Which London Borough Are You?

Have you ever wondered where in London you really belong? Where you can feel truly at home? Which neighbourhood has people who will really understand you?

Well, take this simple 10-question quiz and find out your true home. Whether you belong to the lovely terraced streets of Islington or the hip bar scene of Camden, this quiz will allow you to base your identity on a narrow and cliched stereotype of London cliques. What more could you ask?

Created by: picklehead82

1. What is your age?
Under 18 Years Old
18 to 24 Years Old
25 to 30 Years Old
31 to 40 Years Old
41 to 50 Years Old
51 to 60 Years Old
Over 60 Years Old
2. What is your gender?
Male
Female
3. You’re having a few friends over for dinner. Who’s on the guest list?
The Queen, the French Ambassador, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and an eccentric yet brilliant Oxford don whose family has known yours for four generations. If someone cancels, you suppose you’ll invite the PM.
The Prime Minister, last year’s Turner and Booker prize winners, and a working-class northerner who writes for the Guardian.
Seventeen drunken poets.
Your best friends, Sebastian, Lucius, and Frederica – if she’s been bailed out by now.
Your PPS and twelve bright young things, one of whom you’re hoping to go to bed with.
4. While we’re at it, what’s on the menu?
Home-cooked free-range organic local chicken, bought direct from the farmer, with traditional British side dishes prepared with a simple, modern palette in mind.
Kebabs. And pot.
Takeaway from a few places around the corner, just like they make it in Vietnam, Bangladesh, and Jamaica.
You gave the staff your specifics months ago, but Fortnum and Mason have suddenly stopped carrying your favourite caviar, so you don’t know what to do.
Fish and chips. Or else fresh linguine tossed in a sauce of sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and capers. You really can’t decide.
5. It’s Saturday night. You will most likely be found …
At the Dublin Castle, with a pint of lager in your hand and the trendiest boho chic market wear adorning your size-8 body, showing off your new pink highlights.
At your best friend’s gallery opening.
Working late and then getting dressed for a reception or charity event.
Pushing your Maclaren buggy home from the shops before getting a babysitter and going to a wine bar to complain about your kids, Tesco, and Tony Blair.
In Buckshire.
6. Your ideal date is:
Taking your date to your private table at the Ivy to discuss shooting, hunting, and the familial dramas of everyone you know. You then like to follow it up with dancing at Annabel’s, just to prove you can get in.
Roller-blading in the park, yoga, or vegetarian lunch at an independent bistro.
1940’s retro clubbing in Bethnal Green. You enjoy competing over who can name each record the quickest.
Getting high and discussing anarchy in your parents’ basement.
An eight-minute drink that ends when you storm out to brief against them.
7. You’re in your car, listening to a CD. What car, and what CD?
What? My car was nicked two weeks ago and someone broke in and ripped off all my CDs last night.
Are you kidding? I’m on the Northern Line with my iPod, sneering at all the sad mainstream Arctic Monkeys fans.
I’m in my Aston Martin, and I’ve requested my chauffeur to put on the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields’ Ralph Vaughan Williams compilation.
I’m buzzing around the shops in my brand new yummy mummy Mini Cooper, listening to Moby.
I’m in something black and unobtrusive, sitting in the back and listening to taped conversations.
8. Religion?
Church of England, darling, who isn’t?
Religion is an outdated, oppressive mode of expression. I prefer photography.
We don’t do God. I’m sorry, we don’t do God.
I think all religions can express my spirituality in one way or another.
I spend Sunday mornings reading The Observer, but I fully expect God to understand my busy schedule.
9. Where do you holiday?
It’s all about family-friendly eco-tourism in India.
What holiday? Someone nicked my holiday money last week!!
The south of France, again. I can’t wait to be done with school and on my own; the parents are so bourgeois.
I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.
Buckshire.
10. What is your ideal job?
Something creative and rigorous yet flexible and undemanding, which allows me to challenge my inner self to expand and explore modern and innovative ways of expressing traditional ideas.
Chaining myself to something until Tibet is free.
Running my own newsagents that’s also a spoken word poetry café, experimental art gallery, and kebab shop.
I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.
Buckshire
11. What are your children’s names?
Olivia, Asher and Sing-Li, your adopted Chinese orphan.
You’ve named them after your best friends – Vladimir, Halima, Kambo, and Czeslaw.
Moondance, Nightingale, and Love.
I’m not exactly sure. In fact, I’m not exactly sure, precisely, how many children I actually have. If any. Let me check with my secretary and get back to you.
Buckshire.
12. Which of these would be most embarrassing for you?
Your friends finding out that the meal you served last week wasn’t free range OR homemade.
Being seen in a Starbucks.
Your parents. Existing.
The Sun getting photos of you, tied up and smeared with peanut butter, being whipped by two rent-boys dressed like sheep.
Having to open the country house to the public to make ends meet.

1. What is your age?

Under 18 Years Old

18 to 24 Years Old

25 to 30 Years Old

31 to 40 Years Old

41 to 50 Years Old

51 to 60 Years Old

Over 60 Years Old

2. What is your gender?

Male

Female

3. You’re having a few friends over for dinner. Who’s on the guest list?

The Queen, the French Ambassador, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and an eccentric yet brilliant Oxford don whose family has known yours for four generations. If someone cancels, you suppose you’ll invite the PM.

The Prime Minister, last year’s Turner and Booker prize winners, and a working-class northerner who writes for the Guardian.

Seventeen drunken poets.

Your best friends, Sebastian, Lucius, and Frederica – if she’s been bailed out by now.

Your PPS and twelve bright young things, one of whom you’re hoping to go to bed with.

4. While we’re at it, what’s on the menu?

Home-cooked free-range organic local chicken, bought direct from the farmer, with traditional British side dishes prepared with a simple, modern palette in mind.

Kebabs. And pot.

Takeaway from a few places around the corner, just like they make it in Vietnam, Bangladesh, and Jamaica.

You gave the staff your specifics *months* ago, but Fortnum and Mason have suddenly stopped carrying your favourite caviar, so you don’t know *what* to do.

Fish and chips. Or else fresh linguine tossed in a sauce of sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and capers. You really can’t decide.

5. It’s Saturday night. You will most likely be found …

At the Dublin Castle, with a pint of lager in your hand and the trendiest boho chic market wear adorning your size-8 body, showing off your new pink highlights.

At your best friend’s gallery opening.

Working late and then getting dressed for a reception or charity event.

Pushing your Maclaren buggy home from the shops before getting a babysitter and going to a wine bar to complain about your kids, Tesco, and Tony Blair.

In Buckshire.

6. Your ideal date is:

Taking your date to your private table at the Ivy to discuss shooting, hunting, and the familial dramas of everyone you know. You then like to follow it up with dancing at Annabel’s, just to prove you can get in.

Roller-blading in the park, yoga, or vegetarian lunch at an independent bistro.

1940’s retro clubbing in Bethnal Green. You enjoy competing over who can name each record the quickest.

Getting high and discussing anarchy in your parents’ basement.

An eight-minute drink that ends when you storm out to brief against them.

7. You’re in your car, listening to a CD. What car, and what CD?

What? My car was nicked two weeks ago and someone broke in and ripped off all my CDs last night.

Are you kidding? I’m on the Northern Line with my iPod, sneering at all the sad mainstream Arctic Monkeys fans.

I’m in my Aston Martin, and I’ve requested my chauffeur to put on the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields’ Ralph Vaughan Williams compilation.

I’m buzzing around the shops in my brand new yummy mummy Mini Cooper, listening to Moby.

I’m in something black and unobtrusive, sitting in the back and listening to taped conversations.

8. Religion?

Church of England, darling, who isn’t?

Religion is an outdated, oppressive mode of expression. I prefer photography.

We don’t do God. I’m sorry, we don’t do God.

I think all religions can express my spirituality in one way or another.

I spend Sunday mornings reading The Observer, but I fully expect God to understand my busy schedule.

9. Where do you holiday?

It’s all about family-friendly eco-tourism in India.

*What* holiday? Someone nicked my holiday money last week!!

The south of France, *again.* I can’t wait to be done with school and on my own; the parents are so *bourgeois.*

I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.

Buckshire.

10. What is your ideal job?

Something creative and rigorous yet flexible and undemanding, which allows me to challenge my inner self to expand and explore modern and innovative ways of expressing traditional ideas.

Chaining myself to something until Tibet is free.

Running my own newsagents that’s also a spoken word poetry café, experimental art gallery, and kebab shop.

I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.

Buckshire

11. What are your children’s names?

Olivia, Asher and Sing-Li, your adopted Chinese orphan.

You’ve named them after your best friends – Vladimir, Halima, Kambo, and Czeslaw.

Moondance, Nightingale, and Love.

I’m not exactly sure. In fact, I’m not exactly sure, precisely, how *many* children I actually *have*. If any. Let me check with my secretary and get back to you.

Buckshire.

12. Which of these would be most embarrassing for you?

Your friends finding out that the meal you served last week wasn’t free range OR homemade.

Being seen in a Starbucks.

Your parents. Existing.

The Sun getting photos of you, tied up and smeared with peanut butter, being whipped by two rent-boys dressed like sheep.

Having to open the country house to the public to make ends meet.

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