These city streets (The Yorker archives)

So, welcome to your new city. We know trying to discover all the best offerings of a new place can be a bit of a pain, so the Lifestyle team have been real generous and are giving you a helping hand in your path to unearthing York’s most interesting spots.

York is FULL of gates. No, not kissing ones. It’s a fancy way of saying street, basically, and it can be quite difficult knowing your Coppergates from your Colliergates. We've handpicked the most interesting ones you need to know about!

Jubbergate.

It may sound like something from a Lewis Carroll poem, but it’s not in Wonderland, it’s just off Parliament Square. Home to York’s main market, pick up fresh flowers, fix your phone, and browse local artists’ work.

Swinegate. 

Swinegate has an unusual history; originally a lane where pigs were kept, it later developed a slightly seedier nature when it became home to brothels and prostitutes- then known as “Swingate”, with neighbouring Grape Lane being known as “Grope” lane (charming). Now home to more respectable joints, you’ll find student musts Vudu Lounge and 1331 here.

Hungate. 

Here you’ll find York’s largest and most ambitious excavation site. DIG is literally unearthing York’s astonishingly long history, and although the guided tours have stopped there’s still plenty to be marvelled at over at the exhibition that’ll be hanging around all year.

Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate. 

Short street, long name. The plaque that lives on this street tells us it means “”What a street!” and is probably the only street name to be considered this quirky & adorable anywhere. The “Whip” element comes from the days of public humiliation as punishment- stocks were erected here so petty criminals could receive a good old fashioned flogging.

Shambles. 

No guide to York’s best streets would be complete without heralding the famous Shambles. This cobbled lane has pretty much the coolest namedropping potential out of all York’s streets, having been mentioned in the Doomsday Book in 1086. Usually full of tourists- because it’s plain gorgeous, make sure you check out the incredible chocolatiers, and head down for a romantic stroll at night.

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Originally published in Y Magazine, Issue 1 (view here), 29th Sept '12

Waiting for civilisation

I am broke. Monumentally, breathtakingly broke. Largely due to a bit of a book splurge, but mostly due to those holiday things I went on, that I've definitely not already told you all about. To reassure Natwest that I'm not going to do a runner with their ill-advised and very generous overdraft, I've returned to York and waitressing early in order to top up my despondent balance.

Because my university has ridiculous term times, and all my new housemates have better things to be doing (like exploring Spain and climbing mountains...), I've been living on my own. Though I don't particularly feel responsible enough to maintain a house by myself for any period of time longer than it would take to use up all the clean dishcloths, I've faced the challenge pretty well.

For instance; The broadband in our house was duff, so, like a GROWN UP, I spent an hour on the phone to a lovely and well-meaning, but impossibly accented woman. Whilst wedged between a piano and the wall, trying to unscrew what I believed to be the main phone socket with a butter knife as a screwdriver and my phone as a torch, the Sky lady and I agreed that it'd probably be best if a professional engineer was sent out. Technically, it was the engineer who solved the problem, but I definitely feel my efforts played a role in the whole charade. That now sits proudly on my CV, right next to "Knows all words to Robbie Williams back-catalogue".

Naturally, as it's me, and not some actual domestic goddess, there have been a fair share of mishaps. Perhaps the most horribly stupid is when I angrily phoned my landlady demanding to know why the washing machine wasn't working, and where I was supposed to plug the bloody thing in considering it was in the shed. She turned up the next day, and rather than heading out to the shed, simply opened the cupboard door beneath the sink- where a fully working washing machine was dutifully waiting- and pressed the "on" button.

Aside from embarrassing myself, I've been trying to avoid soul-munching boredom by training as a housewife, should a career as a professional Linguistics graduate not work out. At first, this mostly compromised of carefully arranging my room into an obstacle course for me to navigate before work each morning. Then I went a bit crazy.

Not exactly Food Blog fodder, is it?

Feeling guilty for spending so much of my wage on flapjacks, and not on giving Natwest their money back, I decided to make my eating habit cheaper by making my own. Spurred on by this sudden and uncontrollable enthusiasm for baking, I made a (really shit) loaf of bread, and an apple pie that I didn't want to eat (don't like apple pie, duh) and ended up donating the lot to some local starving students. I spent the next day cleaning flour out of my hair and butter off the floor. 

I've mastered dragging out simple tasks this summer. I can make a book last and I can make showering and drying my hair last an entire afternoon if I know I have nothing else to do. But there are only so many nights of no TV, books I've already read thrice, no internet access, and no noticeable social life, one can endure before they start to lose their shit. I've been replying to radio presenters' rhetorical questions, just to hear my own voice.

Thankfully, my housemates are slowly starting to move in. It does mean I'll have stop showering with the door unlocked (so I can hear the radio downstairs!) and I'll have to stop wearing the green paisley trousers so much. Those are sacrifices I'm happy to make in return for real interaction that doesn't involve asking customers how they'd like their steaks cooked.

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I have exciting news. I've been shortlisted for the Best Young Blogger at the Blog North Awards! (I KNOW, me neither). If you could take a few seconds to follow this link and vote for Every Second Song, I'd probably never stop being excited.