small plates, new eras

friends and the city

I’ve always wondered if or when the day will come when my friends stop loving London. What will be the final straw: a £6 flat white? A year long TfL strike? Wood Green getting a Gail’s? The moment we say enough is enough, pack up our things, settle somewhere in the countryside and produce our requisite two-point-four sprawling infants. Days spent moppin…