Letchworth Garden City: Prisoner of London

In Letchworth, The First Garden City, I found myself at a crossroads. I'd walked a short stretch along the supposedly ancient and prehistoric route of The Icknield way before arriving at the intersection with Norton Road. A point where two different psychogeographies crossed paths.

The Icknield Way is the territory of archaeologists, earth mystery types, ramblers and 'nature writers'. It is said to be one of four ancient trading routes across England, the others being  Watling Street, Ermine Street and Fosse Way.  The notable published guide being that of Edward Thomas, whose steps Robert Macfarlane retraced in 'The Old Ways'.  

Norton, the prisoner of London, is the avatar of Iain Sinclair. Sinclair has attempted to escape London, at least to stop writing about it. The Last Of London marked a sort of winding up, liquidation or retirement. Coincidentally, the British Motorcycle Manufacturer Norton was reported as going into administration the morning I set off for Letchworth. Sinclair, though, will always be associated with London and his spectre will never leave. Even if in Hastings or elsewhere (probably not Letchworth) he  will remain the the Prisoner of London.

The intersection of these rural (Macfarlane) and urban (Sinclair) forms is pertinent. Letchworth was (is) the First Garden City. The first realisation of the vision of Ebeneezer Howard and his Garden City movement, which attempted to create a Utopian settlement combining the best if both worlds where people could live and work.

Letchworth had something of the atmosphere of places like Silver Village, which shared similar self contained Utopian values. All that was required for living: jobs, housing, leisure and municipal facilities  were provided in a tranquil setting independent from the outside.

But at a human level, the place felt more like a suburb.  A distorted Metroland. Their were few people around at nine in the morning. Those occupying an otherwise modern, faux hipster coffee establishment were mainly retirees, discussing Alan Brazil on Sky Sports. Most of the working population appeared to have shipped out to London for the day. I had encountered a crowd of them earlier, trying to burst through the train doors as I alighted and struggled to squeeze through against the tide. An updated scene from Dawn of the Dead . Smart phone zombies with blue faces caused by the reflective glow of their mobile devices. They are transported to the City for the day (every day) to return to a semi-dormitory town to eat and sleep. A semi-dormant place. The original vision of Howard had been disrupted at some point along the way by London, sucking the life out of it.

On my way back to the Rail Station I was a bit disappointed, but by that stage not surprised, to find The Garden City Brewery along with several cafes and shops closed until later in the week (it was Tuesday). While it's physical form has been preserved by heritage bureaucrats, Letchworth has become an outpost dormitory on the outer orbit of the Home Counties commuter belt. The town itself  and it's mobile device  fixated zombie 'dormers' are, like Norton, prisoners of London.

Blake's House in the Realm of Blue Posts and Burning Sheep.

I found myself in Old Bond Street, and decided to drift back to the station via Soho/Fitzrovia.

Looking up nearby was a giant decorative structure. Some sort of giant alien Christmas decoration resembling a chandelier made of peacock feathers. Things were alien in a sense around here, on the fringes of Mayfair. Several of the shops, jewelers or art galleries particularly, had men that looked like slightly better dressed and more civilised nightclub doormen guarding their entrances. All pristine charcoal overcoats and dark suits. It was difficult to fathom what some of the shops were selling or what some of the buildings were for. A concentrated epicentre of wealth within London, itself a concentrated epicentre of wealth within the rest of the UK and the world.

In a side street I noticed two scultpted sheep heads above embedded in a stone framed doorway. Long stone faces, serious and baphomet-like with added braided locks, one each side. No charcoal grey coated suit was needed to guard these doors. The sinister and slightly hypnotic gaze of the sheep provided sufficient warning to the unwanted to stay away.

I left the vicinity and soon crossed the threshold of Regent Street into Soho, where the atmosphere immediately changed. Another epicentre of wealth but maybe a rung down from Mayfair.  More garish, chaotic and less sterile or obviously 'exclusive'.

At one end of Carnaby Street, almost opposite the Blue Posts pub another sheep stood on a plinth halfway up the wall, this time a black one. The premises it was attached to had another black sheep embossed into the glass above the it's entrance.

This particular black sheep is the logo of advertising agency, Battle Bogle Hegarty. The agency was responsible for an ad campaign for black jeans, featuring a crowd of white sheep going one way and one black one going the opposite. Black jeans were a new thing at the time, the inference being the wearer was daring to be different or a bit dangerous. The black sheep. The opposite. Although the sheep attached to the building looked quite jolly, there seemed to be occult connotations. The black sheep, the rebel, the criminal, Satan! Advertising itself is the dark art of our times, Magick being ' the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity and will'. The advertisers have been doing exactly that on a grand scale for years to get people to buy more 'stuff'. I have worn black jeans myself and I've never even seen the advert. The subliminal messages must have got to me by more subtle means...

The Blue Posts pub opposite the black sheep was the first of three I passed on my meander. There are five Blue Posts within the vicinity of Soho, Fitzrovia and St James's. A sixth has disappeared from Tottenham Court Road. One theory is that the name derived from blue posts used to demarcate the boundary of hunting ground. The name Soho is said to derive from a hunting call. The other theory is the name comes from the azure bollards where in a past age sedan chairs could be hired, a precursor to taxi ranks.

That there are now five Blue Posts could be interpreted by the more imaginitive to represent of the five points of a pentagram. But since their pattern on the map looks more of a shakey rhomboid this seems a bit of a stretch. It's more reminisent of a circular taxi ride taken by a bewildered tourist trying to find the right Blue Posts for a rendezvous with a long lost friend, stuck in a perpetual loop while the meter keeps ticking. I'm going with the taxi rank theory for this reason.

Round the corner was Willaim Blake House. A brutalist residential tower in brown with mirrored windows. In the one at the bottom the similarly brutalist building opposite was visible as if it was an image on a giant flat screen television.

William Blake was born in a building on the corner next door, demolished in the 60s and now a 'Patisserie Valerie' housed in a similar brutalist brown to the tower that rises above it. He lived most of his life in Soho and died not far away in The Strand, a trajectory barely escaping the rhomboid of the five still existing Blue Posts.  Blake is retrospectively labelled a psychogeographer by many and is of course a key figure of both London and the occult. The Blake's House tower felt like a centre of gravity within both Soho and The Blue Posts Rhomboid.  The only sheep connection though, appears to be his poem 'The Lamb' which  doesn't seem to connect much with the strange sheep of Mayfair and Soho I had encountered. Although I suppose Blake himself was a black sheep, regarded as a heritic by the establishment.

I passed a second Blue Posts, this one in Berwick Street. The obligatory gander in Sister Ray  and Reckless Records nearby resulted in the purchase of a CD copy of 'Holy Magick' by The Graham Bond Initiation. In the accompanying sleeve notes a journalist recalls meeting Bond in a boozer in Fleet Street for an interview. The musician, possibly under the influence of various potions, ranted of Crowley and Magick, just up the road from where Blake died. His own fate was further out in zone 2 at Finsbury Park station, where he tragically flung himself in front of a tube train not many years after said interview.

Crossing into Fitzrovia I availed myself of a third Blue Posts. The last one I would encounter and the first I would enter. And the only one I omitted to photograph. While I sat in the familiar cocoon of Sam Smith's dark wood and impressive glassworks, the world stopped for the length of time it took me to imbibe a pint of nourishing Oatmeal Stout, which I didn't hurry.

Before the train back I took lunch in one of the famous Indian eateries in Drummond Street, under the spectre of the ongoing HS2 development of Euston Station. The restaurant was busy. Mixed into the snippets of other people's conversations I overheard above the hubbub a man talking of having observed a 'sacrificial ritual' involving a 'burning sheep'. As soon as I tried to tune in to the rest of his conversation it merged back into the hubbub, becoming as incomprehensible as the teacher's voice in Charlie Brown cartoons. One or two snippets gave me hope that he may have been talking of a theatrical production, rather than something connected to the sheep of Soho or the Blue Posts. The People's Theatre is just round the corner after all. But it felt like an unnerving 'coincidence' nontheless.

I drew a line under proceedings at this point and headed back to East Anglia.

Kentish Town/West

I wandered from Paddington to Trellick Tower, a foray under the Westway and into a bit of London I was unfamiliar with.  Soon I found myself in a sort of community green space where a man appeared to be practicing some form of boxing or maybe a more assertive version of Thai Chi. Either way, I kept a cautious distance.

After a drift along an unfamiliar but fairly typical bit of London main road for a while, I spotted the Tower a little way off to my left, clad in some sort of blue netting. Arriving at a busy junction shortly afterwards, I took the left turn. Suddenly I couldn't see the Tower. It was blocked out by the buildings immediately around me, paradoxically much smaller ones.

At the Union Tavern pub I took some steps down to the canal towpath, having resorted to google maps to find the Tower . The canal was lined with trees and a park/garden to my left and canal boats to my right. Across the water were houses and flats and a bizarre sort of garden with statues or sculptures of some kind, apparently only accessible from the water.

At this point I hadn't figured out that if I'd looked up and been able to see through the trees, I'd have seen the Tower looming up above in close proximity. But my attention had been diverted by the scenes across the canal.

In my ignorance I'd drifted past the tower before doubling back along a road, passing the Cobden Working Men's Club and Institute building. Originally opened in 1866 as a liberal free trade supporting institution with its own publishing arm, it's apparently the oldest surviving purpose built working men's club building, although no longer operates as such.  Sometime in the 1990s it was turned into a private member's club for local celebrity types, although the local working men were allowed to continue using the ground floor in exchange for a peppercorn rent of a bottle of scotch a year between them. The club closed in 2010 then the building was bought by  Caprice Burret, a model and reality TV person. Apparently Bill Clinton played his saxophone in the building when he was a student.

Following this unintended diversion, I arrived at Trellick Tower. The netting I had seen earlier was covering scaffolding. Renovation and repairs are taking place to the building, which is listed so presumably means doing it on the cheap is less of an option for the council than they might have liked. I had assumed that the renovations were a sign of decanting out the council tenants in order to sell off the flats into private hands, as happened at Trellick Tower's twin Belfron Tower as well as numerous other places. But apparently this isn't the case here and thankfully the council tenants are staying.

On the ground floor there is a row of shops including a social enterprise, The Goldfinger Factory. Attached to this is a sicillian cafe/restaurant which does a 'peoples kitchen' where donated food from Queens Park market is cooked up into a free meal for locals. Gentrification so far seems to have been resisted. I didn't get a photo, I felt it would be a bit of an intrusion on the people sitting outside the cafe.  I also felt a bit self conscious taking photos of the area in general, particularly as I had a suit on having come from a meeting. I didn't want to be mistaken for a seedy speculator of some kind. I was in close proximity to people's homes after all and it felt like a breach of their privacy.

The community spirit was evident in this piece of art showing solidarity with the victims of Grenfell, fellow North Kensington residents.

I walked back to the canal via the gardens around the back of the Tower. I was intrigued by the green behind the wall on the picture below. Again, I felt a bit self conscious so didn't go and investigate it. I was pleased to see a lamp post of the same design we had on the estate I grew up on in Cherry Hinton in Cambridge. The black sort with a circular UFO-like lamp.

I drifted away from the Tower and doubled back up to the busy junction. Then I headed down Elgin Avenue which looked like it was heading roughly in the direction of North London and Kings Cross Station. I hadn't planned on much more of a walk and was going to catch a random bus back at least part way. But following sudden arrangements to meet a friend for a drink in Kentish Town I had two hours to kill so kept walking.

Not far into Elgin Avenue the scene became noticeably posher. There were few shops and a seemingly endless parade of big brown well kept houses. At some point I took a diversion through Paddington Recreation Ground. I can't recall if that was after or before I stumbled upon the end of Woronzow Road. For me (and no doubt at least some others) a site of significant psychogeographic and psychedelic importance. Woronzow is the name of the record label belonging to Nick Saloman of (or who is) The Bevis Frond. I had been told by someone, or possibly read somewhere, that the label was named after a fictitious trap street spotted on an A-Z. Of course, this turned to be untrue as I read or heard somewhere else a few years later. The street is real and in the vicinity of St John's Wood where Nick Saloman grew up. That I've never actually sought out the road suddenly seemed odd, and I was surprised to have stumbled across it even though in the back of my mind I suppose I knew it was around here somewhere.

There  was more of the same brown houses for quite a while. Not a lot else registered until I arrived on what was a sort of border separating Primrose Hill and the area of Chalk Farm, Camden and Kentish Town. The physical embodiment of this is an iron railway footbridge, where streetart/graffiti (depending on which side of the divide you are on) made its first and sudden appearance since Trellick Tower and it's environs. A series of sheild shaped iron 'picture frames' lined the street featuring  a varied selection of motifs. Probably my favourite is the one below. I crossed the bridge into Chalk Farm and as I did so felt like was making a transition into another realm.

I'm a bit long in the tooth to get excited about Camden I suppose, and was mildly irritated to be nearly run down by three young men evidently heading in that direction on scooters (the sort that children used to have, not the mod sort). I headed down Prince of Wales Road which links Chalk Farm and Kentish Town.

Prince of Wales Road is familiar yet unfamiliar. I have been down it several times, particularly the Kentish Town end where the University (ne Polytechnic) of North London used to have a premises in an impressive old school building. Opposite this is St Pancras Baths, a similarly impressive building which I'd never paid particular attention to before. In the ''golden hour" of late afternoon the sun rendered the building a glowing orange which was slightly other-worldly. The building was re-vamped in 2010 for continued use as a swimming pool, narrowly escaping being sold off for flats as the old University building had been. I also recalled an interesting stay at a bizarre BnB called Michaels Guest House just over the road and of course nearby is the excellent Drinkers Paradise off licence.

On the other hand, the stretch of road leading from Chalk Farm to Kentish Town West station felt only vaguely recalled. I hadn't remembered that the station was even on this road, imagining it being somewhere else.

Underneath the statues of St George and St Pancras were two religious types stood behind a board that asked the question ''Will the suffering ever end?'' The pub was less than 20 minutes away so the answer to this was undoubtedly yes, at least for a while. Not that I was suffering, but a pint and a sit down would be welcome. I managed to avoid their attention and departed the scene.

I headed up Kentish Town Road, which is like a more low key Camden, a little more off the tourist map. It's probably got a bit posher over the years but still has a bit of a ramshackle feel. Having saids that, the painted sign that rises up on the side of a building overlooking the railway bridge is not that low key I suppose..

Round the corner I lingered for a while outside the Bull and Gate. I'd not really taken much notice of the outside of the pub before when I used to come here to see bands many moons ago. It has an interesting and bizarre 'frontispiece'. The central feature of this is a bull in front of a gate, being hovered over by a head resembling a hybrid of a green man and the giant stone head from the film Zardoz. What this means I cannot be sure, but it was time to go to the pub (a different one).

Split perambulation: Croydon and London Bridge to Kings Cross

Having been sent to  Waddon for work, just a mile or two  South West of the centre of Croydon,  it seemed only sensible to get off the train at East Croydon and take the opportunity for a bit of ambulatory activity. I've only ever been to Croydon once before at the start of a walk along the River Wandle. I didn't recognise the station from my last visit. There was a lot more development going on since I was last here.

I'd arrived with the best part of an hour and a half to get to Waddon and find somewhere for breakfast. I left the station through a side exit and the vicinity immediately outside was devoid of much except for a Co-op so I kept going towards the main road (A12). Croydon is well known as being a place festooned with 60s office blocks which featured in abundance. Among these I noticed a particularly tall purplish skyscraper, a far more recent building called Saffron Square, a new residential development. It's had it's critics for it's design and for being marketed to overseas investors rather than providing much need homes for normal people (just for a change). But the height of it (43 storeys) and garish colour makes it visible from most of the rest of Croydon and probably beyond  so at least it was a handy reference point.

I walked up the main road and passed Lunar House, a large white building housing the Home Office immigration/visa centre where people wanting to apply for a visa in person have to come. Similar I guess to going to Peterborough for getting a passport but probably an even longer and more costly process. Last time I came to Croydon it reminded me a bit of Peterborough, particularly the shopping centre area. Both places are ones that are often derided. Both have been developed extensively in the 60s and 70s although Croydon much more impressively if you like brutalist architecture. Lunar House was built in 1970, along with nearby Apollo House, the names inspired by the 60s space programme. Apollo House is also the name used for the block of flats the main characters in the sitcom 'Peepshow' lived in. The actual block of flats used in filming for the exterior of their abode is Zodiac House. The green plastic looking interpretations of the signs of the zodiac above the entrance are bizarre. I don't remember seeing them in the TV show and I didn't pass Zodiac House while in Croydon which was a shame.

I'd mentioned the idea of mapping TV sitcoms based in London in a previous post and have since discovered, unsurprisingly, that i've been beaten to it. So hat's off to whoever plotted the google map. Purley, just up the road from central Croydon, was the setting for Terry and June in the 70s. More recently Croydon been the setting for a BBC 3 sitcom about the staff working in a Fried Chicken takeaway ('Fried') and for Jo Brand's comedy 'Going Forward'.

Further up the road I went past a sign for West Croydon and it felt like I was heading the wrong way out from the centre.  A quick map check confirmed that so I doubled back down a parallel road.

I thought this church a bit unusual. I didn't have time to stop and have a closer look, the need to find breakfast becoming more of a priority. A bit of post walk research revealed it is not a church but the headquarters of the Croydon Lodge of Freedom, a masonic hall.

I walked on, heading to what was referred to as the Old Town, and fairly soon came to a main road that I needed to cross to get to Waddon Road. I'd somehow managed to miss the Town bit of the Old Town or at least the bits with anywhere that sold breakfast so pressed on to the Waddon Cafe, a decent grease cafe in the proper tradition. On a corner along with a handful of other shops/takeaways that are facing a Morrisons over the road (not one that sells breakfast).

Meeting over, I headed back to East Croydon through suburbs after turning off at random somewhere on Purley Way. I followed a road alongside Duppas Hill, Croydon's first recreation ground and previously site of the Croydon workhouse. I was tempted to walk across it but this would probably have taken me in the wrong direction..not normally something that would worry me too much but I was a bit restricted on time.

Prior to crossing the A232 I passed these dilapidated looking garages. The doors didn't look quite right, as if they were made from cardboard.

Taking the  underpass crossing the A232,  I made an educated guess and came out in roughly the right direction to head back into the town. Not much further from here I passed a pub. It wasn't opened and it may not have been in business any longer. The frosted and patterned windows made it impossible to glance inside to see. But once all pubs were like that, offering uncertainty to the non-local as to what (and who) might be found inside. More often than not now it's possible to look through the window before going in. On the plus side allowing a look at the beer range is half decent and t check that the company looks convivial. In some ways this is a good thing but it also means the windows are more boring and customers are on show in the manner of a goldfish or shop mannequin. For anyone trying to maintain a low profile (bunking off school/work, hiding from your husband/wife/mum/Dad/the Police) or for the innocent just wanting a bit of peaceful solitude this is not ideal. For the onlooker any wonder and imagination about what might be going on inside is lost. I remember walking past pubs when I was young and wondering what could be going on inside and why I wasn't allowed in. Similar (but not quite as interesting) were bookies with their beaded curtains. The possibility for these sort of imaginings is fast disappearing.

I knew I was heading back towards East Croydon when I could see Saffron Square looming in the distance like a purple a beacon.

Walking along George Street I noticed the Nestle Tower, an impressive enough piece of 60s brutalism. Nestle (always pronounced 'Nessels' by people I knew when I was a kid) vacated the building 5 years ago and it's been purchased by Chinese developers with, unsurprisingly, a view to residential conversion. 

I was quite taken with Croydon as a place to explore, something I would do a bit more of when I had to return to Waddon a couple of weeks later. It is obviously a place in the grip of gentrification but still has plenty of so far unaffected areas in the centre. As well as the 60s architecture and  older buildings there are plenty of regular shops catering to the 'ordinary' person. A Lidl on the main drag and a Wetherspoon (I passed one - there may be more) as well as plenty of independent shops selling things that are useful shops. It hasn't been heavily populated by Nathan Barley types or beardy-man-bun clones just yet. Maybe worse, that phase of gentrification may be bypassed or fast tracked- straight to the really weatlhy, most of which invest in their flats- rather than live in them.

In the approach to East Croydon the presence of the clock in front of J R Shakespeare Funerals serves as an ominous reminder of the relentless march of time.  Clocks are not uncommon outside funeral directors, an obvious choice of decoration I suppose. This one is also handy to check if you are about to miss the train. 

The 50p building

The iconic  'No 1 Croydon' building is just past the station.  This is more informally known as the 50 p building, the three-penny bit building or the wedding cake. Formerly it's proper name was the NLA building (NLA standing for Noble Lowndes Annunities- no, I've never heard of them either) when it was put up in the 60s. It featured in the opening credits of Terry and June and was later called one of the UK's top eyesores in a programme on Channel Four (around the time it underwent a refurbishment).

View from the Boxpark

I was in need of refreshment before getting the train and luckily there was an outlet for excellent local brewery The Cronx right next to the station. This was part of  a complex called 'Boxpark' which appeared to be a temporary structure containing various food and drink outlets with a large area in the centre to sit and eat whatever food you have bought there. This was I suppose a typical example of hipstery gentrification but it's temporary nature indicated it was soon to be swept aside for development for the benefit people further up the food chain of the gentrification hierarchy and this re-enforced my earlier perceptions.

One of the outlets, selling meaty products and bourbon, had artwork depicting people with animal and skull heads. I'm not sure what this was supposed to signify, if anything. Maybe the skull in the suit is meant to represent something about cultural death with the coming of wealth. But it's probably just supposed to look cool - and it did I suppose.

The train back travelled back through the wilds of South London, places unknown to me or only briefly passed through like Norwood Junction and Penge West. Back through slightly more familiar territory of New Cross Gate. Then the City of London looms into view.

I headed back in the rough direction of Kings Cross.

This was Southwark Cathedral (I think) with the Shard in the background. The mix of old and new in this part London, as elsewhere, is stark and moreso since the Shard was put up. I've never really been tempted to go up it despite the spectacular views from what is said to be the tallest building in Europe. It's about £25 to be being granted access to the specatcle, probably involves queing and I'm not really one for heights. Prior to it being complete it was 'hacked' by urban explorers. Theres a good article about that here.

Further along somewhere past St Paul's Cathedral I passed this building. It's been a Youth Hostel since the 70s and was previously St Pauls Choir School. I was drawn to the Scallop Shell motif. The scallop shell has been used as a fertility symbol asscoiated with the Roman Goddess Venus. It's also been used as a symbol for religious pilgrimage. More recently of course for Shell Oil. I don't know what the intention of  the architect was here but my feet were telling me I was making a pilgrimage of sorts..albiet one with no religious intent, much direction or anything in mind to revere at the end of it.

Nearby a crow or possibly a rook, I'm never sure. The saying goes 'if theres more than one crow they are rooks, if theres only one rook it's a crow. So I'm going with crow. Crows have been associated  with death and the 'other world' in Britsh Folklore. While I didn't think mortal danger was imminent I think crows do have a bit more mystery and command more respect than pigeons even when scavenging on bits of dropped sandwich. Further east, Ravens, which are larger versions of crows, reside at the Tower of London. It's said that if they leave England will fall. I think their wings are clipped to make sure they don't fly away.

Soon after this after passing the Old Bailey, I found myself at the corner of Guiltspur Street and Cock Lane. Here the Golden Boy of Pye Corner marks the point where the Great Fire of London is said to have stopped. This was orginally the site of a bawdy pub. Probably not unconnected is the blaming of the fire on the sin of gluttony, as described in  the enscription on the wall. Being on the edge of the City, the epicentre of greed in London, any warnings of future restraint have fallen on deaf ears but there's been no repeat of the fire - yet. I'd never heard of the somewhat defiant looking Golden Boy before. He reminds me of a post-piss version of the Manequin Pis in Brussels, mocking puritancal warnings about gluttonous behaviour having relieved himself in the street. I'd seen the name Pye Corner on a map of Harlow before and had imagined the name derived from the location of a former Pye electronics factory, possibly now derilict. I'd wondered if this might be the inspiration for the electronic music artist known as Pye Corner Audio. Probably not. Of course 'Pye' is an old spelling of 'Pie', hence the association with gluttony. There are several Pye Corners in the UK. The character 'Neil' in 'The Young Ones' had the surname 'Pye' so theres a tenuous comedy link there..

Somewhere a bit further along near the Barbican was this mural/street art. It seems to depict a young person with an affinity for the animal world. A hipster version of The Beastmaster or Johnny Morris perhaps.

Then I found myself on Goswell Road which leads from Barbican to Angel. Somehow I'd never heard of or walked along this road, despite usually ending up on the almost parallel routes of City Road, Farringdon Road or Grays Inn Road on meanderings back to Kings Cross from central or  Eastern bits of London. This was nicely disorientating. I felt like I'd slipped back in time to the 1970s London of  the Sweeney and Minder. The front of the establishment pictured below features the Pepsi sign once common on places with names like 'Jim's Cafe'. This conjured up images of formica, silver foil ashtrays, plastic tomatoes, cheap and basic grub (fry ups, liver and bacon, shepherd's pie) and Crusha flavoured milk. A mixture of memories from TV programmes and holidays in Yarmouth and Cromer as a kid.

Further along the road is Turnpike House. I immediately thought of the LP 'Tales from Turnpike House' by St Etienne and it's cover featuring what I thought was this tower block on the front. Except on checking this out the album cover I was thinking of was for their 'Finistere' LP which features the image of the tower block Ronan Point in East London - just before it was pulled down. When I first heard the title of the LP, to confuse things more I'd assumed it was about somewhere in Turnpike Lane. The London Trilogy of films the band made with director Paul Kelly are esssential viewing but I've never really listened to any of the bands music properly. This would probably explains my confusion around album covers and locations. Kelly resided in Turnpike House when collaborating with the band on one of the film'What Have you done today, Mervyn Day?' The Turnpike House imagined in the album and it's songs of kitchen  a sink drama was as much inspired by suburban areas as the actual location including Croydon, bringing things back to the beginning of my walk.

Despite being named after a place in France, St Etienne have definate London and psychogeographical connections.  One album is  called 'London Conversations' and another,  'Words and Music by St Etienne' features an image of a fictitious A-Z style map with street names made up of the bands favourite songs. Bob Stanley of the band is quoted as saying ''the idea is that you can follow roads on the map and end up with a playlist of different journeys. There are 312 song titles on the map—it's our hometown." The most recent album is called 'Home Counties', traditionally a place where people end up moving to from London in middle age, motivated by suburban/rural ideas of  more space, peace and quiet and a perception of a safer place to bring up children while putting up with an extended commute. Whether this is still as prevalent and has happened to the members of St Etienne in recent times I'm not sure.

Turnpike House date from 1965, part of the Kings Square Estate built on behalf of Finsbury Council. The estate is currently undergoing development to include 70% 'affordable' housing at 'social rent'.  Judging by the number of hits for estate agents adverts a search for 'Turnpike House' produces I doubt that many of the original flats still fall into that category.

I diverted East somewhere before reaching Angel before heading to City Road and across to the excellent Wenlock Arms for light refreshment and a sit down. The pub dates from 1835 and now sits in a conservation area following an earlier attempt by delevopers to demolish it. On a previous visit some years ago me and some friends were accosted by an excitable and slightly incoherent French woman telling us something about the pub being under threat and that she thought she'd have to start drinking in the pub near the Eye Hospital instead. She need not have worried about the pub but Wenlock Road is almost unrecognisable since the first time I visited, probably about 15 years ago. The pub acts as a symbolic and physical buffer against more 'beige' development spreading any further along that side of the street. It featured in the Simon Pegg film 'The Worlds End', which was set in the fictional Newton Haven, nothing to do with London or it's numerous pubs of the films title. The Wenlock also featured in the opening titles to a comedy quiz show on Dave, presented by Al  Murray with the dubious sounding title 'Compete for The Meat'. On the programme people compete for a frozen chicken, with a second prize of some sausages while Al Murray hosts it in his 'Pub Landlored' character.

Across the road is Shepherdess Walk Park. I'd never walked across it and decided I ought to. I was drawn towards the mosaics in one corner of the park which depicted the seasons. One is labelled 'Hackney 2012'. The first mosaic in the park was created that year in celebration of  life in Hackney's parks during the the olympics. Here, nearer to the border between Islington and Hackney it is four and a half miles from the actual Olympic Park but it feels a world away.

I exited the park through an alleyway which lead into the street containing a former pub. The Blockmakers Arms closed in the early 80s. I wonder how many people have stumbled towards it since only to realise that. I guess the occupants get a few random and unwelcome visitors too. Having already refreshed myself at the Wenlock I wasn't one of them.

I walked back in the direction of Angel and Kings Cross along the canal, where as a pedestrian ot makes a nice change to be given priority. Although not everyone agrees evidently. On the canal path the pedestrian has to coexist with a high volume of cyclists and joggers (I don't think they count as pedestrians). In the main this isn't a problem, but joggers do sometimes seem to assume superior status over slow(er) paced wanderers and ambulators who they expect to always step aside for them. They are not prepared to stop or move aside and insist (not vocally-it's just a given) that it's you who must instead. So even in a car free environment the walker is still seen by other 'modes' as at the bottom of a mode of travel/movement heirachy.

I was quite happy to slow down in the light of this and besides wasn in no rush.

Along one of the side roads leading into Upper Street I noticed the coffee shop above. The name Daily Grind was a good pun, recognising one of  the main reasons for the success of coffee shops is the few precious minutes of solitude and peace accompanied by a caffeine boost they offer on the way to work. The interlude between being half awake and coming to life before enduring another working day.

After eating in the always good Indian Veg I walked back to Kings Cross. Uneventful save this window. Kogan Page was a book publishers but it looks like they are closed and the building is being used as a temporary art space or squat. There was a train to Cambridge due so I didn't hang around to look closer. When I'm next here I'll see if it's still there, but my guess is it wil have been 'developed' into something else by then.