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.

A very good selection of non-fiction, essays, and rare books. The Japanese book collection is gorgeous!

Though the city is amazing with a lot to offer, of course it’s great to have your own hideaway. My room is essentially my studio/desk space too and the hub of my creative activities.

Cordings situated in piccadilly is a renowned establishment for British Country clothing and tailoring - that can not only kit you out to shoot pheasant in the finest yellow ochre cords but for me offers a great selection of socks.

Bowling alleys, karaoke rooms, pool tables, arcade machines, this is basically Feltham Bowl for adults. Part of the holy trinity along with Max's Sandwich Shop and The Faltering Fullback