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.

Hidden away in the backstreets of Finsbury Park, I used to share a house opposite this pub, where it assumed the role as our second living room. A real north London gem, I still go there these days for the tree-house-like, leafy terraced beer garden, which is perfect for summer evenings.

Best cinema in London!!

Brunch and lunch in a beach-house-style cafe.

Not the most exciting place inside, but a lovely rooftop area which not all that many people seem to know about, 2 mins walk from Old St station. If it's packed then The Red Lion is just up the road.