At first a memory of an old relationship, it quickly became my favourite market. Major highlight for the gin tasting with rosemary on a sunny Sunday afternoon. 

Izakaya-inspired dishes, incredible music played through a proper audiophile set-up, in a beautiful looking and low-lit setting. What all restaurants should be like.

A beautifully curated mix of plants from mature palms to microscopic succulents. It is impossible to leave empty-handed.

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.

A place that really grows on you, with each visit the Barbican reveals more of itself to you and your bond is tightened. The Barbican Kitchen is great for coffee or lunch, summer hangouts by the ponds, cinema in winter, the amazing Barbican Hall for live music, and don't miss the conservatory.