A Saturday in London – Breakfast Crepes & God’s Own Junkyard

A couple of weekend’s ago I was out on a mission to make the most of my Saturday. I’m always harping on about how there are loads of spots in London I still haven’t been to, so was determined to get out and see a bit of the old gal (rather than slobbing about at home with Netflix and Ch…eese.)

I started by heading out early doors to Primrose Hill (honestly one of the most instagrammble places in London – so kitsch.) to meet my pal for breakfast / brunch. The weather was so pleasantly warm (despite it being early October) that we were able to sit outside and natter over a breakfast crepe.

Some people can’t get their head around a savoury crepe but I think those people don’t know what they’re missing. Ham, cheese and tomato in a crepe with a fried egg on top is basically all my brekkie dreams come true and it’ll be yours if you order it.



Mine came from Cafe Cachao which is a cracking eatery (and toy shop – yummy mummies and dishy dads take note) on Regent’s Park Road. They also do American style pancakes and massive milkshakes, in fact the menu is a little overwhelming but that’s only a good thing in my eyes!

After a few hours sat outside we pottered back through Camden and despite having just eaten, we were lured over to a cronut stall right by the locks. Not familiar with a cronut? Croissant + doughnut = heavenly combination of all things sweet.

The choice was once again overwhelming! There were tons of options and it was a really tough decision to make. Like so tough. Poor us.




Somehow though we managed it and finally decided to half a lemony one…


…before I hopped on the tube to the Hoxton Holborn where I was meeting a couple of other pals (I know right, so freakin’ popular!) at the Alex Monroe sample sale where I pursued a lot and bought nothing, because £75 on a delicate gold bracelet, umm not when I’ll just lose the little bastard a week later. Plus is was hectic as hell in there, bishez at sample sales be cray.

We moved on for some beverages and Bills was our venue of choice. It’s a chain-y place that doesn’t feel like a chain (Bravo Bills). We sat in some cosy armchairs and got all giddy over the £5 cocktails. I mean in London that’s almost unheard of. Sadly I don’t have any photos of this because, well, I’m a terrible blogger and will totes hold my hands up to that. Yup that’s me, over here, terrible blogger.

Fully rehydrated on cheap cocktails we hopped on the Piccadilly line heading North. I’d persuaded the girls to come all the way to E17 (where we could totes wear eye-patches and pretend we were Gabrielle circa 1992) to visit God’s Own Junkyard.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog (and if not, WHY NOT??!) then you’ll know that earlier this year I wrote this post about the God’s Own Junkyard pop up at Lights of Soho. It was magical in only the way neon lights can be and since then I’ve been all desperate dan about visiting the original GOJY in Walthamstow (pronounced Wallfamstoww by any cockney worth his pie & mash).

So you can imagine my delight as we rattled up the Piccadilly and then Victoria line to Walthamstow central.


Which was looking surprisingly beautiful in the dusky sunlight.

God’s Own Junkyard is about a 10-15minute walk from the station and if you take the route down the quaintly named ‘Church Lane’ with its cutesy cottages and inviting looking pubs you’ll be straight onto Foxtons looking up 2beds for rent because “oh my god I want to live in that house with the yellow door and the adorable garden and shit this place is amazing, are we really still in London?”.

It really was surprisingly nice. I feel bad now for thinking it was a shithole in the north east of London. Like real bad. Soz Walthamstow you secret babe.

A n y w a y…enough ramblings. We finally got to GOJY (after one of those LOLing all the way journeys, coz, christ we are soooooo funnaaaay!) and oh. my. god. sweet. beautiful. neon. lord.

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The first impression is truly amazing. It’s totally awe-inspiring.

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Everywhere you look, quirky, cool, neon lighting pops out at you. We wandered around  opened mouthed, just pointing at all the cool slogan lights, likes moths to a flame.

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A neon Jesus for crying out loud. I’d happily have God’s Own Junkyard as my church.

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And then I saw THIS ginormous diiiiisco balllll!

If you know me at all then you know shiny disco balls make my eyes light up like nothing else.

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It was everything I’d imagined and more and I was so glad I’d finally made the trip to see it, in all it’s bright glory.

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We eventually managed to tear ourselves away from the lights and decided to pop next door to Mother’s Ruin Gin Palace. Yup, Gin Palace. A PALACE OF GIN.


OK so maybe it wasn’t quite a palace but it was good enough for us and oh my lord did they have soooooo many varieties of gin. And I fucking love gin. Juniper berries you little sort.

Being in Mother’s Ruin I obviously went for a cocktail with their Gin. I think it was a martini of sorts but to be honest I don’t fully remember. I do remember it was punchy.


We chatted on into the evening before finally deciding to head back towards central London, stopping off at Finsbury Park where we intended to watch the England Rugby game at the Faltering Fullback…only it was one in one out.

So we headed to another bar who wouldn’t let us all in because someone (cough Zoe cough) forgot their ID. They would however let two of us in to buy drinks and stand outside with (logic?!) so we fought our way to the heaving bar, stacked up on pints of cider and battled our way back outside where we watched the disappointing game with our noses pressed against the window.


After the match we staggered down Upper Street with the intention of doing an impromptu bar crawl only to realise we’d made it all the way down the street without purchasing one drink. Oh we went in almost every bar before turning our noses up, turning on our heels and heading onto the next one. I don’t think we quite understand the concept of a bar crawl.

Sobering up and slowing down we decided to call it a night and head home a mere 12hours after leaving my house that morning. Now if that isn’t making the most of London I don’t know what is!

Thanks for reading,

Harry x

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