Weekly Roundup #1

Here's the potted version of what I've been up to this past week: I saw a lot of art and photography, went to theatre, heard a talk on London Victorian bricks, looked into some lovely churches, went to a couple museums, saw a man trapped inside a clock and aliens in tin foil, and walked a lot. Read on if you want the details.

Monday saw me headed to Pimlico to meet up with my friend Judy at Tate Britain. After three years, we are both covid weary (and still wary), our hair is different -- hers longer and mine magenta -- and we still thoroughly enjoy contemporary art, particularly if it's a bit on the edgy side. I was really excited to see the Cornelia Parker exhibition. I'd not heard of her or seen her work before. She's a Brit, about the same age as me, who takes ordinary objects -- silverware, guns, cracks in pavement -- and puts them through a transformative process that makes you see them, and our relationship to them, in a totally different way. Among my favourite works was Thirty Pieces of Silver -- lots and lots of silver bowls, teapots, platters, cutlery, that she ran over with a steam roller and then arranges in groups, suspended from the ceiling, with shadows playing on the wooden floor underneath. It reminded me of the bin full of silver that we have at the charity shop at home where I volunteer.

 

Other works included a garden shed that she blew up (i.e. used explosives) and then suspended the bits and pieces from the ceiling, several chalk boards on which she had school kids of various ages copy headlines from the tabloids, the Magna Carta painstakingly embroidered by a host of volunteers onto a long linen sheet, and an iron grid made by first pouring liquid rubber into cracks in the pavement, then prising it up and casting the shape in metal.

After lunch in the members' dining room, we spent time walking all around Hew Locke's The Procession, the current commission in the Duveen Galleries. The installation is comprised of over 100 figures in a parade of sorts, like Carnival. After you are drawn in by the colourful costumes and the pageantry, you start to look closer and realize that much of the fabric is printed with images of stock shares in sugar companies and plantations. There are all sorts of other images in the clothing and banners that point to the violence of colonialism in the Caribbean. What was initially a joyful-looking scene becomes one depicting exploitation, militarism, death, and ultimately survival. 

We then ambled up Whitehall to Westminster, where Judy caught the tube while I headed on to Trafalgar Square to see the newly installed sculpture on the 4th plinth. This one is called Antelope and is by Samson Kambalu. It depicts two real men for a change (past plinth sculptures have been a ship in a bottle, an ice cream sundae, and a blue rooster), and a poignant moment in the history of the British Empire in Africa. Read more about it here and see photos that are much better than my snap below. 

Tuesday was another gorgeous autumn day, and I set out on what turned out to be a very long walk, from my gaff in Belsize Park, up and over Primrose Hill, down the Broad Walk in Regent's Park, through the streets of Marylebone, to Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens (with a stop to eat my packed lunch at the Italian Gardens, a place I love) and to see the exhibitions at the Serpentine Galleries and the temporary Pavilion. This year's pavilion is Black Chapel by Theaster Gates. Some years, the pavilion is light and airy. This one is dark and enclosed, with an oculus in the roof to let the sky be seen and light come in. It's supposed to be a place of "reflection, refuge and conviviality" and I reckon it fits the bill. 

Inside the galleries I saw works by Kamala Ibrahim Ishag, a Sudanese woman 

and by Barbara Chase-Riboud, an African American woman working in Paris. 

Later, I wandered around Bayswater a bit, saw girls on horses at the riding stables tucked away in Bathurst Mews, and made my way up to Paddington to see a man stuck in a clock. 

The bus ride home took me through Maida Vale and into St John's Wood, so I hopped off in order to dash into Panzer's Deli to buy a loaf of their wonderful rye, raisin and walnut bread. I so wish I could find a bakery at home that makes this bread. The deli has changed enormously since I was last there about 10 years ago. It's rearranged and remodeled and is now a temple of imported food. My eyes were definitely bigger than my stomach or my wallet. 

I spent Wednesday in Piccadilly and Fitzrovia, again soaking up a lot of art plus visiting two churches to see their ornate Victorian interiors. I started the day with a tube journey to Green Park and a walk to the Royal Academy of Arts to see the Milton Avery exhibition. He's another artist I previously knew nothing about and I thought I should as I had taken a course on contemporary American art at some point. I liked his use of colour and form. 

My next stop was the Photographers' Gallery just off Oxford Street to see a large retrospective exhibition of black and white photos by Chris Killip, all taken in the north of England during the 1970s and 80s, showing the impact that the economic decline during those decades had on the people who lived in the towns and countryside. I thought the photos were incredibly powerful, opening my eyes to a slice of British life I'd never seen, and I thoroughly enjoyed the show.

Before pushing northward to see the two churches on my list, I took a southerly detour to Poland Street to check out a now-restored ghost signs in an indoor carpark there. The last time I'd seen the signs, they were covered in a discoloured varnish and had been tagged with graffiti. I'm generally not a huge fan of restoring ghost signs, but this has been done really well. They've given it a new coating that will make any subsequent tagging easier to remove without causing further damage to the signs. My friend Sam Roberts has written about the restoration process in his Ghostsigns blog. Here's what the restored signs look like:

Onward to the north again, my next destinations were All Saints Margaret Street and the Fitzrovia Chapel. (Sorry, no pix, as the lighting was just too dark for my rubbish phone camera. I'll have some better shots from my proper camera to post eventually on ipernity.) All Saints Margaret Street is a Grade I listed Victorian Gothic revival church, with elaborate tile friezes covering most of the interior surfaces. The Fitzrovia Chapel, also Victorian, is a tiny structure, surrounded by modern buildings that dwarf it. The chapel was originally within the complex of the Middlesex Hospital, which was torn down about 10 years ago with only the chapel surviving. This one is Grade II listed. The gold-tiled interior is absolutely dazzling and feels like stepping into a jewel box or the inside of a Faberge egg.  

The last stop of the day was in Regent's Park to see this year's Frieze Sculpture. This is an event I always enjoy, as it's the only part of Frieze that's free and accessible to everyone. Some years I walk around scratching my head, not knowing what to make of the sculptures. This year's pieces often had me chuckling, especially when I saw two "aliens" in tin foil suits who were also looking around at the various works.

I'd really been pushing myself to the max, so I was happy to make an easier day of it on Thursday. In the morning, I joined the Primrose Hill Community Association walking group for their weekly ramble, this one a social walk down to Regent's Park, past the herbaceous borders and several fountains, then back to Primrose Hill. I enjoyed chatting with the other walkers as we ambled through the park. I had a leisurely lunch back at my gaff, and then walked the ten minute distance to the Hampstead Theatre to see the matinee performance of The Snail House. I hadn't read any reviews beforehand so that I could form my own opinion, which was that the staging was very good, acting generally good, but the play itself wasn't all that well written and had too many themes running through it. Apparently, the Guardian's reviewer agrees. 

Since I was essentially on the Finchley Road, after the play I had plenty of time to case more of the charity shops. I was in search of a sweatshirt or something else warm to wear for lounging around the flat. I finally found one that fit the bill -- an olive drab sweatshirt, never worn. The original tag was still on it -- it sold for £10 at Top Shop; charity shop price was £7. I also got some more groceries -- the flat has a tiny fridge, so food shopping is almost a daily activity for me. 

This brings me to Friday and to Clerkenwell and Bloomsbury. First up was a book launch talk at the London Metropolitan Archives by a man who has written about Victorian London Bricks. This probably sounds really niche -- and it is -- but I thoroughly enjoyed it and learned a lot about digging clay, forming bricks, firing and transporting them, as well as the people who did all those things. The LMA is currently running an exhibition on maps of London, something else that's right up my alley. It was a lot to take in, so I might pop in for another look at it if I'm in the area again. 

I discovered that Waitrose sells what they call "Forgotten Ends" -- end bits of sushi rolls that were cut off to make the rolls neat, the bits then put into pint-sized containers and sold for £2. This made for a great lunch, which I ate in a lovely cloister garden that I stumbled upon at the Museum of the Order of St John. There's a way into the garden from St John's Square, so you don't even need to go inside the museum proper. There were several other people sitting at tables or on benches, eating their lunches, so I figured this was a fine spot for my lunch break.

Westward I walked, across Clerkenwell, through the Italian enclave with a Vespa shop and some trattorias, to reach Bloomsbury and the Charles Dickens Museum. I'd been there before, but probably over 10 years ago, and I'd heard that the museum had been expanded and enhanced so I wanted to go back. And it's free entry with my Art Pass. The museum now covers five floors of the house in Doughty Street (the shop and admin offices have moved into the house next door). I enjoyed looking at all the various artifacts from Dickens life that are on display, including a grille from the Marshalsea Prison, where Dickens father was confined as a debtor, and two small but significant windows.

It's amazing that I had the stamina for one more stop, but I took some ibuprofen and pushed on to the Foundling Museum to see the exhibition Tiny Traces: African & Asian Children at London's Foundling Hospital. I've always liked this small museum and the stories it tells of the children taken into care there. (It's another freebie for Art Pass holders.) When I was very young, one of my favourite books was Dickens' Stories about Children, nearly all of whom are orphans. I know that we have romanticized the stories of orphans in literature for eons, but I do find them compelling. The exhibitions at the Foundling Museum cut through that romanticism and tell the real stories of very real children. In this current exhibition, the museum examines the fragmentary evidence they have found of children of colour who came into care at the Foundling Hospital. 

That concludes my first full week. I'm exhausted from doing it and from writing it up. What do you think, readers? Do you like the weekly roundup format? Or should I do shorter but more frequent posts? Let me know in the comments below. 

Stats:

Monday, Oct 10

£73 Art Pass (for free or 50% off entry to museums, etc.)

£4.20 pastry

54p bananas

15,239 steps

6.25 miles

Tuesday, Oct 11

£1.20 rolls

£6 loaf of bread from Panzer's

20p toilet (plus ? international credit card fee)

22,571 steps

9.22 miles

Wednesday, Oct 12

£16.25 groceries & wine

£5 Photographers' Gallery

£14 Milton Avery at the RA

18,772 steps

7.66 miles

Thursday, Oct 13

£20 ticket for Hampstead Theatre

£3 toiletries from Boots

£7 sweatshirt from charity shop

£5.25 groceries

18,987 steps

7.76 miles

Friday, Oct 14

£2 lunch from Waitrose

£2 cookie

15,100 steps

6.20 miles

A Glorious Weekend

At the risk of jinxing things by mentioning it, the weather has been absolutely fantastic: crisp, sunny, clear autumn days. It's been perfect for exploring, and that's just what I did at the weekend. 

I started Saturday with a walk down to the weekly farmers' market in the school yard of St Paul's C of E Primary School at the junction of Elsworthy Road and Primrose Hill Road (a ten minute walk from my gaff), where I loaded up on various veg to use in making some sort of soup and a pain au raisin for my breakfast. The market was started at the beginning of the pandemic to give local people access to good food in an open-air setting, and it's continued since. 

After dumping my purchases back at the flat, I headed north to walk up to Hampstead and ultimately go to the Parliament Hill Farmers' Market at the southeastern corner of Hampstead Heath. I got a bit distracted by three charity shops along the way (no purchases) and a walk down Nassington Road, where Roger first lived when he came to London in 2003. By the time I arrived at the market, it was winding down and there wasn't much left, but I bought some bread and corn fritters for later and an olive breadstick for my lunch. 

That done, I headed north up the eastern side of the Heath, aiming for Kenwood House. The Heath is vast, wild and beautiful. Some parts of it are open and offer fantastic views of London below, while other parts are wooded and mysterious. There's something about it that intensifies perceptions -- on a grey day, the Heath feels very gloomy and dark, while on a sunny day it can't help but put you in a great mood. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, a bit confused by all the paths that crisscross everywhere, but keeping the ponds on my right and heading ever upwards. Eventually, I entered the Ken Wood, a dark and ancient place, and emerged to see Kenwood House glowing in the mid-afternoon light. 

I hadn't been here since Molly and I visited Roger in 2004, also on a bright and sunny day. I took a wander through the house (free!), which is rammed with old master paintings, including a famous self-portrait of Rembrandt. Doors were open and it felt airy, and though a bit crowded and with no one but me wearing a mask, it was possible to steer clear of the other gawpers for the most part. 

Tired from my uphill trudge, I opted to take the bus back down to Belsize Park. I got on the 268, thinking it would take me down to Hampstead, but when we arrived in Golders Green I reckoned I'd gotten on the wrong bus or one going in the wrong direction so I hopped off. And just as the bus was pulling away, I saw that it was indeed for Golders Green and the driver was at that moment changing the sign to read Finchley Road (where I was meant to be headed). I guess it was taking a circuitous route to get there. I need to make a trip to Golders Green at some point (more about that later), but this wasn't the day for it. Fortunately I was opposite the tube station -- and the Northern Line wasn't being struck -- and that got me back to Belsize Park.

I'm getting much, much better about asking questions of people and starting conversations with strangers. As I was approaching my street, I saw a woman about my age, with two carrier bags of what I guessed were groceries. "Excuse me, " I said. "Can I ask you about where you buy your groceries? I'm new here and trying to work it out." That started a nice conversation about the various greengrocers and super markets in walking distance. We both turned into Lambolle Road, and it turns out she's just down the street from me, so we exchanged first names and wishes for seeing each other again. Back in my flat, I cooked up a pot of curried veg soup to last the next four days.

Sunday turned out to be a slower, more relaxing day, with nothing planned but for the boat ride through the Islington Tunnel that I'd booked through the Canal Museum. I'd been wanting to do this for years, but never got around to it or the timing wasn't right as the boat rides are infrequently on offer. The tunnel is just as you'd imagine -- dark, narrow and long. It takes 9 - 10 minutes to motor from one end to the other, but no doubt was a more difficult and time-consuming prospect in the days when canal boatmen needed to "leg it" through the canal. 

To get to the Canal Museum, I walked all the way, wandering down Gloucester Road in Primrose Hill, down the steps to the towpath, and along the path through Camden Town and King's Cross to the museum on Battlebridge Basin. I've walked bits of the towpath many times and always enjoy it, but I realized I'd never done this at the weekend. It was teaming with people! Tons of tourists all through Camden Town. I'm amazed I didn't get pushed in. Not wanting to repeat that experience, I took the tube from King's Cross back to Belsize Park where I settled in for the evening and ate my soup. 

Saturday, October 8th

£2.50 pain au raisin

£3 olive bread stick

£20 other market purchases

20,019 steps

8.22 miles

Sunday, October 9th

£11 canal boat ride

£3 cookie

16,165 steps

6.61 miles

Back in the Big Smoke

Peggotty said, "I’ll stay with you till I am a cross cranky old woman. And when I’m too deaf, and too lame, and too blind, and too mumbly for want of teeth, to be of any use at all, even to be found fault with, than I shall go to my Davy, and ask him to take me in." (David Copperfield) Well, a pandemic, global economic collapse, Brexit, two Tory twat PMs and the death of the Queen couldn't stop me from going to Blighty and London has taken me in. It's been far too long.

The journey over was a bit of a nightmare that started before I'd even boarded my plane in Hartford. In the years B.C. (Before Covid), Aer Lingus offered a brilliant route from Hartford to London via Dublin, but that was suspended in 2020 and hasn't resumed. So, I booked myself on a really cheap flight on American Airlines with a tight connection in Philadelphia -- a mistake, apparently. I was one of the last people to board the first flight. The gate staff came around saying there was no more room in the overhead compartments and they seized the bags of the last three of us in the queue for stowage in the hold. I had a really bad feeling about this. I had been so careful about packing light in the smallest roll-aboard possible (it even meets the stringent size limitations on Ryan Air). I begged and pleaded to no avail. The guy in back of me said not to bother complaining as the AA gate staff are always assholes. When I got to my seat, there was indeed a space right above it, perfectly sized for my wee bag. I stuffed my backpack with all my electronics, etc. under the seat in front of me and buckled up. The plane had barely moved away from the gate when it stopped ... and stayed for over an hour because, we were told, of bad weather in Philly. I talked to a nice cabin steward who told me that everything in Philly was delayed and odds were that my connecting flight would be leaving late. Well, it left without me. Fortunately, AA rebooked me onto a later flight that night to LHR, where I had an entire row of three seats to myself and got some kip, but unfortunately my bag stayed in Philly, which I only discovered after all the bags from our flight had come off the carousel at Heathrow. That meant going to the customer service desk, filing all the relevant details, and hoping I could believe that my bag would be put on that night's AA flight and would be delivered to me the next day. Long story short, the bag did arrive on my doorstep at 8 pm Thursday, by which time I could have used some good drugs to bring my anxiety level down.

What to do on my first day without my luggage? Go to a charity shop! There must be six or eight of them within easy walking distance and I lucked out. At the first one I went to, I got a t-shirt and leggings for 11 quid, then made it back to my AirBnB in time to unroll the yoga mat I had ordered from Amazon, log onto the wifi network, and be ready for the 3 pm livestream mat class (10 am EST) from my local Pilates studio. Feeling a bit more human afterwards, I went out again to go to the shops for food items. And I got caught in my first (brief) torrential downpour.

Day two started with the weekly walk around the Primrose Hill area, sponsored by the Primrose Hill Community Association. Some of the walks are social rambles and others are guided with a theme. For this walk, local resident Martin Sheppard, who has written a history of the area, walked us around the park for an hour and told us about how it was used during and impacted by World War Two. There were anti-aircraft guns on the hill, various shelters for the troops, and part of the park was used as allotments. He was full of interesting factoids, including some about how London Zoo dealt with the war. Fearing that a bomb strike would result in animal carnage and escape, they moved many of the animals to other locations outside London and euthanized some. Others remained in the zoo, and some were really freaked out by the noise of the shelling (this area sustained a lot of bomb damage due to proximity to the rail lines, a prime target), including a zebra who got out and had to be rounded up and returned. 

Mid day was consumed with errands. I ordered a burner phone from Argos and needed to schlep up the Finchley Road to Sainsbury's at the O2 (an even more dreadful place than it was the last time I was there in 2004). On the way back, I stopped into another charity shop and bought a scarf (I had forgotten to bring one) for 3 quid -- a bit scratchy, but it matches my plum raincoat perfectly. I might be cheap, but I aim to be well turned out. Back at the flat, I faffed around with the phone to great frustration.

Finally, in late afternoon I set out for a tour of the Islamic gardens at the Aga Khan Centre in King's Cross. I had wanted to see the inside of the building when I was here in 2019 -- it was featured during Open House weekend, but when I got there the queue was so long that I didn't try for it. The garden tours are announced on the website every three months, and I had pounced when they opened up dates for autumn tours. We had a knowledgeable and funny guide and the six gardens are beautiful -- scattered on various balconies and roofs throughout the nine-storey building. And the views over Coal Drops Yard and Granary Square were great.

Friday was my day to mooch around in Bloomsbury. It started with a trip to the EE phone store in the Brunswick Centre to see if they could get my burner phone working properly. They couldn't, but helped me to connect by phone to customer service tech people. After 45 minutes sat in the store while on the phone, the problem finally seemed sorted and I was on my way. The next stop was the Wellcome Collection to see a small exhibition about air -- not the best exhibition I've seen there, but there's a new one coming in a couple weeks so I'll be sure to come back. This is one of my favourite places in London -- the library is a fantastic place to chill out in comfy chairs and the caff is lovely. Unfortunately, they shuttered their wonderful bookshop for Covid and haven't reopened it.

I grabbed a sandwich in a convenience store and walked over to Tavistock Square, where I sat on a bench next to Gandhi and ate my lunch.

Next up, a walking tour of the UCL campus, led by a marvelous student guide -- a second-year undergraduate from Singapore who is studying geography and data science. He walked us around some of the historic and modern buildings on campus (alas, not Senate House) and brought us to the brand new Student Centre to see Jeremy Bentham's auto-icon in a glass case. Jeremy looked fantastic for his age and very happy to be in the midst of the activity of the campus. 

My final stop before heading back to Belsize Park was the Crypt Gallery below St Pancras Parish Church. This, too, is a favourite stop for me. The current exhibition is Beyond Nature by Jeff Robb -- holograms of flowers, hung singly in the arched niches in the crypt. Art meets horticulture meets technology. 

Sorry about the poor photo quality. The burner phone is naff. My next post will be shorter -- my weekend adventures and perhaps a bit about my accommodations.

Wednesday, October 5th

£10 to top up Oyster card

£26 groceries and wine

£11 t-shirt and leggings from charity shop

13,871 steps

5.71 miles

Thursday, October 6th

£47 mobile phone and SD card

£10 EE top up for phone

£3 scarf from charity shop

£7 Rescue Remedy pastilles -- I REALLY needed to de-stress

£3.35 Kevin pie (Waitrose was out of my favourite Heidi pies)

22,072 steps

8.99 miles

Friday, October 7th

£147.50 one-month travel card

£2.20 sandwich

£10.20 apples and wine

15,700 steps

6.43 miles

Last day: I stretch, buy art and pack

At home, I always start Saturday with an early morning Pilates reformer class. Here, to stretch me out and get my body prepared for the long journey home, I signed up for another mat class at the studio up the hill from where I'm staying. This class was taught by a tall, lean German woman who was very serious and scared me a bit. I struggle with mat class because of my scoliosis and the exercises being different to the ones I do on the reformer or other apparatus. In my Saturday class at home, there's always chatter and laughing and here I couldn't help myself trying to crack jokes. I did get a couple of chuckles out of the other participants and even one from the German. 

Wonder of wonders, it was not raining on Saturday morning. As I walked out of Pilates, I decided to head over to Parliament Hill for a last visit to the farmers' market. Be still my heart! I saw a sign at the entry that Sire Hill Bakery was there this week. They are the makers of my second favourite savory pie, made of sweet potato, red onion and goat's cheese. I reckoned one of these pies would make the perfect last meal in London, and I got a small cobbler as a gift to my hosts as well. 

After dropping my tasty treats back at my gaff, I headed over to Chelsea for the Moniker Art Fair. Roger and I have been going to Moniker for many years, back to (I think) the second one when it was in the Village Underground space in Holywell Lane. After a few years, the fair outgrew that space and moved into the Old Truman Brewery. This year is the first that they've been in the old sorting office in Chelsea. Moniker is comprised of various galleries who represent young, up-and-coming artists as well as some more established ones. Many of the artists started out doing street art and have now begun making works on paper or canvas to sell. 

Most of what was on offer was way out of my price range, but I yielded to temptation and bought a small print. It's of Tony Blair and George Bush with Special Relationship painted over their images, by Alex Bucklee.

Then it was an evening of organizing and packing. I just got up, before the sun, and am putting the finishing touches on that. I'll be out the door in an hour. It's pouring, of course.

Stats:
£10 to top up me Oyster card
£15 Pilates
£9.65 Moniker entry fee
£££ for art
£7 farmers' market purchases
16,522 steps
7.26 miles

Friday: I return to the East End

Getting back into London from Arundel around noon on Friday gave me an opportunity to cram in a few more things that I'd been meaning to do, two of which fell nicely on the tube/overground route I was taking back to Tufnell Park. Janie dropped me off at the station in Sydenham, with a very nice packed lunch, and I got on the overground, disembarking four stations later in New Cross Gate to walk the short distance to the Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art. Goldsmiths is the art college of the University of London. They recently converted the boiler house and laundry rooms of a Grade II listed Victorian bath house into their gallery and performance space, retaining a lot of the industrial elements of the building in the same way that Tate Modern and Mass MoCA do. The exhibition I saw was videos by Tony Cokes, an American artist mounting his first exhibition in the UK. I usually don't have a lot of patience for video art, but I sat through three of the five(?): one about Morrisey (of the Smiths) and the dichotomy between his often poetic lyrics and his racist personal views, one about Aretha Franklin, her music, her support of Angela Davis and of the black community (I thought this was really powerful), and a very heavy one about US and UK use of the five techniques of torture, particularly that of incredibly loud heavy metal music. I then found the empty caff in the building, which turned out to be a perfect place for a sit down to eat my packed lunch of tuna and sweet corn sandwich. 

Back on the train, I alighted at Southwark and walked up to Tate Modern. I'd already been there to see a couple of exhibitions, but I had been too early to see Kara Walker's installation Fons Americanus in the Turbine Hall, which opened on 2 October. This is a difficult work to look at, particularly as a white American, and is both frivolous and incredibly serious at the same time. It was hard for me to see all the children and adults sitting on the side of the fountain, sticking their hands in the water, and lounging around with their backs to the main piece, seemingly not seeing it or taking it in other than as being something for their relaxation and enjoyment. I admit that I, too, sat on the edge of the fountain when my camera told me I needed to change batteries, but I quickly got back up. 

After I dumped my stuff back at my gaff, I saw that there were no rain clouds in the sky and decided to get in a visit to the East End. It had been two years since I'd last roamed around Shoreditch and Spitalfields. It always delights me to see the things that haven't changed and to visit old friends, like Thierry Noir's faces in Holywell Lane and Mighty Mo looking down on the car park in Sclater Street. 

So many new buildings have sprung up and the area has become much more commercial in the 15 years I've roamed around here. I was utterly confused around the Old Street roundabout and had to consult my map many times when I found myself surrounded by tower blocks I didn't recognize. But I found some new street art along the way. 

I'm not sure if this statement is apocryphal or if it's already come to pass. 

Stats:
£7.85 for food and wine at the Sainsbury's in Tufnell Park
20,261 steps
8.58 miles