The Doll's House, Islington

(scarier still than talking waxwork Sharon Osbourne)

London is being sucked dry by vampires; spivs who would bury their own mother under the foundations of their designer developments if it'd secure planning permission (invariably granted by craven councils). The latest victims of this greedy builder breed are Adam and Katy - the sweet young owners of The Doll's House. Unceremoniously turfed out of their HQ to make way for more of the ticky-tacky £1.5 million + boxes that will ultimately rid Hoxton of what little edge it still retains, the couple have wasted no time in securing a new billet in the champagne-swigging socialist republic of Islington. Its bare bones still recognisable, they've titivated what was the House of Wolf - a bar that was about as entertaining as Wolf Hall, the BBC's turgid Tudor yawn. Whether Henry VIII, played unconvincingly by local-ish lad Damien Lewis, will drop in for wenching, wine and winin' the royal rump to rare groove, soul and live jazz until cock crow remains to be seen. If he does, and brings along cast member Claire Foy (aka Anne Boleyn), they'll find generously poured classics that include espresso martini and a good whisky sour. Getting off your head on old fashioneds beats the old fashioned fate that awaits poor Claire/ Anne back on set where, I can exclusively reveal, she's about to be axed. A boyhood fling with Action Man and a brief flirtation with voodoo figurines and pins before I grasped the concept of karma (apolz to you - now obese, bald, bankrupt and still looking for Mr Right! LOL), I'm not the sort of big girl's blouse that's big into Fashion Barbie. Indeed, since unwisely watching The Twilight Zone in a cockroachy New York hovel, off my tits and on my tod one night, I've been deeply dubious about all dolls' intentions. See Talky Tina in action here http://tinyurl.com/ljmchcf and tremble as she tops Telly Savalas. Clearly, that doll is no Pussycat.  Thankfully, Tina the tormentor allows me safe passage on steep stairs from the Doll's House's attic bar (the cutest of three on offer). I waltz off into the night leaving her posse to party until 4am while Sindy and Tressy bitch about how Ken is way too kool for that Botoxed plastic American tramp he's dating.
181 Upper Street N1 1RQ www.thedollshouse.org

Jamie’s Cocktail & Spritz Bar, Islington

Interviewed online about his vast new bar, a Jamie’s Italian one-off, its owner is quoted thus: “Until now, we haven’t taken cocktails super seriously.” Perhaps the usually on-the-ball boy brand was too super busy with other gigs to twig that mixed drinks are lovely jubbly little earners. He may be late to the cocktail party, but thanks to JO’s drinks consultant Simon Difford (he of Diffordsguide), City Road’s ‘loft’ dwelling diggers of all things Oliver will be thrilled to find the likes of Aperol spritz, negroni and Americano - downed daily for a decade in other bars from Clapham to Canonbury - in the Angel. Staffed by inked, hirsute hipsters presumably recruited from Central Casting, a big butch island bar is the hub of this New Yawk-style studiedly cool lounge. Try Venetian life-affirmer, sorbetto (Grey Goose, Prosecco and lemon sorbet) or a limoncello twist on a classic sidecar. Unlike some London bars cashing in on an Italian tradition, the cheeky chappy does not cheekily charge for buffet items during ‘aperitivo hour’ -  Monday to Friday from 5pm - 7pm. Nice one!

Jamie’s Italian, 409 St John Street EC1V 4AB 3435 9915 http://www.jamieoliver.com/italian/restaurants/islington  image http://www.open.edu/

Playtime, Islington (CLOSED)

The PR for new N1 club-bar-gallery-performance space, Playtime, suggests I visit on a weekend night. Rocking up on a Thursday mid-evening, I can see why. Marie. Celeste. Not the names of the only two punters present; no, that’ll be me and the mate. Playtime is from the same peeps as society mag-hag boîte, Boujis, and by the look of it - a jokey/ arty/ retro-y superficial rehash of OQO - they’re not exactly putting their money where their mouth is. The barman hopes the Boujis crowd will adopt it. ‘Because Chelsea girls are hot?’ I wonder. ‘Because they spend.’ he sighs. Dream on! To the SW7/ St Tropez set, N1 is somewhere north of Norway. What they’re missing is pink sangria, Belvedere at £100 a bottle and nicely ponced-up mojitos and margaritas - at £4 on happy hour, worth travelling for. Is the club any good? My target-age (25) coolhunter local spy rates Friday nights ‘interesting’ and tonight’s mashy soundtrack suggests she’s right. The interior will be given over to various artists to reinterpret as they will. Current chou chou is Robert Gordon Mcharg III (see pic). Plomnked in one corner, ahttp://www.playtimebar.com/n open pine coffin - ‘Art’? - bears a Hank Williams quote. ‘No matter how I struggle and strive, I’ll never get out of this world alive.’ On a slow night, that’s how I feel about Islington: fortunately, a hot date with Beth Ditto at jeweler Thomas Sabo’s Mayfair launch provides my exit visa.

4 Islington Green N1http://www.playtimebar.com/