Author: She Loves London

A Spectator’s Guide to the London Marathon

On paper, no one should enjoy a marathon.

It’s not so much the whole running for 26 miles stuff that bothers me – I mean, they’re your knees, do what you want – and more the fact that most marathons take place on a Sunday. Which, if I need to remind you, is a designated day of rest.

And as for standing around watching it, we can all probably concede that – again, on paper – the London Marathon should fall into the same category as other events that involve negotiating busy tubes, metal barriers, large crowds of slow moving people, loud cheering, intermittent horn blasts and clacking noises, road closures, medium to mild inconvenience, processions, prize givings, podiums, ceremonies, the switching on (or off) of lights, temporary seating and stages, Sir Paul McCartney, pyrotechnics set to music, and a BBC film crew.

In other words, the Marathon should be like all the other occasions that make Londoners go a bit “oh, not all this again” (unless, of course, they’re getting a day off work).

But for some reason, it’s not.

Some other celebratory nightmare.

My attendance at the London Marathon started about four years ago.

This was around the time that my friends began taking on grueling life challenges for absolutely no reason at all. The usual charity “fun” (lol) runs, an uptake in gym memberships, long distance bike rides – escalating, worryingly, to the odd, casual 10k.

It wasn’t long before they were climbing mountains on holiday, and choosing to tackle barbed wire-filled obstacle courses instead of going to the pub, until there was no hill left to scale and they were left with the London Marathon.

At which point, as a non-runner, it’d be easy to feel a bit inadequate.

But luckily I realised there was still a place for me at these events, because clearly what these friends really needed was someone cheering from the sidelines, offering them bits of Monster Munch and sips of G&T.

The London Marathon is now one of my favourite things to go and watch each year. So even if your mates aren’t mad enough to sign up for it, here’s why you should go down.

Jesus Christ.

1. You can be outside all day for free

It’s deceptively hard to find things to do outdoors in London during springtime without a) sitting in a park feeling a bit chilly or b) going to the pub. But watching the Marathon is free, and outdoors, and if you jump up and down occasionally that counts as exercise, which makes for much better ‘what did you get up to’ small talk in the work kitchen on Monday compared to your usual ‘yeah, good thanks, mostly just laid about watching Netflix’.

2. Spotting the most ridiculous running outfits will become your favourite form of entertainment

Hold tight the man who runs with a fridge on his back. Shout out to barefoot Jesus Christ with a cross. Big up the dinosaur onesie gang. You are all, without exception, completely mental.

3. It makes you feel like you’ve done a v. good deed

When you watch the London Marathon you earn back all the karma points you lose every time you pretend to be on the phone or yell ‘Sorry! Can’t stop! On my way to a meeting!’ or ‘I already give to charity, mate!’ at the Save The Children cagoule-clad clipboard person trying to harpoon you on your way to Pret. You might think you’re just there for your mates, but actually you’re supporting about 40,000 good causes at once. In a way, you’re basically giving to charity just by standing there. So yeah, clipboard man. Beat that.

4. There’s are ample opportunities for a nutritious picnic lunch

Cheering people on is pretty exhausting. I recommend the Official Supporters’ Lunch; a high energy, low cost meal consisting of 3 – 4 M&S gin-in-a-tins, a packet of salt and vinegar Hula Hoops and a Cadbury’s Caramel, all of which are available from the local convenience store next to Shadwell tube. Keep those energy levels up, you’ve got a long day ahead.

5. You get weirdly obsessed with tracking your mates on GPS

There’s something quite cathartic about seeing your friend’s biggest life achievement reduced to a small, human shaped icon moving around a map of London on your phone. This digital human scalextric is literally your only way of finding out where they are. It is your guide, your saviour, and literally the only chance you have of actually spotting your exhausted runner friend. It will also drain your battery, so bring a charger.

6. You don’t even have to go to all the really busy bits

If you want to stand a chance of spotting someone, don’t bother with Greenwich or the Mall. Instead, have a couple of extra hours in bed (you deserve it, you’re about to do the London Marathon!) and get yourself over to Shadwell. The crowds are a bit less crowdy, you’ll see the runners at mile 13 as they head east, then you can chill, do some cheering, drink your gin, and be ready to catch them again on the other side of the road post-Isle of Dogs at mile 23. They’ll be knackered, but you’ll be lightly drunk, pumped up on sugar, slightly red from the sun, and ready to offer those yells of encouragement they will, by that point, most definitely need.

Mile 23 is basically a scene from Dawn of the Dead.

7. You will cry at least eight times

Even if you’re not feeling particularly delicate, trust me. All it takes is one glimpse of a man with “running for mum” on his Cancer Research vest and you’ll be howling.

8. All marathon runners become extremely attractive

You’d think that the combination of breaking pain barriers, bleeding nips, blistered feet, hobbling gaits and sweaty faces would be the least hot thing ever. But happily, the opposite is true. If there’s one thing running a marathon does, it’s raise your sex appeal by 45.6%. Spectators: prepare to fall in love at least 300 times.

9. You will make friends* with the group of people next to you

The London Marathon puts everyone in a good mood. And everyone knows when Londoners are in a good mood and buoyed by just the right amount of gin and cheering, they want to chat. You will start talking to the people next to you, and you will help them find their dad / daughter / sister / mate on the marathon tracker app when their iPhone battery dies, and they will pass on their noise maker of choice when they leave for the day. On this day of endurance – standing up for five hours is no small task, guys – marathon supporter comradery is strong.

*It’s alright, you won’t have to see them again or anything.

10. You’ll have an excuse to get a taxi home afterwards

Allow a friend who just ran 26.8 miles to get the 341 bus back home? Not on my watch. You’re all getting a taxi, and that’s the end of it.

This year’s Virgin London Marathon is on Sunday 23rd April. If you’re running, good luck. And if you’re watching, have a bath ready for when you get home. You’ll be exhausted.

1st April 2017
Everything You Need To Know About Going To Sonar Festival In Reykjavik

In February, me and my housemate went to Iceland.

It was the weekend after Valentine’s Day, so naturally our trip had all the hallmarks of your average romantic break: music so loud you can’t hear the other person speak, copious amounts of duty free rum, an inability to get out of bed before 1pm, and fancy dinners including a 3am trip to Subway and an incident we will only refer to as “milk pasta”, which involved an unsuccessful attempt at using mozzarella to make cheese sauce.

Luckily we weren’t in Iceland for the food, we were there because at some point in December, Sonar Reykjavik drifted onto my radar in the midst of a coma brought on by Christmas excess and one too many episodes of Monkey Life on freeview.

It’s in these vulnerable, sofa-bound moments when the urge to travel usually gets me, and this time was no exception. I’ve wanted to go to Sonar for years – the Barcelona version has a reputation as being one of the world’s best festivals for music, technology and creativity – and Iceland is one of the best countries ever, so pairing the two could only ever go to go one way.

Four days of roadtrips and raving? Off. We. Go.

If, like me this is pretty much your ideal holiday, let’s be friends. And here’s some stuff you might want to know before you get there.

1. As far as music festivals go, this one is tiny

You’ll be one of 3,500 people, most of whom are Icelandic, very excited, and have the sort of exquisite Nordic cheekbones you only find on people who survive without daylight for half of the year.

2. It all happens in one big venue by Reykjavik harbour

Everything goes down across four stages in the Harpa Concert Hall, which they helpfully cover with flashing lights so even if you’re drunk you know where to go.

Harpa at night.

3. Keflavik airport is the best place to stock up on booze

Iceland has a pretty weird history with alcohol. Beer was actually banned until 1989 – and even though these days Reykjavik goes pretty hard on the partying front (the bars will deffo still be going well after the festival closes at 3am) you can’t buy booze in supermarkets. Vínbúðin (literally “wine shop”) is the only place you can buy booze in Reykjavik, but you won’t find any special offers and the opening hours are limited. So do your booze shop at the airport – it’s cheaper, and easier than trying to get some when you’ve just arrived and want to get the pre-game started.

4. No, there isn’t any camping involved – it’s February are you mad

Accommodation will probably be your biggest expense – but the good news is that Reykjavik’s a pretty small city, which means it’s hard not to be within stumbling distance of Harpa wherever you end up. We found an Airbnb about 10 minutes away (around £78 per night – one of the cheapest I found) and it was the cosiest, loveliest, warmest little back-garden out-house ever. This also means you don’t have to eat out every night, which saves £ and means you can schedule regular disco naps between meals.

The crash pad.

5. You won’t have to spend ages trekking between stages

Because the whole festival is spread across four different rooms in Harpa, you won’t spend an hour schlepping between stages only to find that you’ve missed half the set because you got stuck in a crowd, lost your mate, had to dig your welly out of the mud and then couldn’t get anywhere near the stage because it was full. There’s even escalators between floors if you’re struggling with the concept of stairs, which, by the third night, you probably will be.

6. …but there’ll still be a bit of this

Even in a relatively small festival venue like Harpa, you’ll still find yourself writing surprisingly detailed text messages trying to explain exactly where you’re standing within a featureless, loud room which is packed full of constantly moving people. It’s just the inevitable festival way.

7. You won’t have to queue for the bar

Even compared to London, alcohol is expensive in Iceland – and by that I mean you’ll be paying around £7-8 for a can of beer and more for a glass of wine in Harpa. On the flip side, not many people really seemed to be going hard on the booze front, so at least you won’t have to queue to get it. From the second night onward we took advantage of the non-existent bag searches and brought in our own sneaky supplies of rum. No one seemed to mind. We saved money. Job done.

8. There’s not a port-a-loo in sight

Just in case you were wondering. Which you definitely were.

Up the front for De La Soul

9. You’ll find yourself going batshit to music you’ve never heard before

Iceland’s music scene is banging anyway, and the headliners were all bonafide pros (De La Soul, Moderat, Fat Boy Slim in 2017), but probably the nicest surprise was finding myself going nuts to acts I’d never even heard of before Sonar. In fact, I would now absolutely make a beeline for any of the following if I saw them on a line-up: Sleigh Bells, Gus Gus, FM Belfast, Kerr Wilson, Dillalude, and a woman whose name I can’t pronounce but will always remember for her sparkly mermaid dress.

10. If you manage to get out of bed, you can spend the day doing roadtrips

The festival doesn’t kick off until about 9pm each night, which means theoretically you’ve got the day time to actually go and see more of this ridiculously good looking country. I say theoretically, because there’s no way in hell we were getting out of bed for a 8am tour bus and neither will you. So instead we rented a car (Sonar festival ticket holders get a discount) and took ourselves out to thermal spas and the black sand beaches of Vik on the south coast at our own pace. Warning: if you’re feeling fragile, an encounter with an Icelandic horse might legitimately send you over the edge.

Me harassing one of Iceland’s very therapeutic horses

11. And if you can’t be bothered to move, Reykjavik has excellent cafes

Between the hot dogs and soup served in bread, Reykjavik pretty much has your morning-after-the-night-before munch covered. Special mention to our mid-afternoon chill spot of choice, Sandholt Bakery: to me, you are perfect.

12. But PSA: thermal spas are A+ at curing hangovers

Most people are all over the Blue Lagoon, which is a very nice place to spend a few hours on your way to or from the airport if it’s not fully booked. But if planning ahead isn’t your strong point then don’t worry, it’s ok, because if there’s one thing Iceland goes completely mental for, it’s swimming pools. So instead we went off to the Secret Lagoon, which isn’t that secret but was a very nice, chilled, slightly quieter (definitely cheaper) alternative. And after a night of jumping about to techno in an underground car park, a steaming hot, open air bath is exactly what you need.

13. You’ve got a good chance of seeing the Northern Lights

Yeah, the big one: February is peak Aurora Borealis time in Iceland. You’ll be at the festival Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, so the best idea is to stay until Monday, then that leaves Sunday night to cross your fingers for good weather and a clear sky. The trick is not to book your tour until you get there, or you could end up paying to see nish all. If all else fails and you happen to be there when it’s cloudy and rainy all week like us, you can make do with staring in wonder at the other pretty lights: of which – I can assure you – there will be plenty.

And if that doesn’t convince you: seriously. Look at this place. Look. At. It.

Þingvellir National Park

Iceland, I’ll be back. You’re ridiculous.

6th March 2017
I Went Back to Fabric After 7 Years and Found the Queue Quite Stressful

Sometimes, a night just escalates.

You’re in the pub after work on Friday (“just a quick one, I’m having a quiet weekend”) and then suddenly – well, five hours later – it’s closing time and you’re walking across Farringdon saying well look it’s just an option, let’s just see what the queue’s like.

Then you’re looping around a series of metal barriers and joining the line, standing behind a glassy-eyed girl in a bright pink furry coat who’s currently being admonished by security because they told her to come back in an hour, and if she could speak she’d be like yeah, and what?, but she can’t and they’re all come on love, out you get, it’s only been five minutes.

Then the queue’s moving and even though you’re not far enough round the corner to see the doors yet, it’s decided. After a seven year absence, you’re going back to Fabric.

Fabric had its licence revoked by Islington Council last year.

The idea was that closing one of London’s biggest nightclubs would go some way to reducing the chances of people dying from taking drugs – in nightclubs, in London, in general – which they’d probably have got away with if it hadn’t been for the growing trend of London’s nightclubs shutting up until then.

It was happening gradually, one by one; something you’d probably only notice if you’re either very into music (me), grew up dancing in sweaty clubs (me) or go raving on a weekly basis (no longer me). “Operation Lenor”, as it was affectionately termed by the Met, seemed to be an excuse to get another pesky venue off the council’s problem sheet. Aside from anything else, places like Farringdon are a goldmine for property developers – but god, if nightclubs open til 7am don’t put a dampener on people wanting to move in next door.

Thankfully, the world’s music community came together and kicked off. Fabric appealed, and re-opened a few weeks ago to the sound of whistles, horns, and pull uppppps.

One of the conditions of their re-opening was that they change their door policy, and having been there myself last week, I can confirm that this has been done.

And to be honest, you’d probably have an easier time getting into Air Force One.

Getting into Fabric is stressful.

We are told to come forward, then barked at to GET BACK. A man is held to one side in the queue because he did not GET BACK.

One of our group is taken to one side and asked what he’s taken, which is nothing, because he’s not on drugs. What he is is an app developer from South America who’s a bit baffled by all the fuss, keeps whispering “is it worth it, is it really that good?” and despite my reassurance that “it was when I was 25!”, is currently reconsidering his decision to follow us into what appears to be a version of Kafka’s Crystal Maze.

At the front of the queue, still outside, the men go into a separate security queue and eventually emerge holding plastic bowls containing the contents of their pockets ready for inspection.

The girls (“STAY LEFT”) have our IDs scanned, our photos taken, and walk through a metal detector before coming tit-to-hand with the evening’s first body search. “Relax” says the female security staff, correctly deducing from the panicked rigidity of my torso that at this point, I Am A Little Bit Tense.

Perhaps this is Fabric’s game plan.

There’ve been many times in life where I’ve felt relieved about not doing drugs, and the half an hour it takes to get through the door at Fabric is definitely in the top five.

But to be fair, as far as anti-drug strategies go, making the people who are on drugs as uncomfortable as possible by edging away at their sanity on the way in so their mild paranoia morphs into overwhelming fear and they’ll just give up and go home…I mean, it’s not a bad shout.

Because the thing is, even if you haven’t taken drugs, under this level of scrutiny and all the shouting, you begin to start to wonder if somehow, perhaps unknowingly between the pub and the doorway, maybe you have.

And while I’m pondering what I could have taken, another woman searches my bag, combs through the contents and removes my digital camera, sellotaping one half of a numbered raffle ticket to it, giving me the other side, and placing it into a plastic box at her feet. No one tells me why.

All I know is this is not how clubs rolled in 2001.

Eventually, minus one – we are in.

And even though that was almost certainly one of my Most Stressful Queuing Situations Of All Time (non Brits: yes, this is a real thing), a few minutes is all it takes to be reminded why Fabric had to come back, why it is brilliant, and why it has the reputation it does in the world’s clubbing scene.

Security have done their job and the crowd’s friendly. Room 1 is packed out and dancing. The sound system in Room 2 is crystal clear and brand new. The fast, hard step drum and bass tumbling out of the speakers is so loud that when you stand still, your chest keeps moving. And it’s then that your traumatic queue anxiety fades and for the first time since you suggested it back in the pub, you know: this night is going to be good.

And it is good. It’s so good that I dance until after 6am and when I do leave, it’s with ringing ears, dirty trainers, and an absolute craving to come back and do it all again next week.

And as long as the door security doesn’t get me first, at least now I can.

13th February 2017