The morning after a particularly self-flagellating night on the town in Hoxton, my husband moaned between paracetamol and toilet, “We could have done without the Spread Eagle.” Ha ha!
But you see, we couldn’t have.
We had an amazing time at this pub on a Friday night in October. After downing countless “prohibition cocktails” at several trendy Hoxton hotspots, this place was refreshingly free of hipsters drowning in self-reflection. The place was packed with people who didn’t take themselves too seriously and were just out for a good laugh. And best of all: KARAOKE. Oh, we laughed, we cried. We belted James’s “Laid,” we did interpretive dance to “Grease Lightin,” and we linked arms with strangers to belt out “Like a Prayer.” I’m sure the reviews of this place by the people we met that night will include references to the Creepy Couple from the States, but hey, we had a blast. I’d go back to this place in a flash. Except I don’t really remember where it is.