There is a rather beautiful faded glory to these mythical creatures, which flank the steps guarding the ruins of the Italian Terraces in front of the former Crystal Palace, which dramatically burnt down in 1936.

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.

I love the George and Dragon Public House. Cluttered deco of silly artifacts and memorabilia and slightly scuzzy around the edges. Great drinking characters, DJs and The White Cubicle gallery in the ladies toilets is difficult to beat.

One of the most special pubs in London, not so much for the place itself but rather for the crowd you will meet there; a mixture of locals, art students, passers by and weirdos. A place to feel at home and share a beer with the staff and/or the landlord (Paul).

London institution, a magical place to have tea and cake and a perfect spot to watch London Soho life unfold before your eyes. The quality is always superb, the staff are friendly and human and the landladies Michelle and Tanya are part of what make this place and London so magical. A little gem that is a must on anyone's visit to London.