This vegetarian south Indian is a bit of a hidden gem, good curry friendly staff very reasonable with bring your own booze doesn’t get much better than that.

I worked at the Barbican for several years and during that time became very fond of its architecture. One of my favourite spaces within the centre is the conservatory, a giant tropical garden in the middle of a concrete city.

Some places are better to be left a secret. This one e.g.

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.

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