At the end of the Victoria line at the Walthomstow station, and then a 15 minute walk through some suburban streets with some lefts and at other times rights is an industrial estate. Through the gate and buried at the very end of the units where you are convinced you are lost and doubting it's existence at all is God's Own Junkyard. It's a worthy pilgrimage and actually sort of where you expect God would put a junkyard. The warehouse is a monument to neon and the life works of the late Mr Neon, Chris Bracey. It's littered to the rooftop with cables, plug sockets and choice words with neon epigrams, the whole collection is stacked, I suppose how a junkyard of the sort would be. Full of sex, religion, americana, sci-fi and nostalgia that all blend together surprisingly well, It's a visual feast that you can take in with a coffee and an open mouth. It is a gem of a place. It is really great.

Home to all the toys you'd probably forgotten about.

A wonderful collection of printed material organised chronologically throughout the space. Examples of old newspapers and other printed material give context and meaning for the visual styles.

I grew up around this area - it really is a gem of a place. The interior is so cool, with sort of organised clutter everywhere. They have a little garden and they serve food. Its not the best in the world, but the whole experience there is great.

Not long in the custody of the National Trust, designed by Philip Webb and commissioned by William Morris, in 1859. Tucked away in Beckenham. William and Jane Morris only lived here for five years; not a happy time of their marriage. But there is humility, authority and even bite, in the domestic scale. The rigorous, holistic design-hand at work belies any sense of souvenir shop Morris-lite. The vegetable garden in late Summer is the place to be.