Boxpark Croydon

The crates are going up! I know right, I walked past the station yesterday morning with a Monday blurry eye and perked right up at the fact that Boxpark is finally on it’s way. Let’s not mention the fact that I thought it was due to happen last summer. It’s finally coming!


And why are we all so bloody excited. Well I’ll tell you why.

  1. Err, for starters it is actually going makes us cool as fuck. Croydon is finally going to be on the map – and not for high crime rates, riots or people that still think wearing Adidas tracksuits on the street is OK. Side step the obvious gentrification and just wallow in people no longer backing away when you say you live in Croydon. Finally.
  2. The influx of bearded men is going to sky rocket. And for the women of Croydon this is an exciting bloody time. Because it’s a known fact that temporary structures that  house ‘pop-up’ shops and restaurants are a hot bed for hot men with hot beards. The number is doubled when said structure is made from crates. Don’t ask me – it’s science ok. It’s bloody science.
  3. MEATLIQUOR yo! Yes, you heard me right. Meat fricking Liquor is coming to Croydon. And hopefully for at least 6 hours nobody will really realise so we won’t have to queue up for 17 weeks like we do in the West End. Get that burger in my face immediately.meat-liquor-logo

  4. Our Uber bill is going to fall through the floor. Because the novelty of having this here will run until at least Christmas. Which means all us commuters will just come home on a Friday night at a normal time, and hang out with the rest of the hipsters and be able TO WALK HOME. Ok, worst way we’re going to have to hop on a tram. But still. HELLO CONVENIENCE.
  5. The Breakfast Club. Because, you know what I don’t mind lining up for an hour for a full english if I go there in my PJ’s. Making me get dressed to schlep to Soho on a Saturday morning to line up for sausages was never going to happen. But now, I’m all over that shit. Can you imagine the brunch dates. Behave.
    breakfast club

    Hey pancakes. Every day

  6. The Cronx. Oh yeah….apparently now we’ve got our own craft beer company because we are just all of the snazzy. And they’re going to have a bottle shop & bar that serves grilled sandwiches. Incase you’re looking for me between now and March – that’s probably where I’ll be.
  7. There’s going to be other places to go on a date night other than Bugattis in South Croydon. I know right. The boys of Croydon Tinder behold and get to know that you can know suggest somewhere else for date 3. Phew.
  8. We won’t have to make arrangements ever again. Long gone will be the days of ‘so if we catch the 19.45 from West Croydon, we’ll be in Shoreditch for 20.30, can stay for a few hours and catch the last Overground because we live in the sticks and are skint. Hello to days of ‘hello mate, see you in like 5 minutes, let’s go for Fish, Wing & Ting’. Wahoo.
  9. Wine & Deli. If you live in Croydon then you’ve got to have been living under a rock to have missed Brgr & Beer in Matthews Yard. Well the geniuses behind that have come up with yet another hold-the-motherf*ckin-phone plan. Wine & Deli. Yes. Wine and small plates.Literally. Cannot. Even.

    bgr and beer

    these guys tho picture courtesy of the


See you there kids

LL x


I drunkenly deleted Tinder – and guess what, the world didn’t explode.

I know right, you might be reading this as a fellow single girl and thinking ‘hell, bitch be crazy, she’s never gonna get laid again’.
And to be honest with you, in my hazy hungover state, I had all of the never-gonna-get-laid-ever-again-anxiety. It seems to be the only gateway into anything remotely romantic/attention giving in this day and age and whilst pissed from post work drinks, I’d deleted the lot. Bosh. Gone.

Like so many twenty-somethings, my dating life of late has fallen into two categories. Category 1 – nothing. Category 2 – online. I’ve tried everything from Tinder to Badoo and the only long term thing I’ve managed to get from it is RSI in my thumb from all of the swiping.

I’d got to the stage this one Wednesday evening when I, half pissed, got on the train and looked at my notifications. I’d had 16 new Tinder messages since leaving the office. I opened my phone and before my next stop I could have signed myself up for dates to last me through to the following Monday, if I’d so wished. Yes, some of the guys I’d been chatting to were funny. On message. They were attractive. In their filtered pictures. But it dawned on me that I had no interest in going to meet any of them.

I’ve done a year & a half of the leg work. Of answering the exact same questions every single time I match someone new. Yes I’m 27, yes this is what I do for a job, no funnily enough I don’t fancy a ‘bit of fun’. It’s the same cycle, day in day out. One out of 10 you have the initial conversation with actually follow through to the next day, and only one out of 10 of those ever transpire into a date. By which point, you’ve probably dedicated about two weeks having banter with a guy behind a screen, you psyche yourself up and only one out of the ten you meet you actually have a spark with.

It’s hard work. It’s admin heavy. And I’d got tired.

So, I developed drunk woman fierce independence. You know when out of nowhere you’re Beyonce and can take on the world because you’d had a bottle of Savvy B? And I deleted the lot. In one fail swoop, I kissed goodbye. I was going to meet someone that I had a real life spark with, that conversation flowed easily with, that I didn’t have to hunt out in a bar whilst holding Tinder open because I’d forgotten which one of the 5 guys I’d been talking to that week I was going to meet.

I woke up the following morning, remembered what I’d done and for about 12 seconds actually regretted it. ‘Well how am I ever going to meet anyone now?’ was the first question that popped into my head. And the fact that I asked myself that made me not re-download them immediately and pray to the iCloud gods that they’d saved my chat with fit Greg, 29 from East Ham before I lost him and our potential future together for good.

I’d fallen into the online dating trap. The one that makes all single people think that nobody meets in a normal arena anymore.

‘Sod it’ I thought, I’m going to give it a go and prove the trap wrong. And off my home screen they stayed. Lost was a few potential good dates, long gone was Greg from East Ham and I was left sitting there actually fully watching a TV programme rather than having the weird sex chat based distraction.

To be honest, the first day or so was odd. It felt strange not to pick up my phone and just have a random flirt on a Monday just because I could. I saved all of the phone battery because it wasn’t constantly buzzing with notifications of another match, another two weeks of chatting, another not great date. But to be honest, I felt a sense of freedom from it all.

I wasn’t checking to see if someone found me attractive enough to muster up the energy to swipe me. I wasn’t constantly on the hunt for the next half arsed attempt at a date. I wasn’t thinking I should keep Friday nights free in case someone was to ask me out.

I want this story to end with me going ‘and then last Friday I walked into the pub, it was 1999 again and a bloke with a glint in his eye asked me for a drink and now we’re married’.

It obviously doesn’t. But I‘m approaching things a bit differently now.

care less about it all. I’ll make an effort to hold a stare over a bar again. I’ll smile back. I actually notice people’s winks or nods in pubs or on the train because I’m not staring down at my phone when my mate goes off to the loo or I’m in between stops. Staring down at my phone answering yet another message from yet another stranger.

I’m not obsessing on how long it’s been since I went on a date, or got laid or had a flirt.

I actually a feel a bit more confident now I’m not paraded in front of randoms for them to judge me purely on how I look.

And you know what, if I stay single for another couple of years so be it. But I’m hell bent that the next time I fall for a guy it will be a bit more real. In real time. In real life. With his real face.

Not the face he wanted me to see. The face that was actually 5 years old and filtered to fuck.


Screen Shot 2016-07-06 at 10.23.31

The dramatic & emotional stages of being a Southern Rail customer

Hold your hands up. Who travels to and from work via Southern Rail?

Oh hey!

Now hands up – who’s come hella close to commiting near murder at least 75 times since Christmas.


So let us unite and appreciate the trials and tribulations of being a Southern Rail customer. Here they are.

The emotional stages we all enter daily.

1. Joy
The National Rail app is showing no delays. No cancellations. No yellow warning signs. Today is going to be a fabulous day.

2. Disappointment
When you arrive at the station to realise that said National Rail app has lied to you like a cheating husband and you are in fact delayed. So delayed. Again.

can't even

3. Pity
For the poor man on the station that has to dodge literal bullets when he announces that yet again he is sorry for the delay to the service. But Barry, who was supposed to be driving your train, decided to take the worlds longest dump, so you’ll be late for work. #lackoftraincrew

4. Claustrophobia
When you finally get on said train, and your forced to spend the entire journey invading the personal space of someone who apparently has never been introduced to a tube of Colgate.

5. Fear
That this will be the day that your boss presents you with your P45 on arrival at your desk as this is the day that she’s finally had enough of your bullshit tardiness.

6. Bitterness
When at lunchtime you check your bank balance and realise how much a month you are spending to not get anywhere on time. Ever. Thanks Southern. Thanks for that.


7. Dread
When 5pm rolls round and you know that if you’re lucky you might be at home in time for the News at 10. Perhaps. Maybe. Probably not.

8. Concern
For the welfare of your liver. Because every time you get to Victoria and see that you’ve got yet another 45 minute wait for a train, you have no other option but to go to Weatherspoons and ride this shit out.

9. Hope
When your train actually gets a platform announced. Is tonight the night? The night that I get home in enough time to actually cook myself a dinner rather than walking straight through the door and straight into my bed.

10. Rage
When you stand on said platform next to said train for 20 whole minutes waiting for Barry to get off the loo and open the doors for you.

11. Deep Rooted Sadness
When you sit down and count up the amount of minutes you’ve wasted today alone on waiting for trains. Time that could have been spent writing your memoirs. Or spending time with your loved ones. Or like Barry, having a dump.


12. Suicidal Tendencies
When you read that they are about to cancel 350 trains a day & pretty soon you are going to have to move to the North to escape this shit.

LL x


True Love


This photo was in a bunch we found when we cleared out my Nan’s house recently. It’s from my grandparents wedding day. And when I saw, it I cried.

Not like dirty blubbing just a little damp eye and a lump in the throat.

They would have been married 70 years next year. Which is mental.

But they were a sterling couple. A couple that waited for each other whilst there was a war. A couple that knew they couldn’t be in touch all day every day but had to rely on one letter a month. A couple that knew real skint. That knew real fun.

That knew real love.

I do often wonder that if a couple that were so meant to be, like they were, met in an age like ours – would they have made it?

Would today’s temptation have drawn Grandad to stray and the plethora of options on her phone, made Nan question if he was really the one?

Because, even now, when faced with ones that you think are the one, there’s always a question. Always another option.

I don’t think loves changed. Or compatibility. But even a couple like my Nan and Grandad would have struggled today.


In today’s world, if Nan didn’t get a reply from a text in an hour, let alone wait 6 weeks for a letter to make it home from the trenches, she would have jogged Grandad right on. I’ve done it, and I quote ‘well if he can’t text me back in one whole day he aint worth my time’. Really?

In today’s world, we can’t wait 5 minutes for a level of commitment let alone 5 years for the other one to go off and fight a world war.

Nan wasn’t glued to her phone, seeing when Grandad was last online or checking his Snapchat and realising that she wasn’t the only girl he was flirting with. There’s a high chance she was going to a dance here and there with another boy. A chance he was walking another girl to their door. But they still chose one another. And that’s because those innocent indiscretions wouldn’t have been tagged on Facebook.

They didn’t have instant access to phones so if they made a date for a Saturday night, they committed to it. They looked forward to it all week. They didn’t make plans with someone they met two days later as they seemed a better option and they could easily sack the other one off via message. There was a sense of loyalty that seems to have gone down the pisser these days.

But most importantly what they had was based on just them two. Not late night texting that can get misconstrued when one person is more pissed or tired than the other. Not a relationship based on selfie taking rather than just enjoying the beauty of someone, in the flesh, on a normally lit Saturday night. Not something that was based on paranoia that every time the other persons phone beeped it could be another romantic interest or another Tinder match. It was based on talking. And dancing. And falling for what was right in front of them, not on their screen.

Because they were them. And because it was real. And they were the best couple (literally no bias) that ever lived, I will hold on and believe that even if they met on Happn in 2016 they would have made it because they were truly meant to be. But I think they would have struggled. Got distracted. Ballsed it up along the way.

So just a bit of food for thought for us all.

We need to make sure we don’t miss out on the real thing.

Just because there’s too many options.

LL x