You might think the Tate Britain is the less interesting of the two London outposts: full of crusty oil paintings and pensioners on day-trips, but you’d be wrong. Not only is the building a delicious warren of interconnecting rooms, each more beautiful than the last, but it also houses a collection of pre-Raphelite works that has me in tears of awe every time I swing by.
A friend took me to this bar on Greek Street, I’m unsure of what it’s called or if it should be there, but it feels pretty authentic and makes you dream of the Soho of the 60s.