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.

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.

Appreciate the 'bar hidden away behind a bookcase' thing is pretty naff but the cocktails here are unreal (try the Hot and Cold), and it's inside Milroy's Soho, one of the most legendary spirits stores in the city

A traditional pie, mash and liquor shop in south west London that is run by the latest generation of the Harrington family who opened it in 1908. It looks like it hasn't changed since the day it first opened but it's a place with absolutely no pretentiousness to it at all, this is unapologetically working class and down to earth. If you want an overpriced cappuccino and wi-fi there's a Cafe Nerro down the road but if you want fantastic traditional London food you won't find anywhere better in the city. They even do pie and mash to take-away. I just wish it wasn't closed on Sundays.

Not been in many years, but spent a large part of my childhood watching people row and sail back and forth. It freezes over in winter and in February 1893, Jack Selby drove a coach and four horses across the reservoir.