A day in Positano, Italy

I’ve been dreaming about a holiday to the Amalfi coast for years. It all started with some typical Facebook-envy; girls I knew from way back when were uploading photo after photo of dreamy Italian coastline, and I was all a flutter with trying to plan a trip. I collated Pinterest boards, bought calendars with AMALFI written all over it, and set about drawing up a perfect itinerary.

Obviously, as so many travel plans do, things got waylaid and it wasn’t until a few years later, when I received some mega compensation from EasyJet (my story here), that I actually got around to booking this trip. It was a long time coming, and had a lot of built up expectation to meet.


And guess what? Positano beat those expectations. For years I had been idly wondering how the breeze would feel on those precipitous coastal roads, how the colours of little houses built up a rockface would pop against the blue sky, and of course, of how much pasta I would eat. Positano fulfilled all of those little daydreams- most importantly the one about pasta.


We were staying in nearby Sorrento, so woke up early to grab the coach. The coach is an entire experience in itself, so instead of feeling sleepy or bored from the hour long winding journey, we were buzzed and giddy like two kids who knew exactly how much gelato was waiting for them on the other side.


Positano is not built for the weak kneed. Everything is up or down a hill, with long winding roads to connect you, or monstrous flights of stairs. We spent all of our exploring time puffing and panting, stopping to rest our weary legs or pick up a congratulations cocktail after a particularly steep flight. Round every corner is a little gem, pastel painted houses, coffe bars, sweet pottery stores or private gardens you can just about peer into.

Positano village

After several hours of lounging around on the beach and working up an appetite by scaling every flight of stairs we came across, Jonathan consulted TripAdvisor and we wound our way to probably the best restaurant in Positano: Saraceno d’Oro. We loaded up on linguini con vongole, and homemade pasta with fresh-off-the-boat seafood.




The service was fabulous, and we sat in a glorious little bit of sunshine. I honestly think that this was one of the best meals of my life- maybe because the carafe of wine was so delicious, the waiter was singing loudly to Italian music, because we’d spent so long hunting down the perfect restaurant, or just because the food was so damn good. It might even have something to do with the shot of limoncello we rounded up the meal with. Who cares- if I could spend every lunchtime here, I would.


In a happy, light mood, we tottered off down the hill to lie on the beach and treat ourselves to some more gelato and vino, still professing how great Italian food was. Seriously guys, I don’t know if you knew already, but the Italians, they got this food thing down.

As we were there in early April, people-watching was especially rewarding as Positano prepared for tourist high season. Crates of lemons were ferried between stores, flowers ready to bloom being planted along roadsides, signs and hotel walls being painted anew.


Positano in April was just stirring up to life, with a handful of places closed (most notably none of the pools were open for business), but the quiet and the charm of watching the town get ready, as though for a big party, makes visiting slightly pre-season all the more worthwhile.


Once the sun had started to set, we packed up our books and made the ascent to the bus stop. Tip for you- it’s almost completely unmarked, so take note of where you hop off the bus when you arrive.

I fell in love with Positano, and I’ll definitely be back for round two. Though it’s small enough to feel satisfied you’ve ‘done’ it in a single day, it’s got that Italian habit of leaving you wanting more.


My Airport Horror Story

Let me start this off with a disclaimer. I love Easyjet. I think budget airlines are a wonderful thing, especially for broke guys like me, and I already have another three flights with them booked- they’re my go-to airline and this story aside, I think the service is on point. (I even have the Easyjet app. The love is real). I love Monica’s post on flying with lowcost airlines, so this is not, I repeat, not, a tirade. If you want one of those, go somewhere else.

I think I’m finally ready to talk about my Easyjet horror story.

Airport Horror Story

I’d had an amazing week in Split, Croatia with my girl Jai. We’d waded through waterfalls, watched epic sunsets from clocktowers of tiny islands, and drank every mojito we could. The holiday had been a roaring success, and we congratulated ourself for a fabulous trip as we rolled our suitcases up to Split airport, ready for our nice and simple two hour flight back to Gatwick.

We checked in, passed through security, and pottered around the scant shops Split airport had to offer. I logged onto the free wifi and kept myself busy playing the then astronomically popular Kim Kardashian app (I was a C-Lister, and wanted to get to at least a B list spot before we touched down in London).

The closer we got to our departure time, the more flights we noticed had been delayed. Ours was put back by about forty minutes. There was a signal problem with the airport, an announcement gurgled out, but should all be sorted soon. Cracking, back to Kim K and those gold stars.

After an hour or two, the airport had emptied out. The flight had been pushed back by a couple of hours, and other planes were steadily leaving in a single file fashion. We’d huffed and puffed about how annoying this was, how we’d have to rebook our pick up taxi on the other end. We were getting itchy, watching other passengers leave, having not heard a single thing about our own flight. Even most of the staff had gone home. It was around 11pm.

Then, it arrived. With a bang. Of the bird variety. After a long delay, when our plane finally hit the ground in Split, it also hit a seagull. Gruesomely, we were told this was a common occurrence when descending, but this time the bird had- welp- gotten stuck in the jet, and they needed a specialist to give the plane a once over before they could legally lift off.

As it turns out, 11pm on a Sunday doesn’t fall within the office hours of people whose job it is to scrape dead seagull out of engines. It looked like we were stuck here overnight. No biggie right? If anything, a cheeky night in a hotel would probably feel quite fancy and if nothing else it meant I had a great excuse to not go to work the next day.

As an apology, the kind folk at Easyjet told us we were legally entitled to a refreshment after any three hour delay. We queued up for the only remaining staff member in the airport to dole out – wait for it- a drink or sandwich. The only drink available was water. The only sandwich available was a ham sandwich, which went down famously with the vegetarians and Halal eaters. I dropped my sandwich after one bite.

Jai airport

Come midnight, the airport staff had all gone. Information was funnelled through select passengers who had enough battery life to check their EasyJet apps for updates, solemnly delivering bad news with measured outrage. We were riotous, trapped in an empty airport with fuck all to do and no signs of hometime.

After another hour or so of hearing zilch, the captain of our Easyjet flight appeared, delivering an impassioned speech on how he was going get you home no matter what it takes. From the reception, you’d think he was MLK or someone equally as inspiring, because we lost our minds with optimism. He’ll get us home, we thought jubilantly. We love you, Mr Captain Man!

Well turns out Mr Captain Man can suck it, because he immediately disappeared off into the night never to be seen again. Presumably, they headed off to a nearby hotel, thus snapping up the only remaining rooms in Croatia that evening. After another while of hearing nothing, a lone woman in a high viz vest nervously walked into the completely desolate departure lounge, anxiously eyeing up the hundred pissed off Brits like I imagine a lamb heading into slaughter does.

“Your flight is cancelled” she meeped. “There are no hotels“, she whimpered. “You have to sleep here” she mewed. “We don’t have any more food or any blankets” she breathed. “We can’t get your suitcases to you” she winced. “Bye” she croaked, fleeing into the night before she became responsible for a full blown riot.

We were delirious with disbelief. By this point, we’d been trapped inside the airport for about six hours, and there was no sign of being allowed to leave. The smokers were practically crawling up the walls. Everyone needed to charge their phones, and we had two plugs between the lot of us. We resorted to unplugging all vending machines, congregating round them like hobos round a burning bin. We shared scraps of encouragement and tried to find somewhere to fall asleep under the glaring lights. I reached A List Celeb status on the Kim K app, but it was no consolation.


After a shitty night sleep, using handbags for pillows and duty free shopping bags as duvets, the airport started to fill up with passengers- who, begger’s belief- got onto flights before us. We cleaned ourselves using the free samples from the now open duty free shop, and got into a fight with an airport cleaner who was pissed because we’d unplugged a freezer and her icecreams had melted.

Weak with annoyance, we sat in clusters around the departure doors. Easyjet wisely brought in a new team- if we’d seen the Judas Mr Captain Man again we might not have been able to control ourselves- who expressed their disbelief and their pity with wide eyes and a palpable nervousness that we’d transfer the blame to them. They gave us everything for free- all the yoghurt pots and coffees our poor hearts desired, as we sulked our way to 30,000 feet and back to London, a mere twelve hours later than we should’ve been.

*Deep breaths*

Anyway so we got a whole bunch of compensation and a voucher for an EasyJet flight. I used this to book a trip to Italy, and honestly if you’d asked me in advance would I choose to spend the locked in a jumped up shed in return for a huge contribution to my next holiday, I probably woulda said hell yeah and buckled down for the night. So it’s sort of a happy story really. Either way- shout out to Jaime for staying relatvely sane throughout the ordeal, and for supporting me on my way to overcoming my Kim K addiction. You’re the best.


Where to eat in London

If you’re looking for a place to eat in London, it can be really hard to avoid the rubbish restaurants. They’re everywhere, and give you absolutely no idea of how Londoners actually eat. No, we are not Pizza Hut, and no, we are certainly not queuing for Angus Steakhouse.

Instead, we’re sneaking off from the hoards of tourists looking lost in Leicester Square and heading to our favourite jaunts. Sure, we have to wait 45 minutes for a table, but if it’s that or a stale pizza-buffet, I know which one I’d choose.

You’re in Covent Garden

My favourite place in TheatreLand to eat is definitely Shackfuyu. They’re definitely flavour of the month with Londoners at the minute, if Grace Dent’s review is anything to go by (it is). Order at least three things per person and pig out on their incredible Japanese inspired dishes. You’re definitely meant to play with your food here, so get stuck in. Website here.

Shackfuyu Covent Garden

You’re in Kensington

Dirty Bones is to die for, and many of my friends have noticed my next-level obsession with them since my visit earlier this year. I’ve been back a few times since that review, and I just love it. Classic, dreamworthy American comfort food, my faves are the dirty fries and the Kimchee Dog. Will there ever be something on that menu that doesn’t make me drool? No. Go immediately.

Dirty Bones Kensington

You’re in Clapham

Firstly, Clapham is massive. Once you’ve figured out which part of Clapham you’re in, mission your way over to Southsider for amazing cocktails (Happy Hour until 8pm every night, toot toot), then when you’re nice and drunk head to the Roxie. They’re usually pretty quiet for Clapham Junction, and the platters are such good value for gorgeous steak medallions.

Southsider Clapham

You’re in Brixton

You need to be in Brixton Market, where you have a million choices. The best place in Brixton Market, for me, is Chicken Liquor. It never lets me down and no matter how many ties I try and recreate the Korean fried wings I’m yet to master it. My top tip for Chicken Liquor is to forget the cutlery and accept the messiness. If the queue is too long here though, you’re in a good spot as I’ve never heard a bad word about any of the places in the Market. Then, go to Kaff Bar for the best five quid mojitos ever.

Kaff Bar Brixton


You’re in London Bridge

Um, duh. London Bridge can seem like a crap area for food, but actually is home to one of the most famous foodie spots in the country- the market. Go to Borough Market if you need something cheap and cheerful, or if you’re pining for something snazzier, whizz up the Shard for dreamy views, cocktails and food. I like the food at Hutong best, and they do a v reasonable lunch set menu.

Hutong London Bridge

You’re in Kings Cross

I have a real soft spot for Bonnie Gull. It’s this kinda refined seafood place that’s got a lotta sea-shanty vibes with less demon seagulls, and more delicate slurpy oysters. Wander up to Exmouth Market for a dainty dinner where you also get to wield a hammer (with good reason!)

Bonnie Gull Kings Cross

You’re fucking lost

So you’re God-knows-where in London. That’s fair, doesn’t mean you’ve got to eat rubbish. Chains in London have loads of seriosuly good competion to be dealing with, so they’re really some of the best in the country. My favourites are all over the show, so check the locations for:

  • Wahaca- fast casual Mexicana for those with a burrito inclination.
  • Breakfast Club- loud and easy diner with epic breakfasts and chuggable cocktails
  • Pho- it’s not as tasty or as cool as Bone Daddies, but these bad boys are everywhere and they’re pretty good bang for your buck.
  • Byron- good, solid burgers that are reliably tasty and pretty reasonable. And everywhere.

No doubt I’ve heinously undersold a fabulous spot- and as you may have noticed I’m definitely a south-of-the-river girl- so apologies in advance for any angry foodies who are outraged I’ve missed a trick. Let me know where I should’ve included and I PROMISE I’ll go there soon!


Dirty Bones London Review

In my opinion, the best way to spend a celebratory evening is by feeding and watering your nearest and dearest. Luckily for me, that’s also how Dirty Bones London wanted to spend it’s one year anniversary, so Jaime, Jonathan and I rocked up to wish them Happy Birthday.

dirty bones

Unlike every other birthday party I’ve been to, it wasn’t BYOB. In fact, Dirty Bones were rolling out the free cocktails like there was no tomorrow and if there was, it certainly wasn’t a school night.


We hung out in the underground bar area, supping our freebies and snapping up mini burger canapes, until our table was ready. We were led into the smaller of the two dining rooms, snuck in an extra free cocktail and ordered away. They had a set birthday tasting menu on for the evening, so the toughest decision we had to make all night was whether to go for the Dog, Burger, or Wings. Ever the optimist, I suggested that in my group of three we should order one of each and all try a bite of each others…

No chance with these hustlers.


To start, we had a giant lamb rib with spicy chicken wing- that’ll be the Bones, then- followed by our incredible main course. I had the wings, which were succulent and crispy and had just enough kick. All mains were served with a portion of fries and mac’n'cheese EACH. That’s six sides between three people, and though I’d like to say we were far too sensible to attempt scoffing the lot, I just can’t lie to you guys.


The mac’n'cheese was especially delicious, and I say that as someone who usually resents paying for pasta I’m used to tipping out of a microwave packet. I don’t know what they put in it to make it spicy- it didn’t seem like paprika- but there was enough zing in there to make me grateful we all got individual portions.

You can definitely see where they get the Dirty part from, not only was the food unapologetically unhealthy good for the soul, we were all covered in sticky sauce, mac and cheese, ketchup and grease by the end. The staff were in no rush to kick us out to refill the table (a novelty in itself in London restaurants), so we had plenty of time to groom ourselves into looking presentable again, soundtracked by the amazing chilled covers the live band next door was crooning.

The whole shebang (that’s three freebie cocktails, a starter, main with two sides and a dessert each) cost £20 per person. Which is probably the best deal for food I’ve had in like, ever, so as well as feeling enormously fat proud of ourselves for finishing everything, our pockets weren’t that much lighter afterwards either.

All round, I massively enjoyed Dirty Bones London and will definitely be back.

Dirty Bones, 20 Kensington Church St

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