Not long in the custody of the National Trust, designed by Philip Webb and commissioned by William Morris, in 1859. Tucked away in Beckenham. William and Jane Morris only lived here for five years; not a happy time of their marriage. But there is humility, authority and even bite, in the domestic scale. The rigorous, holistic design-hand at work belies any sense of souvenir shop Morris-lite. The vegetable garden in late Summer is the place to be.

The Nightingale is the antithesis of the hundreds of soulless gastropubs that a lot of decent pubs have recently become and remains everything a proper pub should be. Britain's pubs haven't had it easy lately. The smoking ban and the general effects of the recession have hammered the industry hard. The Nightingale continues to be what it has always been, a proper pub at the heart of the local community. Its annual charity walk has raised nearly £500,000 for good causes in over 30 years and it seems determined to do the things a pub should do and do them properly. Once inside you feel like you could be in a country pub instead of in the middle of South London. There's no jukebox and the TV is hardly ever on, but there’s a great atmosphere with a good set of locals and good drink and food. Bliss.

Rotorino is a lovely little Italian, intimate but casual spot in East London. The food is great and when the weather is good - having your wine and pasta outside is nice.

Bowling always reminds me of the film The Big Lebowski. And maybe that’s why it doesn’t really matter how skilled anyone is at bowling. With or without professional trainers, it is great fun to boost the aiming skills.

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.