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.

Audiophile paradise. Boasting one of the coolest looking and beautifully crafted sound-systems I've ever seen. More listening bar than club, it has a low key vibe with a diverse roaster of talented DJ's spinning an eclectic mix of tunes and full albums.

This independent cinema near Angel in North London is over 100 years old and has had several lives including hosting early Sex Pistol gigs. It now serves as my favourite place to watch films (along with the Rio in Dalson).

Apricity uses hyper-seasonal, sustainable produce from small-scale farmers and locally foraged ingredients, with a zero-waste approach to cooking.

Trent park is 5 minutes up the road from me, it's a nice place to escape the chaotic London life and an amazing place to shoot in or just walk a dog.