Fresh from their triumph over Spain to win the Euros for a second, consecutive time, yesterday the Lionesses were in Downing Street — presumably with somewhat sore heads, given the 4am karaoke session — to meet with deputy prime minister, Angela Rayner, and the minister for sport, Stephanie Peacock.
As they approached Number 10, the squad looked up at the historic street decorated with bunting and St George's flags fluttering in the breeze. Rayner congratulated the team with speech, before handing round the Pimm’s and plenty of cake. “You've made us all so, so proud,” Rayner said. “Role models like you send such a powerful message, the Lionesses are a shining example of talent and excitement for women's football.”
The 2005 Ashes party this was not: no one, as Matthew Hoggard so memorably did to Tony Blair, called Sir Keir Starmer “a knob”. But that may have been because Starmer had elected to spend the afternoon with Donald Trump instead of Leah Williamson, Lauren Hemp, Lucy Bronze et al.
The after party, though, was different. A few hours on and the team were spotted alighting from cabs into the Soho dark, and into Little Italy.
Where is Little Italy?
Reportedly in high spirits — thoroughly deserved — the squad headed to the longstanding bar, which is 30 this year. It sits at 21 Frith Street. It began as an offshoot of Bar Italia, the near 24-hour coffee shop first opened in 1949 which sits next door. The Polledri family own both. Opposite Little Italy is world-famous jazz club Ronnie Scott’s.
What is Little Italy?
Little Italy is a game of two halves, appropriately enough. It operates as a local trattoria of sorts in the daytime — bear in mind its locality is Soho — offering the likes of ragu and lasagne and so on. Is it authentic Italian? No: the aim is only to crowd-please. As its 30-year life attests, it has a loyal following.
This is somewhere of heavy leather chairs, big, bulbous wine glasses and bottles of Dom Pérignon lined up on the shelves. The impression is one of somewhere expensive, which it is, and upmarket, which it is not.
The evening is something else entirely. For seven days a week, Little Italy is open till 3am. From 11pm, it is a drinkers’ place, packed full with Soho types as the stereos blast out 1980s pop glories. Wine is ordered in copious quantities, but the thing everyone remembers — regrets? — the next morning is the shots, which feel like they are encouraged. The kind of memories made here are the blurry, piecemeal sort — a speciality that nearby private members’ clubs Trisha’s and Gerry’s both likewise are expert in. And like them, Little Italy is known for a sense of mischief.
Little Italy is also known for its crowd, which draws, you might say, from all walks of life. On any given night, there may be students, Soho’s heavy drinking crowd, and neatly-dressed men with heavy aftershave. Some of this lot dance; there always seem to be some people up, friendly sorts who don’t mind being bought a drink.
Now, perhaps, cup-winning footballers will join them. People come here because it is open late and a good time. Lively, is how you might put it.
21 Frith Street, W1D 4RN, @littleitalysoho
