I’m not sure what I like best about this deli: the speck which was so good that I ‘accidentally’ ate the whole package of it before I got home, or the fact the staff are always so friendly even when I ask for my order in my terribly rusty Italian.
Sometimes when I wake up it feels like I am at sea watching a big ocean liner pass by. It is the view from my home in one of the two stepped concrete apartment blocks that make up the Brunswick Centre in Bloomsbury. When you visit skip the chain stores of the shopping centre below (except for the excellent Renoir Cinema) and instead get an invitation to one of the small but gorgeous flats with their winter gardens or just wander through the spectacular concrete A frames and across the vast sun drenched terraces on podium level.
Aside from the fact of the underground being the oldest running railway system in the world, I find the underground just an incredibly strange place. Sometimes it’s like I’ve entered an organised maze and just walk without even thinking. The photo is taken of the floor from one of the trains, it’s normally what you tend you look at when you’re on the train.
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.