I didn’t know it existed until I moved to Brixton. Brockwell Park has been a revelation to me, it’s beautiful with many secrets. Check out the outdoor theatre in the summer up by the old house - Midsummer Night’s Dream last year on a midsummer’s night was astoundingly good.

You might think the Tate Britain is the less interesting of the two London outposts: full of crusty oil paintings and pensioners on day-trips, but you’d be wrong. Not only is the building a delicious warren of interconnecting rooms, each more beautiful than the last, but it also houses a collection of pre-Raphelite works that has me in tears of awe every time I swing by.

Izakaya-inspired dishes, incredible music played through a proper audiophile set-up, in a beautiful looking and low-lit setting. What all restaurants should be like.

The best live jazz band I ever heard was at a packed out night in Brilliant Corners. I was happy to be squashed.

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.