It’s time to admit it. Pop up restaurants in London are now well and truly embedded into the city’s culinary landscape, and have injected a buzz that is unparalleled elsewhere in the capital’s dining scene. Thriving on the exclusive, insider vibe they get from discovering a new venue, and having their reservation confirmed, foodie Londoners pride themselves on being the first to find out about the next pop up as at the same time they hurry along to find out what’s cooking.

The welcome sight of Franks red tarpaulin

So, for the uninitiated, what is a pop up restaurant? Generally speaking, it’s a temporary restaurant, that tends to be made more interesting by its location in a quirky or unusual space. In most instances a chef or restaurateur will take up residence in this location, which might be a rooftop, forgotten garden, disused factory etc., for an agreed period of time, either paying rent to the owner, or possibly even free of charge if the arrangement is deemed mutually beneficial. The general rule is that the more temporary the restaurant and the more unusual the location, the trendier it is – and therefore the cooler you are if you get to go there. According to Fran Astbury, the General Manager of Frank’s Café and Campari Bar pop up, when people get on board by visiting a pop up, they are signing up to a trend. But it’s the great dishes that accompany so many of these restaurants that makes them a destination for foodies as well as hipsters.

Astbury is also very clear that it is their temporary nature that makes pop ups so well-frequented. “It’s the idea that you’ve only got a limited time to go that makes people realise they have to get on board quickly, otherwise they are going to miss out.” Quite a savvy move by restaurateurs in that case, but it’s not just smart marketing that is making pop ups so popular. There’s something about the concept that feels more authentic than the swish formality of London’s top eateries – they are less about the polish of a restaurant and more simply about serving quality food in unusual surroundings. This is something that’s important to Astbury, responsible for executing the pop up’s ideology on a daily basis. “I know that I don’t want to be ripped off when I go out, but I want to eat good food. At Frank’s we choose simple, fresh ingredients and serve five or six dishes that change every day. So people can just come here, feel relaxed and enjoy the surroundings.”

A beer tent for grown ups

These surroundings just so happen to be the top floor of a multi-storey car park in Peckham. Many a first-time visitor to Frank’s has found themselves circling the grimy pavements below this garage, before eventually finding their way in and making the journey up the ramps to the disused top half of facility. Passing an ‘art gallery’ on the eighth floor and then Del Boy’s beloved Robin Reliant on the ninth, visitors have already undergone quite a sensory experience before they spot Frank’s red tarpaulin billowing in the breeze, to the backdrop of London’s stunning skyline.

Believe it or not, Frank’s is just one of many pop ups adorning London’s foodie scene this summer, although admittedly most aren’t found in quite such random locations. On the slightly pricier and more picturesque end of the spectrum is the Peyton and Byrne pop up in Kew Gardens, on Friday nights until the end of August. The Start pop up can be found in Lancaster House from the 27th July and will run for just five days, while the Yatai pop up will be found from 3rd to 8th August on Brick Lane, next to the Big Chill Bar. Shebeen London, inspired by the infamous Mzoli’s restaurant in one of Cape Town’s townships, will run until the end of August. For those who like their gelato, Dri Dri is running a beach house themed pop up in St. Martin’s Lane Hotel until the end of August. Even London’s department stores are getting involved, such as the Persis Baklava Bar that has popped up on the fifth floor of Harvey Nichols until the end of August.

A view of Del Boys kingdom

While shorter usually equals trendier in the pop up stakes, some London pop ups are plumping for a six month stint this year. The Tangerine Dream Café, found in Chelsea Physic Garden and near Gordon Ramsay’s stomping ground of Royal Hospital Road, is on from April until October. Whilst The Silver Bullet, located inside a converted railway carriage, is also on for the same timespan (although the emphasis here is more on beer and music).

Right now, the pop up restaurant is a way of life for London diners and by signing up for this ad hoc eating lifestyle, Londoners are helping to reclaim the word ‘foodie’ as being synonymous with a love of food rather than food snobbery. Pop ups make great cuisine exclusive yet inclusive by being generally wallet-friendly and attracting those who genuinely love food. You get all sorts from corporate city types to students. Even Frank’s Café attracts south London’s yummy mummies for buggy-friendly lunchtimes.

Sasha and Londons most famous three-wheeler

Sometimes it’s hard to see where the term pop up differs from a food fair or a European market coming to town, but Londoners don’t care. Gaining entry to them is the latest foodie fad, and knowing about pop ups equals being part of London’s exploding foodie culture. Whether they have to trek through dank car parks or knock twice and do three star jumps to get in, they don’t really mind.

Listening at the wrong grapevine? For more info about London pop ups try Squaremeal, Foodie Magazine, or Pop Up Space Blog…

Pagan power

Terribly fun and mildly frisky, White Blackbird has been hosting swanked-up weekend getaways for a couple of years now as an alternative to typical night out in the city. Set amid the countryside splendour of Stoke Place – a sprawling three storey “William and Mary” style house in the Buckinghamshire boonies (but only 30 miles or so from London), the events offer a bit of burlesque-inspired lowbrow entertainment in an otherwise highbrow setting.

Keen to jump on the bandwagon before it got too crowded (or rather the 18.45 coach from Hanover Square, which the organisers throw on) I popped along to the last soiree – dubbed “Tainted Love” and held over Valentine’s weekend. The party was jam-packed with surprises and events, and instead of stumbling to and from a bar three-deep with suited bankers, I found myself wandering stately corridors, bustling with Burlesque dancers, in search of a private nude portraiture salon (failure), or following a trail of rumours about an intimate performance of the dance of the seven veils (success!). All the performances and festivities I happened upon were kept just this side of ‘wrong’ in an adeptly balanced blend of style and frivolity, and the crowd of 20 and 30-something mature hipsters, had all made an effort to dress with the sort of decadence the occasion demanded. From pagan love Gods to English aristocrats, and not forgetting those Burlesque dancers, the costumes didn’t disappoint.

Eve sizes up Adam's apple

While hide-n-seeking around Stoke Place, I managed to bump into Polly Betton, the producer and creator of the White Blackbird. We started chatting about the very British phenomenon of country house parties, and whether a new trend for escaping the city is weekends is taking hold in London.

“The country house party format is definitely starting to take off: I’ve been invited to three since Christmas. I think we’re still one of the few regular parties that you can buy tickets to, but more and more people are taking the initiative and throwing their own country house parties for their major celebrations.

A leaf malfunction amuses the crowds

People understand the idea of the country house party – we’ve read about it, and seen it in films – but there aren’t many opportunities to experience one. They really died out with the start of the second world war, the Bright Young Things were the last generation for whom it was a regular thing. Of course there were still people throwing parties in houses in the country, but the combination of scale, budget and imagination hasn’t been seen since. Which, of course, means that with the recent surge of interest in both vintage socialising and experiential events, they’re ripe for a revival of sorts.”

That’s all very well, but in an economic climate which has forced many people to tighten their belts a notch or two, is it really good timing to revive a decadent phenomenon that happened in the elite circles of the 1920s and 30s? I put the question to Polly, as I served myself a second slice of tiramisu from the dessert table.

They seemed like such a normal family

“It’s true that the idea of a big party in a country house has always seemed pretty inaccessible, but in fact as money has gotten tighter people have gotten more inventive  – and more demanding – about how they spend it. It’s very easy to go into central London on a Friday night, run through at least £60 over a couple of hours, then go home feeling it wasn’t anything special. For the same price bracket you can step outside your comfort zone a little and have a bit of an adventure. Immersive theatre and underground dining have both helped our cause – people are much more accepting of ‘experiential’ events, they’re happy to be taken out of their usual environment. In fact, they’ve started demanding it.”

At 35 GBP a ticket in fact the Tainted Love party is exceptionally good value. The fact that the party takes place at a hotel-for-hire means that you don’t need a millionaire mate any more to enjoy the high life… at least not for one night. Perhaps the biggest surprise about the country house party trend taking place right now is that people are ready to invest the time and expense out of getting out of London. Although this is where the 15 GBP coach service from Hanover square comes in handy.

Darkman forgot how much he hates house parties

“At first we thought that getting people to come down from London would be the difficult bit. In fact, it’s much harder getting them to go back. I wasn’t entirely sure that a coach transfer would work for a grown-up crowd, but I’ve never had a complaint, and quite a few people have told me how much they’ve enjoyed the journey. I suppose it’s a bit like a school trip, it gives the whole thing a certain sense of occasion and amps up the anticipation. There are some pretty big benefits to taking people out of London too – the quality of the air, for a start, which immediately puts you in a good mood. The sheer space of the grounds gives a sense of freedom and privacy, and there’s something about knowing that you’re in situ until 2am that makes people much more sociable and happy to join in – everyone seems to come back with new friends. Even if it tuns out that the party isn’t entirely to your taste, you’ve still done all the things you would’ve done in London – dance, drink, eat and chat – in a beautiful setting that you wouldn’t usually have access to.”

The next White Blackbird Party will be Friday the 13th of May with a “Superstition” theme, taking place at Stoke Place.

For more about the capital check out our London guide and top five alternative attractions.

Three weeks of looking over your shoulder...

Monday morning, a ringing wakes me up. Bleary eyed, I answer my intercom. A voice informs me there’s a parcel waiting downstairs: I’ll be down in a moment, I say, amazed at Amazon’s efficiency. I only ordered that yesterday. As I put on my shoes, I happen to glance at the clock. 7am? Any time before 12 feels criminal when you work for yourself, but something else isn’t quite right. Royal Mail could never be here this early. Suddenly it dawns on me the man outside is probably not the postman at all, but is most likely holding a water pistol, waiting to drench me in my best pajamas. The intercom rings again; my hunter is now getting irate that I haven’t gone down to collect his phantom package. Smiling, I wish him all the best, hang up and then walk over to my balcony to wave my blonde, 20-something assassin off. He’s in perfect uniform even sporting a Royal Mail delivery bag. At least now I know what my would-be killer looks like. But I’m knackered and even more paranoid than ever.

Room service

I’ve signed up to StreetWars. Not that I really know what StreetWars is, or exactly what it would entail, but it seemed like a good idea when the e-mail hit my inbox. Join a clandestine group of urban assassins? Damn right. And so my double life began. Not in the obvious place of sourcing a battlefield-ready water-arm. No, instead I’m planning strategies, dreaming up costumes and thinking gadgets. What’s the best way to lure someone out? How will I camouflage myself? In short I’ve become M, Q and Bond all in one. I’m taking this way too seriously I say to myself. But when I get to the London PickUps to receive my first assassination target I realized the opposite was true…

I arrive in East London late on a Sunday night. A suited security guard with a watergun patrols the perimeter of a compound on Rivington Street. I speak to him and the electronic gate opens into a candlelit courtyard where a Xenia Onatopp look-a-like in a little black dress orders me to sit. There’s some nervous banter with another couple of lone wolves (they’ve all played before), before the Agent name I’ve signed up as is called. Jaws. I’m whisked inside a pitch dark building by the black-clad villainess and down the stairs, almost falling in the process, into a cellar. My ‘What the fuck-o-meter?’ is now registering all time highs. Whatever ball I’ve started rolling is quickly gaining momentum.

The Commanders will see you now...

StreetWars began in 2004 in New York. The game is controlled by the Shadow Government, under the guidance of the US-based Supreme and Moustache Commanders, two highly-depraved individuals, and Eevilmidget who co-ordinates things on the ground in London. While holding down day-jobs they co-ordinate games around the globe, appearing at ‘socials’ to lead the revelry and encourage degeneracy. Streetwars lasts three weeks and is played around the clock. You arm yourself to the teeth with water bombs, stealth weaponry and beast water pistols. You have a target; you are a target. You can play as a team or solo and each kill you make earns you a new target. Last man standing wins. You can’t attack people at work (yes, you have to live your life at the same time) or on public transport, bars or banks but apart from that, anything goes. And is encouraged. Save for making your weapon look real, unless you wanted to be gunned down by the police.

Agent 'Jaws' is told where to stick his sorbet

The cellar vault contains two pools, again eerie and candle-lit. A further couple of black-suited henchman guard the table where two computers sit, linking me to Supreme and Mustache in the USA. Her Eevilmidget-ness tells me to sit, pleasantries are spoken, I stupidly mention I’m sober and several shots of Jack Daniels are forced down my throat. Almost all the conversation with the commanders is too obscene to be repeatable (safe to say I will never think of sorbet in the same way again). Finally a black folder is passed to me and I’m told to leave. Combined with my already raised adrenaline levels this whole experience has left a lasting impression. This could be a sleepless few weeks. But I do now have a target.

Her name is Amanda Leat aka Trixie Benedict I find out as I run away, looking over my shoulder at every turn before leaping on a bus and ducking down behind a seat. I’m given her photo, her home and work address, telephone numbers and e-mail. It soon dawns on me that the best way to avoid being hunted, is to hunt. I probably should have sourced a water pistol by now.

Eevil Midget dims the lights

It only takes a single day for me to realize how very twisted the game is. On the very same Monday that my assassin messes with my sleeping pattern, he returns to lie in wait after work. It takes under 24 hours of being a wanted man for my neighbours to turn against me. The innocent looking O.A.P. from across the street comes knocking on my door. Her face is distressed and she says she needs help and mumbles something about her partner. She urges me to come with her, and only luck saves me. Just as I step back in the flat to get my shoes my assassin jumps out from behind the wall. Luckily I’ve time to slam the door shut and run into my living room, but he’s persistent enough to stick his gun through the letter box, hose down my wall and shout some obscenities before finally leaving defeated. My heart is genuinely pounding and I’m actually a little scared. Rule Number 1: Trust No-one.

The next day I’m out of my house by 6am, before my assassin has a chance to come back. I head over on a bus to Peckham to an area full of council estates. Balconies and gantries run everywhere and it feels both apt and unnerving to be stalking here. My target lives in a modern block of flats and after investigating for a while, I settle for a position 40m away, where I can’t be seen from her entrance and wait. The real surprise is that no-one takes any notice of me. I initially feel uncomfortable when I see passers by, people walking their dogs. But for whatever reason they leave me alone. An hour goes past with little activity and then, in quick succession, cars and people leave from her building on their way to work. I see several blondes exit that I don’t think are her, but I realize my position’s just a little too far away to get a good visual. A woman on a bike seems a good possibility, a white girl with a headscarf looks conspicuous… and then suddenly there’s a perfect match. I’m out from my position, following her from a distance. As she heads round a corner she seems totally oblivious to me. I begin to pick up my pace, moving closer and as I do I reach into my duffle coat pockets and ready my pair of mini-Super Soakers. Its time. As quickly as I can I draw both guns and aim low, spraying both her legs and feel the elation of a ‘kill’. And then she screams. And looks genuinely scared. As she turns, I realise I’ve got the wrong girl!

The fearsome Sock Puppets at a social

In the end I don’t make it to a week. After a couple of quiet days, I decide to risk it and go for a run, though I leave my door unlocked in case I need to get back inside in a hurry. I walk round a corner and down some stairs in my complex heading for the gate. As I get to the bottom, I look up and catch a figure hiding in a passageway just off to the left. We see each other at the same time, our eyes meet and there’s recognition. For a second neither of us move. It’s like that moment in all good Westerns, after which it’s time to see who can draw quickest. Except I’m in running gear and don’t have a gun. Turning on my heels, I sprint back up the stairs, heart pounding and desperate to reach my house before he’s in shooting range. I can hear him shout behind me and begin the chase. I’m only 25m away though and firm favourite to make it back safely. I get up the stairs and to my front door with literally a second to spare. Unfortunately when I reach for the handle, in my haste I miss and instead of a smooth entry and a victory dance I find my head connecting firmly with a shut door. Ouch. Dazed, I manage to stumble in but, before I can turn to slam the door shut, I feel the sting of cold water on my back. Game Over. My assassin, NinjaSquash, told me in the pub afterwards that he had been waiting for me all day. Nice guy though, he paid for the beers.

Me officer? I'm just trying to kill someone

For more info on the live-action urban gaming experience that is StreetWars, then check out their website, including this rather funky promo video or read more on Wiki. To keep tabs on forthcoming events, sign up to their Facebook page.

The idea of Regent’s Canal came to life in 1802, to create a link between the newly-opened Grand Junction Canal, which ended at Paddington Basin, and the River Thames in Limehouse. That’s a pretty good opportunity for a long walk, unfortunately spoiled by three tunnels – under Maida Hill (now known as Little Venice), Lisson Grove and under Islington. The canal’s main purpose used to be ferrying commercial traffic, and goods shipped via the canal ranged from lead and iron to the raw ingredients used to make Britain’s iconic HP sauce.

I first fell in love with the Canal while living just next to the Whitmore Road Bridge (number 43), just next to the Kingsland Road Bridge and Basin. Living in the heart of the hip and trendy Shoreditch often required a moment of calm and that’s exactly what the canal was giving me: an opportunity to walk under the sun, with my headphones on, and sink into my own thoughts. I’d often pass cyclist – as the canal became a very good alternative to commuters after the London bombings in 2005 – joggers, dog walkers, 24 party people, couples snogging on the benches… A great people spotting place. I soon discovered that from where I was living, I could easily stroll down to my favourite Broadway Market, to get a bit of the East End hype, shop for bargains in Miki Fukai‘s jumble sales, drink cheap beer in London Fields and run into Facehunter. But if I went the other way, I would get to my beloved Angel with all the tiny boutiques, great pubs on Essex Road and my favourite charity shops (highly recommended in this area – wealthy residents!).

What I love about the canal is the feeling of freedom from the rest of the world. The water instantly makes you calm down and look into yourself – I had some life-changing conversations with my mum while walking there. It seems like along the canal people stop pretending – like the elderly couple on the bench. London’s canals give you the freedom of expressing yourself – an opportunity often taken by Banksy. But the most free and inspiring are all the people actually living on the boats – you get to see many of barges moored in the basins with their residents sunbathing on the docks. When you’re lucky, you get to see the boats go through the lock – the most famous is the Camden Lock. It’s simply addictive to watch the water levels even to let them go through.

Taking a walk along the canal is like taking a walk on the wild side – so often needed in a city ruled by the routine of the daily commute, grey city suits and the never-ending rat race…

For the real canalcoholic a couple of hours at the Canal Museum is highly recommended (follow them on Twitter), whilst Jasons and Walkers Quay offer barge trips on the water if you can’t resist a cruise.