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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If you are lucky enough to get a table at this tiny 6 table only Café you are in for a real treat. The coffee is great, the cakes are delicious and the staff is friendly in this traditional wifi free (meaning no wifi here) Café. On a quiet day this is the best place to delve into your favourite novel while being caressed by the easy listening aural pleasure of Classic FM. But the real reason I come here is to overhear the conversations of the other customers. More than once did I have to put my book aside to pay closer attention to the charming, wonderful and often nuts conversations going on around me. I've overheard all sorts of discussions varying from 'Psychoanalysis' to 'Proustian ideas', 'Science Fiction' to 'Greek Mythology' and 'African Studies' to 'the takeover of DC Comics'.

The best Sunday walks.

Small little Rose Garden in a beautiful neighbourhood. All the houses surrounding the park have a dutch appeal to them.