Notes from the Sofa by Alex Neve

Everywhere I've Lived in London.

Photo by AXP Photography on Unsplash

West Kensington W14

My first stint in London aged 17. I moved with £200, a rape alarm and a dream. I think I just wanted to live somewhere with Kensington in the address, not realising how different it was from actual Kensington. Apparently, it used to be called North End, but some developer cunningly renamed it West Kensington to encourage property sales. Close to High Street Ken and serviced by the District Line (not a fave), I wasn’t here long and was once followed around the big Tesco by a man in a Eurovision T-shirt and flip-flops who was shouting at me and claiming to be Tom Jones.

Camden NW1

This borough will feature a few times in my list as it’s a place I’ve returned to again and again. Like those who are obsessed with Disneyland, I just couldn’t stay away. For many years, it was the happiest place on earth for me. That may, however, be down to the copious amount of partying I did during my time there. My first home in Camden Town was a basement flat on Bayham Street with my then-boyfriend. Our elderly landlord lived upstairs, had multiple pictures of Jesus in her window and refused to believe we weren’t married. An absolute sweetheart, she kept our rent at a reasonable rate and sent us lovely Christmas cards. I could wander up to Primrose Hill and imagine I was part of the “set” (ten years too late) or hang out in The Good Mixer (one of Amy Winehouse’s faves). There was all the live music you could wish for, and with it came the grubby-looking indie boys I craved, thousands of them just smoking rollies and falling out of pubs. Just a two-minute walk from the tube station (Northern Line, which, for some reason, I rather like) and five minutes from the famed pubs of the 90s, it was the London I had always dreamed of. In that period of my life, I’d have rated it 10s across the board.

Snaresbrook E11

The boyfriend I’d shared the basement flat with dumped me hours after we’d moved into another Camden property (fear not reader, like the crazed ex I was always meant to be I wormed my way back in so, more on that residence later), and off I moped to my cousin’s flat for my first bout of sofa surfing. Back then, she wasn’t very good at sympathy, so she just cracked jokes whilst her now husband tried to counsel me through it. I can’t really recall much of the area because I spent the majority of my time indoors, crying. The commute, however, was relatively painless (thanks, Central Line, you hot, sweaty bastard), and the shops were nice. I’ve several friends who have moved that way over the last few years, and they always look to have lovely brunches. Perfect if you fancy being a little further out, but with easy access to Stratford, Liverpool Street or central.

Kentish Town NW5

Not so subtly sneaking my way back into the unloving arms of my ex… After realising my cousin could take no more, I found a cheap house share in Kentish Town. The location meant I could walk to work and, being only a fifteen-minute stroll to Camden, loiter around the pubs he frequented. Aside from the ant infestation and the fact that none of the girls in the house liked each other, it was pretty perfect. From what I can remember, we had to pay our rent in cash and leave it in an envelope at the bottom of the stairs. Looking back, that was unwise, seeing as I was living with total bitches (two ex-ballerinas and a privately educated girl who was forever in her dressing gown). Food was not a priority, so there were no house dinners, and the two dancers hated each other so much that I often feared for their lives. I, however, did eat and will always recommend Phoenicia Food Hall on Kentish Town Road (I dream about their Lebanese wraps even now). Anyway, maybe the cash in envelopes never reached the landlord, because suddenly we were all out on our arses with no deposits returned.

Photo by Stephen Kidd on Unsplash

Camden / Snaresbrook (again)

Looking back, this was quite a grim and unsettling time, but as I was in my early twenties, I didn’t really think much about it. Because we didn’t get our deposit back from the Kentish Town house (I blame the bulimics fucking up the toilet), I needed time to save money. My ex-boyfriend had taken me back on the condition that we wouldn’t live together. He needed space to get off his tits on mandy, and had a new housemate who could handle his narcotics far better than I ever did, so understandably, he didn’t want me hanging around and ruining it. He did, however, want to see me several nights a week. Tuesday was a definite (probably because he wanted me to blow him through the worst of his come down), Wednesday was also often a safe bet, and Sunday, I’d be allowed to sit around and wait for him to wake from the night before’s debauchery. Because at that tender age, all self-worth centred around having a boyfriend, I agreed, but I still needed to find a bed for the other nights of the week. I couldn’t tell my family the terms of our reconciliation, so I lied and asked my cousin if I could stay “the odd night” to give myself space. Being the wonderful woman she is, she, of course, agreed, but there were occasions when neither space was available, so I’d just stay out until I had to go to work. His flat was on Parkway and handily located next door to The Dublin Castle (fantastic pub, much loved for its live music), so I was furious I wasn’t allowed to live there full time.

After a while, my cousin moved back to Southampton, but needed to have a room in London for work. It was just as H&M opened on the High Street and the fashionable people started moving East, so the area was beginning to lose its charm. Being painfully unfashionable (and obsessed with my boyfriend), I insisted on staying in Camden. We moved into a tiny flat that sat halfway above The World’s End Pub and Camden King of Falafel. From the moment they fired up the ovens at 11 am, our abode stunk of fried food. We did have some cracking parties, though.

Ealing W13

Prior to this move, my boyfriend decided he wanted to live with me again, and for a brief period, we had a flat on the top floor of a townhouse on Agar Grove, near Camden Square. This was short-lived because I selfishly got into drama school and had to relocate. I didn’t enjoy Ealing. It was nice in places, but it felt too suburban, and it seemed to take an age to get anywhere. I only ever remember getting drunk and going to KFC. There was a Primark. I really can’t remember much else. Sorry.

Hornsey N8

As soon as I’d graduated, we headed straight back to North London, moving into a flat above what was then a newsagent’s called Al Pacino’s News & Food. Boasting a large roof terrace, it was all outdoor space and no living room. Strung with fairylights, we’d often sit out there for a smoke, which would have been far more enjoyable had our neighbour not played Shakira’s Underneath Your Clothes on repeat. A pretty song, but having been played heavily on radio stations during its initial release, eleven years later, when on a continuous loop, it wears thin. When viewing the property, the landlord kept telling us how great the water pressure was. That being a defining feature and the only straw he could grasp is very telling about the rest of the property. The area was on the cusp of being gentrified when we lived there (you could tell because the pubs had tried to entice new residents by putting candlesticks in old bottles of Jack Daniels and offering vegan choices on the menus). It was here that our eight-year relationship ended, so we left as soon as the tenancy was up. For those who enjoy a summer gig, Finsbury Park is very easy to get to (20 mins on the overground) and of course, Alexandra Palace is a short walk - amazing for fireworks, ice skating, concerts and green space.

Leytonstone E11

Single and needing a place to stay, I replied to a post at work (the actors’ call centre) from a girl who was heading to Spain to film for the summer and was subletting. I wasn’t there long, but her hamster died in my care, and I had to bury him in their garden. I do remember really liking it here, though. Again, at this stage, it hadn’t been ruined by gentrification but was and still is great for transport, that trusty Central Line ferrying you straight into the city.

Mudchute E14

Thanks to another lovely girl from work, I was here for a fortnight. I don’t have much to say about the area due to the short amount of time I spent crashing there, but it does have a farm and is near Canary Wharf if you like that sort of thing. You’re also close to Greenwich and the Cutty Sark, which is always nice for a wholesome day out. I just wanted to include it because I’m immature, and the name Mudchute makes me think of poo.

Arnos Grove N14

Thanks to the kindness of my stepdad’s parents, I was offered a room while I got back on my feet. For this, I will be forever grateful. I got to stay in London and live with nice people. Like Ealing, if you want a little more suburbia whilst still being in London, this may be the area for you. Spacious semi-detached homes and on the Piccadilly Line, you can be in Holborn in twenty-six minutes. I did get mugged by three men in Halloween masks there, but they only managed to get my wallet and makeup bag, so, on the whole, it was good.

Plaistow E13

My friends and I moved into the “House of Dreams” in 2014. I should point out that neither the area nor the house was the stuff of dreams, but it was cheap. Thanks to the damp conservatory and the fact that we styled our living room with garden furniture, a lot of the time it just felt like we were living outside. It was, however, a great house for parties. People would arrive on Friday night and not leave until they had to go to work on Monday morning. Large, poorly furnished rooms in this crumbling terrace meant there was plenty of space for people to crash without doing any damage, so you’d often find friends and colleagues strung out on the floor as an Ibiza Chill playlist welcomed you into your Sunday. I had my thirtieth birthday party here, which, even if I do say so myself, was legendary. Not in a ‘90s Viper Room way, but in a Fuck! Someone put a tampon down the Saniflo toilet, and now the ceiling is leaking! kind of way. This resulted in about sixty people (yes, it was a surprisingly roomy house with an ample, yet overgrown garden), high off their tits, trying to either contact a plumber or believing themselves to be a plumber.

There wasn’t much to do in the area, I remember a long walk to the Tesco Express, a chicken shop and a convenience store with out-of-date biscuits. A short bus ride, however, will get you speedily to Stratford and all the sunny joys Westfield has to offer, and if you nip across the road to the old Stratford Centre, you can get your eyebrows done for £3. Stratford East is also one of my favourite theatres, so that was handy.

Hackney Wick E9

Strolls by the canal, Victoria Park on your doorstep, what more could you ask for? Yes, the night bus stopped right outside our flat, which meant a lot of drunken arguments (highly entertaining when matters of the heart were involved), and yes, there was a woman we called Gobby Chops who would loudly and obnoxiously offer her opinion on absolutely everything to absolutely anyone, but it remains one of my most loved places to live. Natura Pizzeria was a favourite, as was wandering over to the canal for a drink in the sunshine. Easy links to Brick Lane and Columbia Road Flower market, and with Queens Yard and The Colour Factory only a short walk, you can’t go wrong. Also, I’ve found the liveliest of Facebook Local Groups happen to be in these areas. Sit back and watch as long-time locals and the gentrifiers argue over who should be allowed to do what in the park, then come together in unison over their shared hatred of cyclists on the canal path.

Bow E3

Of all my homes in London, this was my favourite. On the other side of Victoria Park, you can walk along Roman Road (stopping at Saigon Nails for a solid manicure) and find yourself in the park in twenty minutes (add on thirty if you do end up having a manicure). It’s also great for sandwiches: Mae + Harvey on Roman Road, Cheese & Kimchi toasties at The Pavilion and The Targa Green Cafe on Tredegar Road are particular faves. As with everywhere nowadays, the area is gentrified, but once a woman sitting on a fold-up chair with her sanitary pad visibly showing shouted at me for no apparent reason, so you do still get that authentic London feel.