Living in London, I've been to some bars and some clubs. I have realised that I would much rather stay at home with a bottle of sauvingnon and a spliff.

• Boombox. I can't even say get over yourself because that would cross so many levels of irony, which you would love wouldn't you.
• Madame Jo-Jo's. Skinny jeans and sharp elbows.
• Everywhere in Hammersmith
• Wetherspoons in the Shepherd's Bush shopping centre. There's a smell.
• Ghetto. I don't want to talk about it.
• Public Life. Nice idea but it's not quite water-tight, you can still feel the rain when you're wasted.
• Bar Soho. Sounds classy, no? Five pounds for a hole of Australians.
• Speaking of Australians, Church. Never been, never will.
• The Prince of Wales in Wimbledon. I lived above this pub for over two months a couple winters ago, there were mice and pigeons and nasty bouts of blind drunkenness. Down and Out for sure.
• Some fucking place in Picadilly. There was a jungle theme and tequila girls. Rage.

There must be more. They're out there in zone two and three, sitting like boils on spotty skin.