I try to come every Sunday to wander around this hidden conservatory in my favorite Brutalist estate.

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.

Great beer and whisky selection, a friendly crowd, and top quality music programming upstairs, you can't go wrong with The Lexington

A station, a stop or two away from London sits a shop that is only open once or twice a year – its specialty are books but it also sells things.

One of my favourite things about London is the underground transport system itself. I love the design of the information systems and the stations have so much history — some of them dating right back to the 1800s.