A Walkman and some hearing trumpets.

This morning starts with a skip. Before you think I’m on a health kick, I’m at the allotment for this rare event. A skip is already there when I arrive and I place a couple of barrowful’s of plastic rubbish just in time. It’s soon full.

I decide to go into London from Turkey street, on the newly renamed “Weaver line” I wonder if this will inflict the same pain as the Weaver fish that caused havoc on the Isle of Wight beach. My friend rings from hospital and we chat for the length of the journey. It still amazes me that our call keeps loud and clear despite me moving miles on a train.

At Liverpool Street I make the decision to use the Circle line and go to Kensington High Street.

The Arcade at Kensington High Street

The station is busy and I’m soon to find out why. On the opposite side of the road, an elderly man is scraping his way through Libertango on his Violin. I nip into the Golden Arches for a quick bit of lunch. A policeman is getting a drink and waits for his colleague . He’s from Manchester police force. For a moment, I think the Circle line has extended its reach. He’s explaining to a member of staff he doesn’t know London but “yes, the road is shut” and that the protest is “till 4”. His accent is a welcome addition. He smiles as he leaves. I think he’s finding London a different world. As I leave, the elderly man continues to fight through Libertango although it’s not getting any more of the passion required for this dance.

I walk down to the Design museum. This building was The Commonwealth institute. In the 70s I visited with my Dad to deliver some film “Suitcases” to add to some exhibits. These suitcases had a pull up screen and projected a continuous loop of film to show a clip. A sort of mechanical iPad. I remember being amazed seeing people in their traditional costume. It was all very exotic when you lived in Wanstead.

The Design Museum

It closed its galleries in1998 and eventually, after excavating the basement levels, the Design museum moved in. The museum had stopped being a true reflection of the Commonwealth and it could be argued there were much better examples in the communities in London.

I have a quick look around the design museums galleries. There is a mockup of the new tube trains coming to London and it looks suitably impressive.

The new tube trains

The museum has a selection of iconic items that are all examples of innovative design. I spot a Sony Walkman which I would borrow from my Dad. It reminds me of the time I took it to cub camp when I was helping out as a scout. I had it on and was listening to Ray Moore in the early hours. He played “For all we know, we may never meet again” by Ray Connif and his singers and the stereo sound that engulfed me through the orange foam headphones was memorable to this day. But I digress.

The cafe is serving tea in a paper cup, so I leave without partaking and head further into Holland Park. It was a long while before I discovered the extent of the grounds. I don’t know much about Holland house other than it was lived in by Henry Rich, 1st Earl of Holland. It was largely destroyed by an incendiary bomb in 1940 but the surviving parts are Grade I listed.

Holland House

I see several young lads carrying bunches of flowers and I’m wondering if I’ve missed something. A community police man berates a dad and his son for cycling through the park. “Can’t you read this great big sign” the policeman says.

“No, I’m the wrong side of it” says the guy, chancing his arm.

The policeman was having none of it. “There’s another bloody great big one up the other end. You will be fined. You WILL be fined” he said pausing suitably for effect on the “will”

In the rose garden, two women sit talking.

“Are you single“

“Yes I’m single by choice. I made the decision”

“Are we done then”

“Yep”

I decide to visit the Japanese garden and stand in front of the waterfall. It looks like I’ve travelled somewhere exotic. A woman is scared of a huge carp that looks at her through the water and I pass her carefully so I don’t end up in it.

As exotic as I get

It’s peaceful and even a passing peacock keeps the noise down. I pass a sculpture of what could be described as two hearing trumpets. I brave the mud to read the description only to be none the wiser as to what it represents.

Annunciation
by Andrew Burton 2000

Shopping time. I walk down to the old Barkers department store. This beautiful building is now home to several shops including Wholefoods where I’m heading. I notice everything has moved around. I buy 200g of minced steak at a reasonable price and a pasta sauce. The wine is well out of my price range so I’ll have to find some elsewhere.

The old Barkers building.

I pass the shops along the road which are housed in the shell of another old department store. This time Derry and Toms. On the roof is a beautiful garden once open to the public. It was lately owned by the Virgin empire and opened as a night club. I wonder what it’s like now. It’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to visit. There’s talk of flamingoes.

Derry and Toms building

By now I’m thirsty and the hunt for a cafe with a tea pot is on. I walk up and down but it’s all restaurants or bars. The Free Palestine protest is gathering pace as the Israeli Embassy is near by. A helicopter flies over head. I eventually come across a small cafe and go in.

“ Can you just do me a pot of tea?” I ask in desperation.

“Of course. But just to let you know we close at five”

“Oh don’t worry that’s fine” I say having no idea of the time.

I sit down in the window and discover I have an hour. A young couple sit near by formally dressed. She’s in a satin blue dress. He’s in a blue suit…… and plimsoles. I ask you. Are they going somewhere formal? It seems they are meeting the parents.

“It’s an Orchid“ she says stressing the K sound.

“No it’s an Or-Chid. Like Orchard. Orchard, Or-Chid”he says pronouncing the Ch.

“It’s not” she argues.

This continues on and on. He’s pronouncing the Ch sound with determination. He will be right.

I want to join in and back her up but it’s best not to.

My tea arrives served up beautifully and if you get to have a pot at Cafe Juno at 32 Kensington Church Street I can highly recommend. Loose leaf too. I was like nectar after such a long wait and I got three mugs full.

Tea for me

And so to the journey home. I take the Circle line to Victoria where, on impulse I change to the Victoria line and wish I hadn’t. It’s packed and I’m glad when I get to Seven Sisters. There’s been a fight and police are steering people through. It’s match day and I’m not sure Spurs have done well. My Cheshunt train arrives almost immediately which is lucky when it’s a half hourly service. It’s fairly empty and I get a seat. At White hart lane, the platforms are dangerously crowded and as the doors open, they swarm in. There’s singing and chanting, swearing and Jostling. The Free Palestine demonstration was nothing like this being peaceful and respectful of those of us near by. This felt dangerous. I was glad to get off the train and make my way home.

Quick shave and a lack of hair

I’m up late and its hot. Its always hot lately. Its getting boring.

I’ve helped someone have a quick shave and help stem the blood. It’s not much fun but an electric shave just won’t do.

I get on the tube at South Woodford. A train comes in as I go through the barrier. A young lad is finding it hard to leave his girl. It might be for years, it might be for hours. It makes no difference. The train is hot and the “new trains” as I still think of them are decidedly old and on their last legs. The heat builds up but thankfully i’m not going in much tunnel and the journey is short. At Mile End I walk straight on to a Hammersmith and City and the coolness hits you. Such a difference. A man, who has the look of a young asian Bruse Forsythe, gets on at the next station with a young and older woman. The older woman keeps touching his shaved head with the receeding hair line and sucking air through her teeth. The younger woman doesn’t seem interested in it all.

I get of at Barbican and walk up the stairs to the concourse. Its very quiet. No one much seems to be around. I get to the library and return my books. I do a check to see i’ve cleared my acount and all is good. I’m not getting any more out today and I won’t stay long. I’m going for a ramble.

I come out through the Barbican a different way to usual. I pass Seddon house and make a mental not to see who this was named after. Tucked in the more moden is the beautiful Ironmongers hall. I wonder if there is much call for an assocision of Ironmongers. Do B and Q staff have memebrship. I’ll have to enquire.

I pass Little Brittion. I tuck in through the gate next to St Botolphs and find myself in Postmans Park. A sign tells me that they are filming here today so arrange my hair and look sharp. This park gets its name from the Postmen from the near by sorting offcie in King Edwards street who would go and have lunch there. No postmen today. The Sorting office has long gone, as has the Post Office underground railway. But thats for another day.

The park has an extraordinary shelter with ceramic tiles recording heoric events and extreme scarifice. Today people shelter under there from the sun scarecly notice those who gave their lives.

St Pauls looms up looking more like a film set for Mary Poppins in the fake tourist world that is London today.Im temted into Mc Donalds and the queue is horrendous. Numbers are being shouted out by bored staff who are being told to “work quicker”

“Its like an auction” says one guy next to me shouting out random number bids and adding to the confusing. I get some food after a wait. I have to say, they cleared the backlog quite well. As I sit eating, the restaurant goes quiet. My timing is always wrong!

I’ve decided to go south.

Red Thai Veg And Metalic Breasts

I’ve escaped. Work finished at 12 and I’m on a train at South Woodford heading to the docks. Not that I’ll catch a cruise liner or see a container unloaded by a Stevedore. Those days are gone.

South Woodford Station

I get off at Canary Wharf and I remember when the train used to just stop here on an empty piece of track as the station was built after the others in the area yet the timetable had been programmed and we stopped in preparation. I descend down, hobbit like into the underworld shopping centre and pick up some Red Thai soup. I watch a mother and her young son on the table next to me. He talks to her, she ignores him while she taps away on her phone. The girl on the table the other way is discussing the finer points of abseiling and her friend seems impressed. A guy comes and joins them and she tells him she’s been to the gym. A sporty type after all.

I leave shortly after and walk across the concourse outside Canary Wharf tube station. Reuters has gone and the building is being refurbished. I pause and wait to watch a train pass on its high runway. It all feels very American. London’s answer to Manhattan

Docklands train comes into Canary Wharf

It’s a long while since I’ve walked out from Canary Wharf to explore the docks. The Docks are still here. Docklands seems to have been invented in the 80’s to help rejuvenate the area. I walk over a rickety bridge and think about the boats that are now in the area. An old barge is hardly noticeable. A couple of guys are looking over a jet ski on their yacht. The docks are used for water sports rather than unloading goods for London.

An old barge

A modern yacht

The docks are always changing. It’s been a few years since I walk through here. Businesses and office blocks are being replaced by housing. Flats Flats and more flats. Who can possibly afford to live in them? Not me that’s for sure.

I pass a canoeing lesson and the children seem to be having fun. It’s good to see the docks being used.

I walk past South Quay station and follow the side of the dock. Two canoeists are racing and shouting encouragement to each other. It’s getting hot and I wished I’d brought a bottle of water. The Co-op seems empty as I pass. I’m interested in the old docks, and the items that remain. Rather than remove the cranes, they made a feature of them.

A crane by Harbour Exchange.

The regeneration of the Docks swept away many of the communities that lived here. There’s always a glimpse of the past if you know where to look.

Disused Chimney

I pass this disused chimney and I wonder what it was part of and how it survived. I walked out under the track and head for mudchute. This area known for its farm was where they put the spoil from the construction of the Millwall dock. I’m on a mission. I know this area has an estate of old housing and I want to se if it is still here. It is. The cottages have nice feature including a round window in the middle of the upstairs. Some have a shell pattern in a white plaster. The are looks well kept with nice gardens. A man is out measuring up a piece of wood for cutting and seems to be on a DIY project.

I wonder how this estate of houses survived the planners and just how much they are worth now. I could see myself living here. I notice that one of the streets is named Thermopylae and I decide this must be after some chemical recess in a factory in the area. Turns out its a city in Greece. Shows you what I know. A quick Google and I see that a three bedroom workers cottage is on the market at £700,000. Rents in the area are £2000 per month. Crazy.

I walk through the more residential areas of the Docklands development. These small houses have private jetties tooNot their boats, but I’ve never seen one in there. The courtyard gardens are full of people sitting talking and drinking. By now my back aches and I’d love a sit down. But seating doesn’t seem to have been on the planners agenda.

Armband advert

I pass an arm band advertising swimming lessons but I decide its not for me. There is a boat sailing around and a young man is getting a little worked up as he sails too close to the bank. The girl says something sternly but I don’t understand the language. They sound Russian but I confess, I’ve no idea what that really sounds like.

Millwall Outer Dock

I read a post on the side of the dock and it tells me what I would have seen if I’d have visited when these were working docks. Millwall is divided in two with an inner and outer dock. Huge expanses of water

After a while I arrive at the slipway for Milwall outer dock. It’s negalected and I’m the only person there. Piles of driftwood and bits of plastic remind me that the Thames is very tidal. Another relic of the old docks is here on the slipway and has been left like some modern art installation. It looks like a mechanism for pulling boats up the slip way on track, a piece of which has been left in situ to give us the idea. Some one has sprayed a tag on it.

Mechanism on tracks at Outer Millwall Dock

After a slight detour I’m back along the Thames path. A boat sails past and the passengers are singing “Sweet Caroline” with all the extra bits that football puts into a song. A couple on a balcony join in. I notice an information board and I’m surprised to read how the area had 7 windmills along the wall when this was marsh land and the accompanying winds were good for them. ‘Mill Wall’ I think. ‘Mills on the wall’ I’m slow it putting two and two together.

Information board about the seven mills

I notice I’m in the Sir John McDougall park and see he was a councillor on the London County council. But I also discover he was a member of the McDougall flour family and their factory was on the Millwall outer dock. Londoners making things useful to the area. It survived here until the mid 80’s when it was taken over by Hovis and the factory swept away. This is a recurring theme in the area. A bit further along I discover the site of Moretons canning factory. Famous for its pie fillings, Moretons became the brand youi found in KWIKSAVE in the 80’s.

My walk has taken me round in a cirlce. I’m often going round in cirlces. You might be wondering about the metalic breasts. They have been following me around me walk. Mooring posts for the boats. but as I didn’t photograph them, you’ll have to imagine them. Or come look for yourselves.

Stop press:

Here they are!

Socks and the slipper baths

Here we are out on a London stroll today. I start at the Barbican after a trip up on the tube and a long wait at Mile End for a Hammersmith and City train. I choose my books quickly. I’m late arriving. I use the self check out and it tells me my audio cd has a problem. After a visit to the desk I’m checked out and away

I exit via a secret spiral stair well and come out into Silk street. Wentworth Street market is in full flow with office staff queuing for lunch at the many hot food stalls on offer. The market only has two regular stalls today. One selling jewellery and the other, cans of drink and toilet rolls. A guy begging for food sits with a sign round his neck and is largely ignored.

I’m surprised to find out that Priss Fotheringham was described as ” …the second best whore in the city”

WhiteCross street sign and unusual plaque

I turn into Old street and pass St Lukes which now seems to be occupied by the LSO. I see now where people take their hot food as the churchyard is packed with people eating.

St Luke’s Old Street

I see a sign for Ironmonger Row baths and I take a diversion. Toffee park adventure playground reminds me how the inner city boroughs seem to provide more for children and their families. And then I see the baths. The building is impressive

Ironmonger Row Baths

And there is a reminder on the side entrance that the original baths were provided by Finsbury council now swallowed up by Islington.

Side door to baths

I notice that the baths no longer seem to be Turkish and that activities for the over 55’s are not available at the moment. A refurbishment has not long taken place but I’m glad they façade has remained. I follow a side road which bypasses Old street roundabout and the chaotic building work and end up popping out on the City Road by The Stroke Association’s head quarters. We are on the boundary of Islington and Hackney here. We’ll save the story of ” Pop goes the Weasel” for another Ramble.

After a pit stop at the Golden Arches where they are playing rap music I don’t understand, I enter Micawber Street which reminds me how much of and Influence Dickens has been on London. I notice a boundary sign which precisely notes the edge of the Parish of St Leonard, Shoreditch. Amazing that such things survive.

Boundary Sign

My journey passes one of three Hoxton churches which stands out as being something old amongst the new. The new however isn’t. The Wenlock Estate covers much of this part of Hoxton and I’m curious to find how it got its name. Apparently, there is a near by Wenlock Basin on the canal which I’m informed came from a farm of that name which occupied this site. In fact a 16th Centuray Manor House is noted. A far cry from the estate today.

Shoreditch Park is reinventing itself and the sculpture I am told is a film spool which links with the near by Gainsborough Film studios. Many old black and white films were made here with the lady in a big hat who nodes seductively at the beginning. Alas no more. The studios are apartments and expensive ones. This area is “Up and Coming” The park is full of people with dogs.

A sign points the way for Hoxton Street Market and it’s here I’m heading. This high street seems tucked away and theres the feel of a film set about it. I discover the Hoxton Community Garden which I discover having passed our second Hoxton church. This I discover was the site of several demolished shops which the Hoxton Trust secured for a garden for all. It’s an oasis and I am very interested to see an allotment plot that is starting to grow veg. I see a sign for free coffee but its not for today. As if on cue, a lady walks past with a crocodile of children behind her. They are all singing. The same songs as they did last time I was here. At the same time. Like some ritual.

I pass the Pie and Mash show next to the Funeral parlour and I’m hoping there’s no connection. Poundland calls and I need socks. It’s the shabbiest Poundland I’ve been in with little stock. I wonder if it had been a Woolworths back in the day and make a note to research it up. It was. 1957

Our third Hoxton Church requires a slight detour but is worth a look. Very different to the others two. There are hot food stalls in the church yard and and a lady waits outside with her Yoga mat. A busy school is at play next door.

St John the Baptist Hoxton

And then its time to get going. Near by is Hoxton station on the London Overground. A recent invention. The track ran from Dalston Junction to Broad street with a station at near by Hagerstown. All manor of unusual services ran up and down the line until the mid 80’s when the spur into Broad street closed. I remember seeing the track bed as a scrap yard. But, like the Phoenix it has risen and connected Highbury and Isling ton with the old East London line to create and frequent service both North and South of the Thames. It was all part of the gentrification of the area and probably wouldn’t have happened had the original Hoxton community been allowed to stay. As I enter Hoxton station I’m accosted by a Charity Mugger. “

You look a friendly person” she says.

“I was till I met you” I wanted to say, but didn’t.

“I’ll miss my train” I gestured, while looking at the back of the Geoffrey Museum and seeing how they’ve not only changed the name, but the look of the building too.

And I very nearly did miss it

St Ann’s Hoxton

Holy Trinity Hoxton

Stratford pants and a Loganberry

It’s been a while. There’s no excuse. A pandemic kept us in but I could still have written.

I’ve widened the brief and I’ll be wandering further. Stratford has changed. And it deserves a mention

I arrived by tube from Woodford. I still think of these as the “New” trains despite being nearly 30 years old. We rattled through the tunnel from Leyton to Stratford like bones in a cemetery. Last night I watched a documentary about Ghosts on the underground and I’m glad the carriage is full….. of people that is, not ghosts. I always wonder why this tunnel is here. The old steam line between Leyton and Stratford was all above ground… the tube took it over in the 40s. The only answer I can get is it took the train quickly under the shunting yards between Stratford and Leyton.

I start with a trip to the old Stratford shopping centre. People predicted this would close with the opening of Westfield but it’s thriving. I go to Poundland for some cheap reading glasses and then onto Wilko where I buy a Logan berry. Exciting. Imagine a raspberry on steroids!

Costa beckons. My teapot barely pours out one cup so it go back and ask for more hot water. You’d think I’d asked for a tray of free cakes.

Westfield is very different to the other shopping centre. Here people promenade up and down the malls. People come and meet and eat and be seen. I end up in TKMAXX and find a pair of work shoes, a Polo shirt and a packet of Ben Sherman Pants. It’s unusual to find something to fit. The girl at the till takes an extraordinary amount of time at the till to line up the soles of the shoes to check the size.

I’m in a rush but I decide to look in TKMaxx and find a pair of shoes, a polo shirt and some rather nice underwear. The girl in the till spends time placing the soles of the shoes together and lunging them up to see if the soles match and I’ve got two of the correct size.

The Mannequins and a sticking “A”

( I found this writing in my drafts and thought it should be published even though it happened a year or so ago)

Well this is first. I’m writing to you from the train.

Since my last post (and that has nothing to do with a trumpet) the trains on our section of the overground have been upgraded. And that includes Wi-fi on the train. And charging points.

I’ve started using the Overground from Highams Park. Easy to park near the station and a more frequent service than the Enfield line. Sadly, Enfield is rather neglected with most things now. The trains are long through trains, air conditioned and reasonably frequent. A train pulls in as I arrive at the station. I sit on the train trying pair my ipad with a keyboard. I’ve resurrected the keyboard that I use with my iPad on these wandering and the a “A” key has stopped working. I thought I’d be clever and try and not use words with that letter but soon give up. As we go into the tunnel approaching Liverpool street I notice a figure sitting opposite with large breasts under a pink t-shirt. I then notice its my reflection in the window and vow to cut out the cakes and biscuits.

As I leave Liverpool street station I look for the plaque for the first Belthlehem church I think how the station now creates a Bedlam of its own. I walk a different way and come into the Broadgate development. Much has changed. There is an amphithetare with bars down below and this sculpture of a hare jumping over the moon with a bell. A code on the floor sets my iphone ringing and the hare talks to me. And I havent even opened a bottle.

Which brings me to this shop front. Such an amazing syle in the middle of the Moorgate redevelopment. but all is not what it seems. The shop advertises repairs and recovers which is unusual for a wine bar. It was in fact Fox Umbrella shop which I’m pleased to say still makes umbrellas and trades for their newer premises near Croydon. Much of London is like a film set.

I pop into a church which appear to be sideways. I can hear talking in the vestry. I’m wondering if I should even be there so I pop out again.

As I come out of the church, I pass a family walking with two mannequins under their arms. Laughing. Joking. The bodies are plain white.Eventually a woman behind them can stand it no longer

“There can be no good reason why your carrying those. “The lady says.

“There isn’t.” the family laugh.

The lady isn’t satisfied. So what are you caring them

Well New Look are closing down and getting rid of them and the children wanted them.

The lady seems satisfied. “Well you can always dress them up in the garden.”

At that an arm drops aff and they all dissolve into laughter

After such excitement I stop for a sausage sandwich and a mug of tea. Paternoster square is quiet.

From Barbican to Paddington Green

It’s a Saturday and I’m going up to the Barbican Library. I can drive to Oakwood and park on the street on a Saturday. I get the Piccadilly line train as far as Finsbury park. The train has a window that is not locked and its swinging about in front of me. It interesting watching people sit next to it, discover its swinging as the train goes over the bumps, and then try to close it. It’s all too exciting and I swap trains at Finsbury park and get the Victoria Line to Kings cross. I forget where I am and get the Circle Line in the wrong direction. A quick swap around and I get to Barbican station. It’s very quiet all around. I walk past the offices of the Barbican centre. usually bustling on a Friday, they are silent, except for a solitary man working in the last one. I wonder if he has extra duties, or just hasn’t worked hard all week and needs to catch up.

I’m in the London section. Someone working on the computers dares to talk to someone on another computer. A man wearing a hat shouts loudly telling him to be quiet

“ Don’t you know this is a Library?” he shouts.

The chatty guy ignores him.

The hat guy calls him names.

I leave with a book about Victoria Park in Hackney.

After browsing around for a while, I leave the way I came. The laundrette is still offering service washes. The greengrocer doesn’t open on a Saturday. Clerkenwell is quiet. It’s funny to see London like this. It’s Local London for Local people. A cable company takes advantage of the quiet streets and weaves fibre optical wires with the precision of someone crocheting. I branch off toward Chancery Lance. A young couple walk in front of me. The woman is in a brides dress with veil. The man is wearing one too although he can’t get it to zip up at the back. No one bats an eyelid as they pass by. Both are wearing DM’s

It’s starting to rain. I pass an Eat sandwich shop but its empty. I don’t like to go in. And its a bit early for Lunch anyway.

I’m on a mission. I want to buy a Kindle and I’m thinking John Lewis might be a good place to go. I do need to walk along Oxford Street which, on a Saturday is not pleasant. At Holborn, I pass a London souvenir shop. As its belting down with rain, the owners are getting black umbrellas out of a box and putting them on display outside the door. No one is dropping by. On the opposite side of the road is James Smith and son, ancient umbrella store. Its full.

At John Lewis, I skirt through the handbag and leotard department (as Victoria Wood might have said) and take a lift up to the fifth floor. I wait to be served but the guy tells me he has a White Kindle that I’m after, reduced as the box is damaged. £20 off sounds good and he takes it to the till and instructs a young guy behind the till to open it and let me check it over. It looks great and I take it before they change their minds. You might wonder why I’m after a Kindle but, my eyes like large print and this one is back-lit when I need it.

I’ve given up on the idea of eating at Eat and head for Marks and Sparks. A Pot of Tea, Bacon Roll and an Iced bun and I’m refreshed. On the table next to me and old lady sups a large glass of red wine. She is picking the ham out of a baguette with a fork leaving the bread like some organic plate. She’s finding the wine far more interesting. I wait ages for the lift to go down. We all seem genuinely excited when it arrives.

Kindle in Hand, I’m no longer on a mission and the days my own. I’m near Marble Arch so I decide to revisit an old haunt from 20 years ago.

I find the Edgeware Road. The cinema on the corner has been demolished but the rest seems. Familiar. In 1997 I used to come to meet someone on a Saturday for a romantic lunch on Paddington Green. It was all rather lovely. This person worked in the Edgeware Road Marks and Spencer’s which at the time was mainly food with a few knickers and socks at the front. I’d get the train from Gordon Hill to Kings Cross and traverse the circle line to Edgeware Road with its indoor planters and gnomes. On arrival I would find out what time their lunch hour was. Often I’d have several hours to kill. I’d walk along the Edgeware Road and find the huge branch of Woolworth’s and hang out in there. I remember “Its such a Perfect Day” playing for Children in Need. I think I bought a copy. These Saturdays did seem perfect. When it was finally lunch time, we’d take a sandwich from the sandwich shop, bought with staff discount, and sit on Paddington Green with the flyover as our back drop. Once I saw Wendy Richard walk past. I didn’t like to say hello. She lived near by and someone pointed out her house to me with a green frog on the wall. At the time, there was a fly on the wall documentary about Paddington Green. I felt part of it.

As I walk along the Edgeware Road I am jolted back to reality. Woolworth’s has gone of course. It is now Waitrose but it doesn’t have the same appeal. I try to find Wendy Richards house but I’ve forgotten where it was. I arrive outside the Edgeware Road station and find the statue of the Window Cleaner which I always found a bit random.

I walk through the Marks and Spencer’s. Theres a Coffee Shop in there now. That would have been nice to wait in years ago. There seems to be less food now and more clothes. I’m half expecting my friend to pop out from behind a clothes rail but it’s not to be.

Paddington Green lies over a busy road junction. I dare myself to walk through the Joe Strummer Subway. I don’t know who he is but find out the he was a singer with The Clash and used to busk here. Twenty years ago this was a bustling subway with two shops in it, one of which was a cobblers and key cutters. In latter years they had art installed in them. Now, it smells of Urine and I walk swiftly past the guy sleeping rough in there. I make a note to walk over the road at street level going back. I’m singing Polly Perkins as I walk over the green which, since the building of the West Way and Fly over is cut off from Paddington station.

There is a statue to the actress Sarah Siddons and |I think to my self what a dreadful out look she now has. Next to the green is St Marys Church and the churchyard which since the late 1800’s has been a park. I walk right around the path remembering the walks I did all those years ago. I find Sarah Siddons Grave, one of the few left in its original location. The other headstone are lined up along the side. Someone is edging the path, keeping it neat.

I read the signs and find mention of a cold war defence building that was put up on the green in fifties. It’s still here when I look in the bushes. I wonder if this has anything now to do with the Top Security Police Station along the road. My mind wanders into fantasy of subterranean passages and tunnels. If only I could open the door.

I’m riding a wave on nostalgia but decide to explore further. I remember hearing about a Church street market. I walk past a fenced off area next to the Green announcing new homes. West End Gate. Probably going to cost a fortune. On the other side of the road, a hen party, wearing pink with suitcases on wheels, buzz at a door beside the shops trying to make themselves heard. Church Street market is longer than expected. Lots of stalls selling Gold and fruit and Veg. I find Alfie’s Antiques which I wrongly think has a River running through it. A quick walk round and its obvious this was once a department store. Jordans to be exact. One Lady stands there bemoaning the fact that things aren’t what they used to be.

“Keep yourself well” she pleads with him.  ” You’re the only one he listens to”

I buy a big bowl of strawberries for a pound, which I’m given in a paper bag. I like to think I’ve given something to the local economy. Then I head back, crossing at street level, to the station to head home.

It’s good to revisit places that mean something to you. They may change, but there are still things to trigger a memory.

Graves lined up along the wall

St Mary’s Church

College behind the green

History

The main road cutting Paddington Green off

The door to the bunker

Sarah Siddons Grave

Part of the Bunker

Polly Perkins song.

Paddington Green

Drawing, Sci-fi and keeping cool

The Train ride is uneventful. Still no sign of new trains on the Enfield Overground. I see a notices around Barbican about the Clean air act and how walking along the high level walkway is better for my health. Its certainly more scenic. The planting looks lovely.

Its a glorious day. Glorious for being cooler. Normally I arrive at the Barbarian Library and have to dodge the rain. This week, London has been too hot. Up in the thirties. Lovely if you do not have to work. Today is fresher outside, although the Barbican centre is still warm. Windows are open into the offices allowing us to eavesdrop on theatrical discussions about upcoming productions.

I’m in a different department today. Art. I’ve decided to draw. I won’t tell you the result of my O level Art exam. Suffice it to say that I didn’t pass. But that was along time ago. I’ve bought the pencils and sketch pad. All I need now is some talent. As usual, the Barbican has an excellent selection of books and I’ve borrowed Learn To Draw Quickly by Sharon Finmark. Her book didn’t frighten me too much and I feel I could follow some of the examples. The thing I’ve learned the most is how important it is to look carefully at the thing you are drawing. Sounds obvious, but its amazing how much you watch your hand and the pencil rather than the thing you are drawing. Maybe one day, when I’m feeling brave enough, I’ll post some of the results on here.

There is an exhibition on in the Library about Science fiction with some fantastic artifacts on show. Books. Toys. Just another of the things I like about this Library. Someone seems interested. People want to pass on their knowledge and enthusiasm. Its still a Library about books. And that’s the reason. I travel up from Enfield just to borrow some books.

Its been a long time.

Well this is daring. I’ve logged in. You might not notice any difference, but this is not on my iPad as usual. I’m on the computers in the library. Logged in Free of charge. And you don’t even need to book. If only all libraries could be like this.

If you are wondering where I’ve been, the last two trips were to Shoe Lane. Sometimes I like to visit the subterranean world unlike no other Library I know. On my first visit, there was a talking book sale. I bought several Audio book sets for a pound each including “The Boy with the Top Knot” by  Sathnam Sanghera. I had read this book when it was first written but have to say I enjoyed it even more being read to me.

The next time I visited Shoe Lane, It had been revamped. It was reminiscent of a Habitat store and I dozed on a Leather Sofa. I think the boilers had been refurbished too as it was unbearably hot. This only added to my belief that the lift had journeyed down to the centre of the earth.

My trip up here was uneventful.

There’s to be a new timetable on the Enfield Line, but don’t get excited. The day time trains are still only two an hour. And the times haven’t changed.

I’ve just committed the worst sin. My mobile has just rung. Loudly. All week, it has rung silently (if that isn’t an oxymoron.) and last night I finally found out what i’d done and got it ringing loudly. And its on the default ring tone too.

Its my mum. Wanting flowers dropped in. There is a man who lived near her that has an identical car to mine. Sometimes she thinks I’ve parked near by and sneaked off somewhere.

Well I’m sneaking off now. There’s a man yawning very loudly near by and its catching.

A new year and a wardrobe.

I’ve wrestled with a wardrobe this morning before leaving the house. Its a long story. And the wardrobe isn’t mine. But I’m worn out before we start. Its taken me ages to get up here since my last visit. Fridays get booked up and last Saturday, I got to the station ready for a quick saunter up to town, only to find I’d left me wallet at home. No card to tap in to the underground. But I’m here. Sitting at the table. Thinking what to write.

The journey up here is no different to normal really. Someone had dropped an Oyster card. The driver announced it over the tannoy. Thats as good as it get in Enfield Town. We’ve been known to get excited when the traffic lights change.

A school gets on and surrounds me. All are wearing High Viz jackets. On the back of one it says Infant school and yet the children are clearly upper juniors. They are well beahaved and discuss the primary and secondary colours in depth. A member of staff sits with them. She has “Staff” written on the back of her High Viz jacket. Just so we know.

Its a cold crisp morning but the sun is out. Bright. I’m well wrapped up.

When I arrive at the Library, everyone is getting about their business. Not sure what I was expecting. Some bunting saying “Welcome Paul, we havent seen you for a while” I check in on the self service as there is someone being served. Not sure I like that. Its good to talk. But I need the loo and thought we’d speed it up.

I’ve chosen a book. Subterranean City. It fascinates me to discover things about London that are out of the ordinary. There are rumours about a secret branch of the underground that pops into Buckingham Palace in case Her Majesty needs a quick get away.

Theres a man with a long pole with a red cup on the end, walking between the shelves. I’m curious. Im pretending to look at the crime novels while I wait for him to go in to action. Well, you’d want me to wouldn’t you?

He pokes it skywards. Towards a smoke sensor. What a job. Smoke sponsor tester. A modern day lamp lighter, or Knocker Up-er. You wouldn’t get this excitement in Enfield,

Im walking towards Clerkenwell. No one looks very energetic in the gym. No one’s doing a bag wash  The Greengrocer is selling Celeriac. Any everyone outside Italia Conti looks super slim.

I decide to wait for the 55. I’m on a mission to collect an order from Waterstones at Picadilly and it as along way. When the bus eventually comes, I sit facing backwards for a change. You cans ee where Ive been. I get to thinking that this time last year i thought I would explore the other way from the Barbican rather than follow the same path. It didn’t quite work like that.

I’m on the bus riding backwards next to a man with a nasty Cough. I want to get off.

A little attempt at some poetry there. Don’t say there’s no variety

After a long walk, I ask for some soup in The Waterstones Cafe. I’ve held in the urge to whistle in the Burlington Arcade and now need some sustenance. Soups off. So it’s an Apricot Danish. It’s gargantuan and well worth the money.

I like the Picadilly Waterstones. The building has its own personality and its greater than the company trading in it. I collect an order that I could easily have picked up in the Enfield branch and then make for home.

But first a diversion to Fopps. This record and DVD store is a favourite and always good for a bargain. I buy an album on vinyl for Graham and show it off on the way home. It’s become trendy. People look and nod approvingly. Im in.